When Day Breaks (24 page)

H
er head ached as she pushed the vacuum cleaner around the living room, but Faith kept at it. She needed to work out some of her anger at Constance over stiffing her in the will. The physical exertion helped. The sound of the vacuum also made it impossible to hear her mother if she called out. That, too, was a good thing, at least for a little while.

Finished with the living room, she switched off the vacuum and pulled the plug out of the wall socket. As she moved the machine into the den, the phone rang.

“Mrs. Hansen?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Stuart Whitaker calling.”

Faith rolled her eyes.
Not now.
“Yes, Mr. Whitaker. How are you?”

“Holding together pretty well, I think. How, if I may ask, are you?”

“I’ve been better,” said Faith.

“Of course, of course,” said Stuart. “This must be such a difficult time for you. Again, I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” said Faith.

“Mrs. Hansen, I hope you will not think I am too forward or inappropriate, but is there any possibility whatsoever that you might consider joining me tonight at the Cloisters? If you could get away for the evening, there will be a lovely reception for the new Camelot exhibit. I would be able to give you a tour of where I foresee the memorial garden I have been planning—the final and lasting tribute to your sister. After you have a better idea of where Constance will rest for all eternity, I think you will feel better about giving her remains to me.”

Faith sank down onto the leather couch. Why this guy wanted Constance’s remains so badly baffled her. And Stuart Whitaker’s suggestion to go with him to the Cloisters was the last possible thing, save sex with Todd, that she wanted to do tonight. But as she thought more about it, it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. It would be good to get away from Todd. And away from Mother and the kids, too.

“You know what, Mr. Whitaker?” she asked. “Thank you for asking me. I
would
like to go with you.”

“Ah, wonderful,” said Stuart. “I will send a car for you.”

Again Faith’s first instinct was to decline the offer. She was used to driving herself. But she thought better of it. Constance would never say no to a chauffeur, would she? Constance had taken care of herself, which is something Faith knew she had to start doing, too.

As soon as she and Stuart finished their conversation, Faith called her husband’s office. She informed Todd of her plans and listened to his protestations, along with his complaints about Constance’s will.

“Look, Todd. I’m sorry you’re disappointed that Constance didn’t leave me more. I am, too. But at least she provided for our boys. And I’m sorry that you were planning on playing twilight golf. But I need you to come home right after work so you can stay with the kids. I’m going out for a change.”

A
s soon as they got back to the Broadcast Center, Annabelle and B.J. rushed to Eliza’s office. But Eliza was at a meeting with some KEY affiliate news directors who had come to town, and she would be out of the office for another hour or so.

“Call me on my cell when Eliza gets back, will you please, Paige?” Annabelle asked.

Annabelle and B.J. went downstairs to an editing room and looked at the tape they’d gotten at the needlecraft shop. When they reached the portion showing the needlepoint with Ursula’s poem, Annabelle wrote down all the words.

 

Careful not to tell,

Yet I was there as well.

 

“What else could that mean, Beej?” asked Annabelle. “It comes right after

 

‘Left lying in the pool,

Left sinking like a stone,

Ending up so cool,

Dying all alone.’

 

“She has to be referring to Constance drowning there,” said Annabelle excitedly. “And then in that last couplet Ursula is saying she’s been careful not tell—because she was there when it happened.”

Next they screened the videotaped interview with Ursula that had been taken Saturday on the street outside Constance’s country home. The poor woman looked so uncomfortable and nervous. Her voice trembled in spots, and in one scene it was clearly visible that her hand was shaking.

“See?” Annabelle pointed at the screen. “I think she knew damned well who’d killed Constance when she talked to us.”

“You can’t say that for certain,” said B.J.

“No,” said Annabelle, “but it would explain why she was so incredibly shaken.”

“You’d be shaken, too, if somebody you cared about had just died.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Annabelle. “But based on the videotape and now the poem, I think it’s a very good bet Ursula knew more than she let on that day.”

T
his is
The KEY Evening Headlines
with Eliza Blake,” the announcer’s voice boomed.

Dressed in a navy jacket over a pale blue sleeveless dress, Eliza appeared on the television screen.

“Good evening, everyone,” she said. “What happened to Constance Young? Questions about her death, most likely by electrocution, have dominated the news this week.”

A still picture of a plain-faced, middle-aged woman popped up behind Eliza’s shoulder as she continued speaking.

“Today the story took another tragic turn. Fifty-two-year-old Ursula Bales, Young’s housekeeper, was found dead in the cellar of a needlecraft shop in Bedford, New York.”

Video of the Dropped Stitch Needlecraft Shop popped up on the screen, followed by video from the interior of the shop, including the stairs that led to the basement.

“Bales gave a knitting class last night—it was the last time she was seen alive. This morning the owner of the shop found Bales’s body at the bottom of the stairs to the building’s basement, a knitting needle impaled in her chest. Police are not yet sure if Bales’s death was an accident or murder.”

The video of the needlepoint canvas came up on the screen with the words KEY NEWS EXCLUSIVE superimposed in the upper-left-hand corner of the image.

“This exclusive video, shot today, shows a needlepoint canvas that Ursula Bales was working on when she died. It features a poem, entitled ‘Constance,’ which starts out as a tribute to Constance Young but ends with a startling admission.”

Eliza read the words of the sonnet that Ursula had composed.

“‘Lady of allure, a lonely shining star, determined and so sure, and worshipped from afar. Men wooed her as a queen, sought after for her charms, known only on the screen, if rarely in her arms. Left lying in a pool, left sinking like a stone, ending up so cool, dying all alone. Careful not to tell, yet I was there as well.’”

Up on the screen, the last couplet was highlighted.

“‘Careful not to tell, yet I was there as well,’” Eliza repeated. “With those words it seems that Ursula Bales may have been revealing that she indeed witnessed the death of Constance Young. Bales’s hesitancy to come forward could have stemmed from the fact that her own sister was killed several years ago, after she volunteered as a witness in a drug case.”

Now the footage ran of Ursula being interviewed outside Constance’s house.

“Ursula Bales, who told police she found Young’s body when she came to work on Saturday morning, gave no indication that she had witnessed a murder the night before.”

Ursula was shown speaking, her cheeks wet with tears.

“I saw something dark under the water. At first I didn’t recognize it. And then I realized what it was. It was Miss Young in her black bathing suit, lying on the bottom of the pool.”

Ursula bowed her head and cried, and then Eliza appeared back on screen, looking directly into the camera.

“Earlier this week it was discovered that a Great Dane, approximately the same weight as Constance Young, had been electrocuted in her pool the day before the anchorwoman died, giving rise to speculation that the dog was killed as a practice run for the electrocution of a human being. The dog, it turns out, had been claimed from a New York City animal shelter, but any chance of identifying the person who adopted the dog was squashed when the shelter worker, thirty-seven-year-old Vinny Shays, was found murdered by a lethal dose of sodium pentobarbital, taken from the supply room of the shelter. Sodium pentobarbital is the chemical compound used in animal euthanasia.”

Now the director ordered a switch from the shot of Eliza at the anchor desk to a still photo of the purloined unicorn.

“Police had been working under the hypothesis that Young might have been killed for a priceless ivory unicorn, missing from the Cloisters, a museum specializing in medieval art—a unicorn she was seen wearing in public the day before she was found murdered.”

Now video rolled of the people coming out of the funeral home after Constance’s service, leading to a shot of Boyd being escorted into a police vehicle.

“A KEY News employee and Constance Young’s administrative assistant, Boyd Irons, was discovered to be in possession of the unicorn, and though Stuart Whitaker, benefactor of the museum and former companion of Young, has admitted that he took the unicorn from the museum, police are still looking at Irons because his possession of the stolen object puts him in contact with Young on the day of her death.”

The story finished with Eliza again looking into the camera.

“It all adds up to a story with more questions than answers. The major question: Who killed Constance and why? We here at KEY News, where Constance worked for so many years, are committed to getting to the truth, and we will continue to keep you informed of each new development in the case.”

T
he car pulled up to the entrance of the Cloisters. Flashbulbs popped as Eliza stepped out, dressed in a champagne-colored silk chiffon cocktail dress. Rowena Quincy was waiting for her.

“It’s good to see you again,” said Rowena, reaching out with a firm handshake. “You didn’t really get a chance to do much exploring when you were here on Sunday. Let me show you around a bit.”

“Thank you. I’d love that,” said Eliza.

They walked into the Romanesque Hall, with its arched doors showing the evolution of medieval architecture.

“So the rounded arch is the Romanesque and the pointed one is the Gothic,” said Eliza.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Rowena, nodding approval.

Eliza admired the carvings, frescoes, and pair of limestone lions that flanked the doorway to the next area.

“Lion sculptures often guarded the entrances to churches in medieval times,” Rowena explained. “Lions were said to sleep with their eyes open, so they represented Christian watchfulness.”

As they went through the halls, rooms, and chapels, Eliza nodded to the guests strolling through the museum, people who had contributed generously for the privilege of attending the private event. The most populated area was the room where the Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries hung.

“I’ve read about these,” said Eliza as she gazed at the weavings. “But they’re so much more impressive when you see the real thing.”

“It’s a miracle that they survived,” said Rowena. “During the French Revolution, they were taken down from the walls of a wealthy family’s château and were used for a generation or so to protect peasants’ vegetables and fruit trees from freezing.”

“Fascinating,” said Eliza. “And I suppose that what’s been happening with the
ivory
unicorn this past week will now become part of its lore. From Lady Guinevere to Constance Young. That’s an amazing journey.”

“Yes,” agreed Rowena. “Our unicorn has quite a story to tell. I can’t express how relieved I am that our lawyers were able to get the police to release it to us in time for our opening. It simply
makes
the exhibit.”

S
ome doctors took Wednesdays off, but Margo Gonzalez worked all day at the New York Psychiatric Institute and then had evening office hours for her private patients. After the last patient left the office, Margo kicked off her shoes and settled in at her desk to answer the slew of e-mails that had piled up during the day. Halfway through, she logged in to the KEY News Web site and clicked the appropriate icons to view the
Evening Headlines.
She hadn’t heard any news all day.

Margo was shocked and saddened by the lead story. She listened as Eliza described how Ursula Bales had been found dead. Margo was touched as she saw the final needlepoint Ursula had worked on and the poem she’d written honoring Constance but also revealing that she had witnessed the murder. It was eerie to watch the video of the woman, taken just four days before, talking about discovering Constance Young’s body at the bottom of the swimming pool.

When the story was finished, Margo watched it again, and then over again after that. After each viewing, Margo felt more uneasy.