Morning, Noon & Night Page 15

  “But…”

  The line went dead.

  Tyler sat there a moment. Then he thought, He wouldn’t have said he missed me if he didn’t mean it.

  With the exception of Woody and Peggy, the family was gathered in the drawing room at Rose Hill. Steve studied their faces.

  Judge Stanford seemed very relaxed.

  Steve glanced at Kendall. She seemed unnaturally tense. Her husband had come up from New York the day before for the meeting. Steve looked over at Marc. The Frenchman was good-looking, a few years younger than his wife.

  And then there was Julia. She seemed to be taking her acceptance into the family very calmly. I would have expected someone who had just inherited a billion dollars or so to be a little more excited, Steve thought.

  He glanced at their faces again, wondering if one of them was responsible for having Harry Stanford’s body stolen, and if so, which one? And why?

  Tyler was speaking. “Mr. Sloane, I’m familiar with the probate laws in Illinois, but I don’t know how much they differ from the laws in Massachusetts. We were wondering whether there wasn’t some way to expedite the procedure.”

  Steve smiled to himself. I should have made Simon take that bet. He turned to Tyler. “We’re already working on it, Judge Stanford.”

  Tyler said pointedly, “The Stanford name might be useful in speeding things up.”

  He’s right about that, Steve thought. He nodded. “I’ll do everything I can. If it’s at all possible to—”

  There were voices from the staircase.

  “Just shut up, you stupid bitch! I don’t want to hear another word. Do you understand?”

  Woody and Peggy came down the stairs and into the room. Peggy’s face was badly swollen, and she had a black eye. Woody was grinning, and his eyes were bright.

  “Hello, everybody. I hope the party’s not over.”

  The group was looking at Peggy in shock.

  Kendall rose. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing. I…I bumped into a door.”

  Woody took a seat. Peggy sat next to him. Woody patted her hand and asked solicitously, “Are you all right, my dear?”

  Peggy nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Good.” Woody turned to the others. “Now, what did I miss?”

  Tyler looked at him disapprovingly. “I just asked Mr. Sloane if he could expedite the probating of the will.”

  Woody grinned. “That would be nice.” He turned to Peggy. “You’d like some new clothes, wouldn’t you, darling?”

  “I don’t need any new clothes,” she said timidly.

  “That’s right. You don’t go anywhere, do you?” He turned to the others. “Peggy is very shy. She doesn’t have anything to talk about, do you?”

  Peggy got up and ran out of the room.

  “I’ll see if she’s all right,” Kendall said. She rose and hurried after her.

  My God! Steve thought. If Woody behaves like this in front of others, what must it be like when he and his wife are alone?

  Woody turned to Steve. “How long have you been with Fitzgerald’s law firm?”

  “Five years.”

  “How they could stand working for my father, I’ll never know.”

  Steve said carefully, “I understand your father was…could be difficult.”

  Woody snorted. “Difficult? He was a two-legged monster. Did you know he had nicknames for all of us? Mine was Charlie. He named me after Charlie McCarthy, a dummy that a ventriloquist named Edgar Bergen had. He called my sister Pony, because he said she had a face like a horse. Tyler was called…”

  Steve said, uncomfortably, “I really don’t think you should—”

  Woody grinned. “It’s all right. A billion dollars heals a lot of wounds.”

  Steve rose. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I think I had better be going.” He could not wait to get outside, into the fresh air.

  Kendall found Peggy in the bathroom, putting a cold cloth to her swollen cheek.

  “Peggy? Are you all right?”

  Peggy turned. “I’m fine. Thank you. I…I’m sorry about what happened down there.”

  “You’re apologizing? You should be furious. How long has he been beating you?”

  “He doesn’t beat me,” Peggy said obstinately. “I bumped into a door.”

  Kendall moved closer to her. “Peggy, why do you put up with this? You don’t have to, you know.”

  There was a pause. “Yes, I do.”

  Kendall looked at her, puzzled. “Why?”

  She turned. “Because I love him.” She went on, the words pouring out. “He loves me, too. Believe me, he doesn’t always act like this. The thing is, he—Sometimes he’s not himself.”

  ‘You mean, when he’s on drugs.”

  “No!”

  “Peggy…”

  “No!”

  “Peggy…”

  Peggy hesitated. “I suppose so.”

  “When did it start?”

  “Right…right after we got married.” Peggy’s voice was ragged. “It started because of a polo game. Woody fell off his pony and was badly hurt. While he was in the hospital, they gave him drugs to help with the pain. They got him started.” She looked at Kendall, pleadingly. “So you see, it wasn’t his fault, was it? After Woody got out of the hospital, he…he kept on using drugs. Whenever I tried to get him to quit, he would…beat me.”

  “Peggy, for God’s sake! He needs help! Don’t you see that? You can’t do this alone. He’s a drug addict. What does he take? Cocaine?”

  “No.” There was a small silence. “Heroin.”

  “My God! Can’t you make him get some help?”

  “I’ve tried.” Her voice was a whisper. “You don’t know how I’ve tried! He’s gone to three rehabilitation hospitals.” She shook her head. “He’s all right for a while, and then…he starts again. He…he can’t help it.”

  Kendall put her arms around Peggy. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Peggy forced a smile. “I’m sure Woody will be all right. He’s trying hard. He really is.” Her face lit up. “When we were first married, he was so much fun to be with. We used to laugh all the time. He would bring me little presents and—” Her eyes filled with tears. “I love him so much!”

  “If there’s anything I can do…”

  “Thank you,” Peggy whispered. “I appreciate that.”

  Kendall squeezed her hand. “We’ll talk again.”

  Kendall started down the stairs to join the others. She was thinking, When we were children, before Mother died, we made such wonderful plans. “You’re going to be a famous designer, sis, and I’m going to be the world’s greatest athlete!” And the sad part of it, Kendall thought, is that he could have been. And now this.

  Kendall was not sure if she felt more sorry for Woody or for Peggy.

  As Kendall reached the bottom of the stairs, Clark approached her, carrying a tray with a letter on it. “Excuse me, Miss Kendall. A messenger just delivered this for you.” He handed her the envelope.

  Kendall looked at it in surprise. “Who…?” She nodded. “Thank you, Clark.”

  Kendall opened the envelope, and as she began to read the letter, she turned pale. “No!” she said, under her breath. Her heart was pounding, and she felt a wave of dizziness. She stood there, bracing herself against a table, trying to catch her breath.

  After a moment, she turned and walked into the drawing room, her face pale.

  “Marc…” Kendall forced herself to appear calm. “May I see you for a moment?”

  He looked at her, concerned. “Yes, certainly.”

  Tyler asked Kendall, “Are you all right?”

  She forced a smile. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  She took Marc’s hand and led him upstairs. When they entered the bedroom, Kendall closed the door.

  Marc said, “What is it?”

  Kendall handed him the envelope. The letter read:

  Dear Mrs. Renaud,

  Congra
tulations! Our Wild Animal Protection Association was delighted to read of your good fortune. We know how interested you are in the work we are doing, and we are counting on your further support. Therefore, we would appreciate it if you would deposit 1 million U.S. dollars in our numbered bank account in Zurich within the next ten days. We look forward to hearing from you shortly.

  As in the other letters, all the E’s were broken.

  “The bastards!” Marc exploded.

  “How did they know I was here?” Kendall asked.

  Marc said bitterly, “All they had to do was pick up a newspaper.” He read the letter again and shook his head. “They aren’t going to quit. We have to go to the police.”

  “No!” Kendall cried. “We can’t! It’s too late! Don’t you see? It would be the end of everything. Everything!”

  Marc took her in his arms and held her tightly. “All right. We’ll find a way.”

  But Kendall knew that there was no way.

  It had happened a few months earlier, on what had started out to be a glorious spring day. Kendall had gone to a friend’s birthday party in Ridgefield, Connecticut. It had been a wonderful party, and Kendall had chatted with old friends. She had had a glass of champagne. In the middle of a conversation, she had suddenly looked at her watch. “Oh, no! I had no idea it was so late. Marc is waiting for me.”

  There were hasty good-byes, and Kendall had gotten into her car and driven off. Driving back to New York, she had decided to take a winding country road over to I-684. She was traveling at almost fifty miles per hour as she rounded a sharp curve and spotted a car parked on the right side of the road. Kendall automatically swerved to the left. At that moment, a woman carrying a handful of freshly picked flowers started to cross the narrow road. Kendall tried frantically to avoid her, but it was too late.

  Everything seemed to happen in a blur. She heard a sickening thud as she hit the woman with her left front fender. Kendall brought the car to a screeching stop, her whole body trembling violently. She ran back to where the woman was lying in the road, covered with blood.

  Kendall stood there, frozen. Finally, she bent down and turned the woman over, and looked into her sightless eyes. “Oh, my God!” Kendall whispered. She felt the bile rising in her throat. She looked up, desperate, not knowing what to do. She swung around in a panic. There were no cars in sight. She’s dead, Kendall thought. I can’t help her. This was not my fault, but they’ll accuse me of reckless drunk driving. My blood will show alcohol. I’ll go to prison!

  She took one last look at the body of the woman, then hurried back to her car. The left front fender was dented, and there were blood spots on it. I’ve got to put the car away in a garage, Kendall thought. The police will be searching for it. She got into the car and drove off.

  For the rest of the drive into New York, she kept looking into the rearview mirror, expecting to see flashing red lights and to hear the sound of a siren. She drove into the garage on Ninety-sixth Street where she kept her car. Sam, the owner of the garage, was talking to Red, his mechanic. Kendall got out of the car.

  “Evenin’, Mrs. Renaud,” Sam said.

  “Go…Good evening.” She was fighting to keep her teeth from chattering.

  “Put it away for the night?”

  “Yes…yes, please.”

  Red was looking at the fender. “You got a bad dent here, Mrs. Renaud. Looks like there’s blood on it.”

  The two men were looking at her.

  Kendall took a deep breath. “Yes. I…I hit a deer on the highway.”

  “You’re lucky it didn’t do more damage,” Sam said. “A friend of mine hit a deer, and it ruined his car.” He grinned. “Didn’t do much for the deer either.”

  “If you’ll just put it away,” Kendall said tightly.

  “Sure.”

  Kendall walked over to the garage door, then looked back. The two men were staring at the fender.

  When Kendall got home and told Marc about the terrible thing that had happened, he took her in his arms and said, “Oh, my God! Darling, how could…?”

  Kendall was sobbing. “I…I couldn’t help it. She started across the road right in front of me. She…she had been picking flowers and—”

  “Ssh! I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. We’ve got to report this to the police.”

  “I know. You’re right. I…I should have stayed there and waited for them to come. I just…panicked, Marc. Now it’s a hit-and-run. But there wasn’t anything I could do for her. She was dead. You should have seen her face. It was awful.”

  He held her for a long time, until she quieted down.

  When Kendall spoke, she said tentatively, “Marc…do we have to go to the police?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  She was fighting hysteria. “Well, it’s over, isn’t it? Nothing can bring her back. What good would it do for them to punish me? I didn’t mean to do it. Why couldn’t we just pretend it never happened?”

  “Kendall, if they ever traced—”

  “How can they? There was no one around.”

  “What about your car? Was it damaged?”

  “There’s a dent. I told the garage attendant I hit a deer.” She was fighting for control. “Marc, no one saw the accident…Do you know what would happen to me if they arrested me and sent me to prison? I’d lose my business, everything I’ve built up all these years, and for what? For something that’s already done! It’s over!” She began to sob again.

  He held her close. “Ssh! We’ll see. We’ll see.”

  The morning papers gave the story a big play. What gave it added drama was the fact that the dead woman had been on her way to Manhattan to be married. The New York Times covered it as a straight news story, but the Daily News and Newsday played it up as a heart-tugging drama.

  Kendall bought a copy of each newspaper, and she became more and more horrified at what she had done. Her mind was filled with all the terrible if’s.

  If I hadn’t gone to Connecticut for my friend’s birthday….

  If I had stayed home that day….

  If I hadn’t had anything to drink….

  If the woman had picked the flowers a few seconds earlier or a few seconds later….

  I’m responsible for murdering another human being!

  Kendall thought of the terrible grief she had caused the woman’s family, and her fiancé’s family, and she felt sick to her stomach again.

  According to the newspapers, the police were asking for information from anyone who might have a clue about the hit-and-run.

  They have no way of finding me, Kendall thought. All I have to do is act as if nothing happened.

  When Kendall went to the garage to pick up her car the next morning, Red was there.

  “I wiped the blood off the car,” he said. “Do you want me to fix the dent?”

  Of course! I should have thought of it sooner. “Yes, please.”

  Red was looking at her strangely. Or was it her imagination?

  “Sam and I talked about it last night,” he said. “It’s funny, you know. A deer should have done a lot more damage.”

  Kendall’s heart began to beat wildly. Her mouth was suddenly so dry she could hardly speak. “It was a…a small deer.”

  Red nodded laconically. “Must have been real small.”

  Kendall could feel his eyes on her as she drove out of the garage.

  When Kendall walked into her office, her secretary, Nadine, took one look at her and said, “What happened to you?”

  Kendall froze. “What…what do you mean?”

  “You look shaky. Let me get you some coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kendall walked over to the mirror. Her face looked pale and drawn. They’re going to know just by looking at me!

  Nadine came into the office with a cup of hot coffee. “Here. This will make you feel better.” She looked at Kendall curiously. “Is everything all right?”

  “I…I had a little accident
yesterday,” Kendall said.

  “Oh? Was anyone hurt?”

  In her mind, she could see the face of the dead woman. “No. I…I hit a deer.”

  “What about your car?”

  “It’s being repaired.”

  “I’ll call your insurance company.”

  “Oh, no, Nadine, please don’t.”

  Kendall saw the surprised look in Nadine’s eyes.

  It was two days later that the first letter came:

  Dear Mrs. Renaud,

  I’m the chairman of the Wild Animal Protection Association, which is in desperate need. I’m sure that you would like to help us out. The organization needs money to preserve wild animals. We are especially interested in deer. You can wire $50,000 to account number 804072-A at the Crédit Suisse bank in Zurich. I would strongly suggest that the money be there within the next five days.

  It was unsigned. All the E’s in the letter were broken. Enclosed in the envelope was a newspaper clipping about the accident.

  Kendall read the letter twice. The threat was unmistakable. She agonized over what to do. Marc was right, she thought. I should have gone to the police. But now everything was worse. She was a fugitive. If they found her now, it would mean prison and disgrace, as well as the end of her business.

  At lunchtime, she went to her bank. “I want to wire fifty thousand dollars to Switzerland…”

  When Kendall got home that evening, she showed the letter to Marc.

  He was stunned. “My God!” he said. “Who could have sent this?”

  “Nobody…nobody knows.” She was trembling.

  “Kendall, someone knows.”

  Her body was twitching. “There was no one around, Marc! I—”

  “Wait a minute. Let’s try to figure this out. Exactly what happened when you returned to town?”

  “Nothing. I…I put the car in the garage, and—” She stopped. “You got a bad dent here, Mrs. Renaud. Looks like there’s blood on it.”

  Marc saw the expression on her face. “What?”

  She said slowly, “The owner of the garage and his mechanic were there. They saw the blood on the fender. I told them I hit a deer, and they said there should have been a lot more damage.” She remembered something else. “Marc…”