‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’ Chapters 41-50

Mary Higgins Clark,

AARP

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Published July 01, 2024

Illustration of a man leaning against a doorframe while looking out at a woman sitting in a chair and reading something in her hand

Illustration by Maiyashu

Jump to chapters

Chapter 41 • Chapter 42 • Chapter 43 • Chapter 44 • Chapter 45 • Chapter 46 • Chapter 47 • Chapter 48 • Chapter 49 • Chapter 50

Chapter 41

Alison did not go back to sleep after the sleepwalking incident. Rod felt her tossing and turning in bed and finally put his arm around her and drew her close to him.

“Alie, you’ve got to keep reminding yourself that you were sleepwalking that night. Even if you believe you were in Betsy’s room, it doesn’t mean that memory is accurate.”

“I was there. She kept a low night-light on. I even remember seeing the earring sparkling on the floor. Rod, if I had picked it up, my fingerprints would have been on it.”

“But you didn’t pick it up,” Rod said soothingly. “Alie, you’ve got to stop thinking like that. When you’re in front of the camera, you’ve got to just tell what you know—which is nothing. You heard Jane scream and rushed to the bedroom with the others. Like the others, you were shocked. When you’re interviewed, just keep saying ‘the others’ and you’ll be all right. And remind yourself that the reason you’re doing this program is because you want to have the money to go to medical school. What is it I’ve been telling you since you got the chance to go back to school?”

“That one day you’ll be calling me the new Madame Curie,” Alison whispered.

“Correct. Now go back to sleep.”

But even though she stopped twisting and turning, Alison did not go back to sleep. When the alarm went off at seven o’clock, she was already showered and dressed in the slacks and polo shirt that she would soon be exchanging for the T-shirt and jeans she had worn the morning after Betsy Powell’s murder.

Chapter 42

Laurie, Jerry, and Grace arrived at the Powell estate a few minutes after the crew, which included a hairdresser, makeup artist, and wardrobe assistant this morning. Two new vans were on the set for their use—one to serve as a dressing room, the other for hair and makeup for those who would be on camera.

Laurie had worked well with all three crew members before. “The first scene we’re shooting will be of the four graduates and the housekeeper in the clothes they put on after the body was discovered. The makeup should be light, because they wouldn’t have had the time or inclination to put any on. We have a picture taken that morning by the police. Study it, then try to make them look the way they looked twenty years ago. Obviously they don’t have the long hair, but they’ve all aged very well.”

Meg Miller, the makeup artist, walked over to the window of the van to get a better look at the photograph. “I can tell you this, Laurie: they all look scared to death.”

“I agree,” Laurie said. “My job is to find out why. Of course you’d expect that they would look shocked and grief-stricken, but why do they all look so fearful? If Betsy was killed by an intruder, then what are they afraid of?”

The scene would be shot in the den, where the police had directed the girls to wait that morning. Incredibly, none of the furniture or draperies had been changed, so the room bore an eerie sameness to the way it had looked twenty years ago.

On the other hand, Laurie reasoned, my guess is that only Robert Powell has ever used that room in all these years. According to Jane Novak, the living room and dining room are where he does his entertaining when he has guests. From what she says, when he’s alone after dinner he either goes to the den and watches television or reads, or else he goes up to his suite.

With only him living here and the way Jane keeps this place up, it’s no wonder there was no need to change the interior decorating.

Or, she wondered, did Powell want to keep his home frozen in time, just as his wife had left it? She had heard of people like that.

She shivered as she walked quickly back to the den and entered by the patio door. The crew was setting up the cameras. There was no sign of Robert Powell. Jane had told them that he was in his office and would be there all morning.

From the beginning Powell had told her there was no need for him to equally compensate Jane. “I think I speak for her when I say we would both like a conclusion to this terrible business. Jane has always regretted the fact that after she locked all the doors for the night, the girls opened the one from the den, then when they came back in from smoking on the patio, they left it unlocked. If that had not happened, an intruder might not have been able to get in.”

Maybe Powell and Jane are right, Laurie thought. After checking the cameras and the lighting, she went back out onto the patio and saw Alex Buckley getting out of his car.

Today he was wearing a sport shirt and khakis in place of the dark blue suit, shirt, and tie he had been wearing yesterday. The top of his convertible was down, and the breeze had ruffled his dark brown hair. She watched as with what was probably an instinctive gesture he smoothed his hair back and walked toward her.

“You’re an early bird,” he said with an easy smile. “Not really. You should be around when we start shooting a program at daybreak.”

“No thanks. I’ll wait until I can push a button and see it on TV.”

As he had in his office, he suddenly became businesslike. “Is the agenda still that we begin with me speaking to the graduates after you film them sitting in the den?”

“Yes. I’m doing this out of sequence because I have a strong hunch that they have all rehearsed what they’re going to say to you. By starting with them all together, it may put them off guard.

“And don’t be surprised at the way they’re dressed. They’re wearing replicas of the clothes they wore after Betsy’s body was found, and then they were told to change into street wear.”

Alex Buckley seldom allowed his face to register surprise, but this time he was so startled that he could not conceal it.

“You’re having them wear replicas of what they wore twenty years ago?”

“Yes, for two scenes. The one in the den where they were herded with Jane as soon as the police arrived. And then one wearing gowns that are identical to the ones they wore to the Gala.

“We’ll photograph the graduates against the background of films of them individually and together at the Gala. For example, when Robert Powell is toasting them, we’ll have a picture of the four of them looking at him.”

Alex Buckley’s reply was interrupted by the limousines with the graduates arriving almost simultaneously. It was Laurie’s turn to be astonished when Muriel Craig stepped out of the backseat of the second limo while her daughter, Nina, stepped out of the front passenger door. Muriel wasn’t supposed to come today, she thought. Powell either called her or she’s come on her own.

Either way, she’s bound to make Nina edgy and angry.

Which might be good when Nina is being questioned.

Chapter 43

On Tuesday morning Josh drove the Bentley to be hand-washed and detailed. Mr. Rob was very particular that it be kept in pristine order, Or else, Josh thought as he waited in the chair in the service center.

With a sense of satisfaction, Josh congratulated himself on solving the problem of how the graduates would be able to play the tapes he had recorded. He would put his cassette player in the powder room in the hallway next to the kitchen. There was a vanity table and bench in it for any guest who might want to touch up her makeup or hair. He would present the cassettes to Nina, Regina, and Alison and tell them they might be interested in hearing their conversations in the car, then suggest it might be worth fifty thousand dollars to have each copy destroyed.

They would be panicky, the three of them, he was sure of it. Claire hadn’t said a word in the car when he drove her, so there was no cassette for her. And yet, of all of them, Josh would bet that she had the most to reveal.

He had the suicide note that Regina had hidden in her purse. Josh had debated whether to give it to Mr. Rob or try to find a better use for it. Then he found his answer: charge Regina one hundred thousand dollars, maybe even more, to get it back and tell her that otherwise he would go straight to the police. That note might take any suspicion of killing Betsy off Mr. Rob, Jane, and the other graduates.

And Josh would be a hero and good citizen if he turned it over to the police chief. But the police might ask what he was doing going through ladies’ handbags. He did not have a good answer to that question, and he was hoping one would not be necessary.

Mr. Rob hadn’t sent him to pick up any of the graduates this morning. Instead, sounding testy, he instructed him to come to the house after he left the service center, in case he decided to go into the office.

It was obviously unsettling for Mr. Rob to have all these people around. Not only must it bring up a lot of memories, Josh thought, but Mr. Rob must know that he’s under suspicion, too, and want desperately to clear his name.

Like Jane, Josh had managed to sneak a look at Mr. Rob’s will when it was on his desk. He had left

$10 million to Harvard, to be used to fund scholarships for deserving students, and $5 million to Waverly College, where he had received an honorary doctorate and had already had the library named after Betsy and him.

Alison Schaefer had gone to Waverly. Josh remembered how she was the best student of the four girls and had talked about going to medical school, but then married Rod Kimball instead four months after the Gala.

Josh had always wondered why she hadn’t brought Rod to the Gala that night. You never know, he told himself, they might have had an argument.

As the service manager approached Josh to tell him the car was ready, Josh concluded his line of thinking. Mr. Rob is a very sick man trying to ensure his legacy before he dies, he decided.

But as Josh got into the Bentley and drove away, he could not help thinking that there might be more reasons for Mr. Rob going ahead with the program than met the eye.

Chapter 44

Leo Farley’s impatience at his hospitalization grew with every passing moment. Disdainfully, he looked at the needle inserted in his left arm and the bottle of fluid connected to it dangling overhead. He had a heart monitor strapped to his chest, and when he had tried to get up a nurse came rushing in. “Mr. Farley, you cannot go to the bathroom alone. You have to be accompanied by a nurse. However, you can close the door.”

Isn’t that wonderful, Leo thought mockingly, even as he realized it wasn’t right to kill the messenger. Instead, he thanked the nurse and grudgingly allowed her to follow him to the door of the bathroom. At 9 A.M. when his doctor came in, Leo was loaded for bear. “Look,” he said, “I can get away without calling my daughter. She saw me last night just before I came in here, so I know she won’t look to speak to me until tonight. She has two more days to finish this program, and there’s a lot of pressure on her to make sure it’s successful. If I have to tell her I’m in the hospital, she’ll be terribly upset and probably end up coming here instead of finishing the show.”

Dr. James Morris, an old friend, was equally forceful. “Leo, your daughter will be a lot more upset if something happens to you. I’ll call Laurie—she knows you get these fibrillations—make it very clear to her that you’re stable now and I should be able to release you tomorrow morning. I can do it before you call this evening or after. You will do her and your grandson a lot more good by staying alive and healthy than by risking a major heart attack.”

Dr. Morris’s beeper sounded. “I’m sorry, Leo, I have to go.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll finish this later.”

After Dr. Morris left him, he reached for his cell phone and called Camp Mountainside. He was connected to the camp administrator’s office, then the head counselor, whom he had met before. “This is the pain-in-the-neck grandfather,” he said. “I just wanted to know how Timmy was doing. Any nightmares?”

“No,” the counselor said firmly. “I inquired about him at breakfast, and the senior camper in his bunk said he slept for nine hours straight without stirring.”

Relieved, Leo said, “Well, that is really good news.” “Stop worrying, Mr. Farley. We’re taking good care of him. And how are you doing?”

“I could be better,” Leo said ruefully. “I’m in Mount Sinai Hospital with heart fibrillations. I never like feeling that I’m not available for Timmy every minute of the day.”

Leo could not know that the counselor was thinking that with the strain he had been under for the last five years, it was no wonder he was having fibrillations. Instead he heard and appreciated the counselor’s assurances. “You take care of yourself, Mr. Farley. We’ll take care of your grandson. I promise.”

Two hours later, when Blue Eyes heard the recorded conversation, he thought excitedly, He has played into my hands. Now they’ll never doubt me.

Chapter 45

Jane Novak had worn the same-style plain black dress and white apron for the twenty-nine years she had been in the Powell household.

Her hair was also in the same style: combed back into a neat bun. The only difference was that it was now streaked with gray. Jane had never worn makeup and was scornful of Meg Miller’s attempt to put even the lightest powder and eyebrow pencil on her. “Mrs. Novak, it’s simply because the lights from the camera will wash you out,” Meg said. But Jane would have none of it. “I know I have good skin,” she said, “and that’s because I never used any of that silly junk on it.”

She did not know that even while Meg was saying, “Of course, as you wish,” she was thinking that Jane indeed had a beautiful complexion and good features. Except for the droop at the end of her lips and the almost-scowling expression in her eyes, Jane Novak would be a very attractive woman, Meg thought.

Claire was the next one who would accept only a minimum amount of makeup. “I never wore any,” she said. Then she added bitterly: “No one would look at me anyhow. They had my mother to rave over.”

Regina was obviously so nervous that Meg did her best to pat the light beads of perspiration from her forehead with a concealer, in case she continued to sweat.

Alison, very quiet, simply shrugged when Meg said, “We’re only doing a little because of the lights.”

Nina Craig said, “I’m an actress. I know what lighting does. Do the best you can.”

There was little that Courtney, the hairdresser, could do except to style the graduates’ hair as close to how it had looked in the twenty-year-old photograph.

While Laurie waited for her stars in the den, Jerry and Grace were ready to make any adjustments Laurie thought necessary.

An enlarged picture of the four graduates and Jane, taken twenty years ago by the police photographer, rested on an easel out of the range of the camera, a template for arranging the women for their interviews. The cameraman, his assistant, and the lighting technician had already placed the cameras accordingly. Three of the girls had been sitting on the long couch, giving the appearance of being huddled together. There were two armchairs on either side of the cocktail table in front of the couch. Jane Novak was in one of them, her face grief-stricken, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Claire Bonner was sitting opposite her, her expression contemplative, but without any visible sign of grief.

Busily observing the present activity, Alex Buckley sat near the door in the leather chair in which Mr. Rob often sat at the end of the day. “It’s a recliner,” Jane told Laurie. “He likes to adjust it so his feet are up. His doctor said it was good for circulation.”

It’s a beautiful room, Alex thought as he looked around appraisingly. The mahogany paneling on the walls was the background for the vivid Persian carpet. The wall-mounted television was in the center of the bookshelves and over the fireplace. The furniture had been broken into two seating groups; the couch and chairs where the graduates and Jane Novak were now seated, and the couch and armchair with the leather recliner. The sliding glass door to the patio was on the right side of the couch where the girls were sitting and was, according to Jane, the door they had gone in and out to have cigarettes the night of the Gala, leaving it unlocked.

According to the police report, the ashtrays on the patio table had been filled to overflowing that morning. Jane indicated that at least three empty bottles of wine were in the glass disposal unit, left after she and the caterers had cleaned up after the party.

Alex listened as Laurie explained the photo shoot to the girls. “As you know, we simply want this shot of you to set the scene, with you in virtually the same outfits and in the same places as you were that morning. Then, separately, Alex Buckley will interview you in the spots where you are sitting now, to get your reflections on what you were thinking and feeling that morning. Were you talking to each other? From the old picture it doesn’t look as if you were.”

Nina answered for them. “We almost didn’t say a word. I guess we were all in shock.”

“I can understand that,” Laurie said soothingly. “So just sit the way you did that morning, and we’ll start taking pictures. Don’t look at the cameras. Look at the picture and try to re-create the same poses.”

From his vantage point behind one of the cameras, Alex Buckley could feel the tension in the room, the same kind of tension that he sometimes felt in a courtroom when an important witness was called to the stand. He knew Laurie Moran was going for dramatic impact by having the two pictures incorporated into the film, but he also knew that her goal was to unsettle the graduates and Jane until one or more of them gave a statement that contradicted what was on record. Alex watched as Meg, the makeup artist, came quietly into the den, a compact in her hand. He knew she was there in case the camera revealed anyone’s face to be too shiny.

He marveled at the graduates’ youthful appearances and how they all had stayed slender, and he thought that Nina, who didn’t look thirty, had probably had some work done. It had been a shock to see Claire Bonner, who just yesterday had looked so glamorous and so like the pictures of her mother, by comparison look shockingly plain today. What kind of game is she playing? he wondered.

“All right, let’s get started,” Laurie was saying. “Grace, that pillow behind Nina, it’s too far to the right.” Grace adjusted it. Laurie checked the camera again and nodded to the cameraman. Alex watched as picture after picture was taken with an occasional comment from Laurie.

“Alison, try not to turn to the left. Nina, sit back the way you were in the original, otherwise you look as if you are posing. Jane, turn your head a little this way.”

It was thirty-five minutes before Laurie was satisfied with what she saw in the camera’s viewfinder. “Thanks very much,” she said briskly. “We’ll take a short break and then Alex will start interviewing you. Claire, he’ll start with you. We’ll be back in the den and you two will sit opposite each other in the chairs you and Jane are in now. The rest of you will have some downtime. There are newspapers and magazines in the dressing rooms. It’s such a beautiful day, I imagine you will want to sit on the patio?”

One by one they all got to their feet. Jane was the first one to head for the door. “I’ll put the snacks out and you can help yourselves,” she said. “You can have them outside or in the breakfast room. We’ll be having lunch at one-thirty.”

Chapter 46

Chief Ed Penn did not realize how much Leo’s abiding worry about his daughter’s safety while the Under Suspicion program was being filmed had affected him.

Even though he had ordered the squad car for the back road, he decided to take a look at the site himself. He was admittedly very curious to see how the graduates looked twenty years later.

It was around ten o’clock when, after having checked the squad car, the Chief decided to go onto the grounds and meet Laurie Moran. Of course he would not tell her of her father’s concern, but on the other hand she was with six people who had been in the house on the night of Betsy Powell’s murder. Penn was convinced that one of those six people was the murderer.

Robert Powell had been in a state of collapse with his hands badly burned from the steaming cup of cof fee he had been carrying to his wife. He still could have killed her and figured that burns on his hands were a small price to pay for the appearance of innocence, Penn thought.

Chief Penn well knew that Regina’s father had committed suicide because of the investment he made in Powell’s hedge fund. A grieving daughter might very well have resented Powell for being the indirect cause of his death. The Chief was sure Regina had been lying when she claimed there was no suicide note. She had been only fifteen then, but she had withstood intense questioning, which suggested to him a steely resolve beyond her years.

Claire Bonner was a puzzle. Was it shock that made her so calm after her mother’s death? He had been at the funeral. While tears streamed down Robert Powell’s face, Claire had been cool, calm, and collected, as the expression went.

Nina Craig he knew less about—only that her mother constantly castigated her for introducing Betsy Bonner to Robert Powell.

Alison Schaefer seemed to be the one least likely to have a grudge against Betsy. She got married four months after Bonner’s death, and, at that time, Rod had a brilliant future in football.

Penn had wondered if the paparazzi would try to get on the set. But there was no evidence of that. The guard at the gate let the Chief’s car pass through, and his driver, a young policeman, parked behind the vans. “I won’t be long,” Penn told him and walked toward the patio, where people were gathered for lunch.

Laurie came to meet him and escorted him back to the group, where Penn immediately recognized the four graduates. They were sitting at the same table with Alison’s husband and they all looked up as he approached. They all seemed startled, then defensive, but Regina was the only one who seemed to recoil as if from a blow.

He addressed her first. “Regina, I don’t know if you remember me,” he said.

“Yes, of course I remember you,” she replied.

Chief Penn continued. “How have you been? I was sorry to hear about your mother’s death right after she moved to Florida.”

It was on the tip of Regina’s tongue to say that her mother died of a broken heart because she never got over her husband’s death, but that might open up the subject of the suicide note. Or is the police chief here because he already has it? she wondered. Hoping her hand would not tremble, Regina picked up her glass of iced tea and began to sip it as the police chief greeted the other graduates.

He turned to the table where Laurie, Alex Buckley, Muriel Craig, Jerry, and Grace were sitting.

“In a few minutes Alex will be talking with Regina about her memory of that night and the next morning,” Laurie said. “Tomorrow evening when it gets dark, we will be filming the graduates in evening dresses against the background of the film of the party taken that evening. If you would like to come by and see that scene, you are welcome to come back.”

It was at just that point that Robert Powell came out to the patio. “I’ve been working in my office,” he explained. “Anyone who runs a hedge fund cannot take his eyes off the market for even a minute. Ed, how are you? Are you here to protect us from each other?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Powell.”

Even though he was smiling and seemed at ease, Penn could see the fatigue around Robert Powell’s eyes and the overall weariness in his body as he sat down at the table and shook his head when Laurie offered him a sandwich from the platter Jane had placed there. Muriel, who had been complaining she had nothing to do, suddenly came alive.

“Rob, dear,” she said, “you’ve worked enough today. Why don’t you and I go over to the club for a round of golf? I used to be a pretty good golfer, you know. I’m sure I can rent clubs, and I put golf shoes in my tote bag, just in case I could persuade you.”

Laurie expected to hear a flat refusal, but Powell smiled. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” he said. “But I’m so sorry to say I must take a rain check. I have a lot of work to do in my office.” He paused, then looked at Laurie. “You don’t have anything for me to do today, I gather?”

“No, Mr. Powell. Alex will be interviewing the girls one by one. And then Jane, if we have time today.”

“How long will the interviews take?” Powell asked. “I expected them to be about ten minutes each.”

“They’ll be cut to that time,” Laurie said. “But Alex is planning to speak with each of them for about an hour. Isn’t that right, Alex?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Mr. Rob, are you sure that you don’t want to have a snack?” Jane asked. “You hardly touched your breakfast.”

“Jane takes such good care of me,” Powell told the others. “In fact, sometimes she’s almost like a mother hen.”

Not exactly a compliment, Laurie thought. She could see from the flush on Jane’s face that she didn’t think so, either.

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” Muriel snapped, staring at Jane as Robert Powell pushed back his chair and went into the house.

Wordlessly, Jane turned away from the table and went to where the graduates and Rod were seated. They all declined more coffee, and seeing that, Laurie pushed back her chair. “If you didn’t know it before, I guess you know it now. There’s a lot of waiting around in this business. Alex will start by interviewing Claire. When she is finished she can go back to the hotel, and then the same for each of you. Figure about an hour apiece.”

Chief Penn stood up. “Any sign of the paparazzi or anyone trying to get in here while you’re filming,” he told Laurie, “give me a call immediately.” He handed her his card.

Rod said to Alison, “It’s getting warm out here. I guess we’re not invited to sit in the living room,” he added sarcastically, “and the den is being used for filming. But I suppose we can sit in the breakfast room. The chairs look comfortable there.”

Laurie stood up and said to Claire, “I do think you should have a little more makeup on. With your blond eyebrows and lashes you’ll end up looking terribly washed out on camera. You really need a little touch-up.” She looked toward the door of the makeup van. “They’re ready for you now,” she said. With a brief nod, she walked over to the door that led to the den and opened it.

Chief Penn signaled to his driver and walked over to his car. He happened to glance at Bruno, who was meticulously searching for any scrap of paper or matted grass that might be disrupting the serene beauty of the grounds. Penn barely caught a glimpse of Bruno’s profile, but as he got into the car he realized that something in his subconscious was bothering him. A little voice was saying, I should know this guy, but why?

As Alex Buckley followed Laurie into the den, he had exactly the same thought about Bruno. I should know that guy, but why? Alex hesitated, then reached into his pocket for his phone and snapped a photo. He made a mental note to get the landscaper’s name and forward it to his investigator.

And then, for the first time, the four graduates were alone, and Josh, who had been helping Jane serve coffee, saw his chance. “I have a present for the three of you,” he said, “except Claire.” He looked at Claire. “I tried to talk to you in the car, but you were having none of it.” Josh looked at the other three graduates. “Here is a tape I think each one of you will find very interesting. You especially, Regina. Maybe you’ve mislaid something I found?”

He handed separate envelopes to Regina, Alison, and Nina, then said, “There is a cassette player in the drawer of the vanity in the restroom by the kitchen. Why don’t we talk after the three of you have a chance to listen to the tapes?”

Then Josh picked up the coffee cups in front of him and said: “See you all later,” in a confident voice, with just the slightest undertone of threat.

Chapter 47

Because his office was next to the den, where all the activity was taking place, Robert Powell chose to go back upstairs to the bedroom suite he had shared

with Betsy for the nine years of their marriage. At his curt request Jane followed him with a fresh pot of coffee. Then, sensing his irritable mood, she closed the door to his bedroom so she could make up the room quickly and quietly. She skipped her usual vacuuming because she knew the sound of it would annoy him. Then she left by the bedroom door to go downstairs.

Robert was wondering once again whether he had made a drastic mistake by inviting these girls— women, he corrected himself sarcastically—to reenact what had happened twenty years ago. Had his doctor’s prognosis been the reason for it? Or was it because of a perverse need to see them again, to toy with them as Betsy had toyed with them all those years ago? Had he absorbed so much of Betsy’s personality that he no longer had anything left of his own, even twenty years later? Each graduate had a reason to kill Betsy, he knew that. It would be interesting to see if one of them broke down under Alex Buckley’s questioning. He was sure Buckley was capable of detecting prepared answers.

Powell would bet that all the graduates had carefully practiced what they would say in their one-on-one interview with Buckley. He was sure they would start with their first impressions of what they saw when they ran into Betsy’s room after hearing him shout.

It seemed like only yesterday that he had walked into her bedroom carrying the cup of coffee that she had always insisted be red-hot “to get the flavor through the coffee beans.”

Rob looked down at the angry scars on his hands that had resulted from walking into Betsy’s room and seeing the pillow covering her face. Betsy’s long blond hair had spilled out from under it, her hands still clutching the pillow’s edges. She had obviously been struggling to push the pillow away from her face.

He remembered shrieking her name and trying to keep the coffee cup from spilling before his knees buckled under him. He remembered Jane leaning over him and attempting some clumsy CPR while the girls stood around the bed like ghostly wraiths. The next thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital, conscious of nothing but the pain in his hands, and calling out for Betsy.

Robert Powell leaned back in his chair. It was time to go downstairs and make some business calls. But he hesitated for a moment as he stopped to reflect on what Claire would be telling Buckley.

He realized that what had been amusing to him was no longer amusing. All he wanted now was to have these women out of this house and to resume what little time was left of his quiet and pleasant life.

Chapter 48

Alex looked at Claire Bonner across the table from him in the den. Claire had once again resisted Meg Miller’s suggestion to touch up her lashes and eyebrows. Now, as Alex looked at her, he found it incongruous to compare her with the beautiful woman who had walked into this house yesterday.

It was easy to see what had made the difference. Claire’s long lashes and well-shaped eyebrows were very pale, as was her complexion. She wore no lip coloring, and he could swear that she had washed the gold highlights out of her hair. I’ll find out what she’s up to, he thought and smiled encouragingly at her when Laurie said, “Action,” and the camera’s red light went on.

“I’m here in the home of Wall Street financier Robert Nicholas Powell,” he began, “whose beautiful wife, Betsy Bonner Powell, was murdered twenty years ago following a Graduation Gala for Betsy’s daughter, Claire, and Claire’s three closest friends and fellow graduates. Claire Bonner is with me now. Claire, I know this has to be extraordinarily difficult for all of you to be here today. Why did you agree to come on the program?”

“Because the other girls and I, and to a lesser degree my stepfather and the housekeeper, have been under suspicion as ‘persons of interest’ in Betsy’s death, which is the new way of saying it, for the last twenty years,” Claire declared passionately. “Can you have any idea of what it’s like to be in a supermarket and see your own picture on the cover of some trashy magazine with the question ‘Was she jealous of her beautiful mother’?”

“No, I can’t,” Alex replied quietly.

“Or maybe there would be a picture of the four of us lined up, as if we had had mug shots taken of us by the police. That’s why we’re here today, to make the public realize how unfairly we four young women, who were traumatized beyond belief and bullied by the police, have been treated. That’s why I’m here now, Mr. Buckley.”

“And I assume that’s why the other girls are here, too,” Alex Buckley said. “Have you done much catching up with them?”

“We actually haven’t had very much time to visit,” Claire said. “I know it’s because you people didn’t want us to put our stories together. Well, let me tell you something: we have not boned up on each other’s stories, and I think you will find that out. They’ll be pretty much the same because we were together at the moment when everything was happening.”

“Claire, before we discuss your mother’s death, I’d like to go back in time a little. Why don’t we start with your mother’s meeting with Robert Powell? I understand you had only lived in Salem Ridge a short while. Is that right?”

“Yes, it is. I had graduated from grammar school in June, and my mother wanted to move up to Westchester County. Quite frankly, I know she wanted to meet a rich man. She found a rental in a two-family house, and I can assure you there aren’t many twofamily houses in Salem Ridge.

“I started my freshman year in high school that September, and that’s when I became friends with Nina and Alison and Regina. My birthday is in October, and Mother splurged and took me to La Boehm in Bedford. Nina Craig and her mother were there. Nina spotted us, and asked us to come over and meet her mother. Of course we also met Robert Powell, who was at the table. I guess it was love at first sight for both of them, my mother and Robert. I do know that Nina’s mother has never gotten over the fact that ‘Betsy stole Rob from me when we were on the verge of becoming engaged,’ as she put it.”

“Your own father had abandoned you and your mother when you were only an infant. How did your mother manage to look after you and still work full-time?”

“My grandmother was alive until I was three years old.” Tears began to shine in Claire’s eyes as she mentioned her grandmother. “Then there was a series of babysitters, one after the other. If they failed to show up, Mother would bring me to the theatre and I’d sleep in an empty chair, or sometimes it would be in an empty dressing room if the play had a small cast. One way or the other we managed. But then Mother met Robert Powell, and of course everything changed.”

“You and your mother had been very close, I gather? Were you ever jealous of the fact that Robert Powell came so suddenly into your life and claimed so much of your mother’s time and attention?”

“I wanted her to be happy. He was obviously a very rich man. After the dinky little apartments we’d lived in all my life, it seemed like heaven to move into this beautiful house.”

“Seemed like heaven?” Alex asked quickly. “Was heaven,” Claire corrected herself.

“That was quite a year for you, Claire, moving into a new area, starting high school, then your mother’s wedding and moving into this house.”

“It was all quite a change,” Claire said with a faint smile. If you only knew, she thought. If you only knew!

“Claire, were you close to Robert Powell?”

Claire looked straight into Alex’s eyes. “Right from the beginning,” she said. Oh, I was close to him all right, she thought, remembering how she listened for the sound of her bedroom door opening.

Alex Buckley knew that behind Claire’s smooth answers there was a land mine of smoldering anger she was trying to conceal. It wasn’t all sweetness and light in this house, he thought as he decided to change his questioning. “Claire, let’s talk about the Gala. What kind of night was it? How many people were here? We have that information, of course, but I’d like to hear it from your perspective.”

Alex had foreseen that Claire would begin answering him in carefully rehearsed sentences. “It was a perfect night,” she said. “It was an absolutely balmy evening, about seventy-six degrees, I think. There was a band on the patio, and a dance floor. There were stations everywhere with all kinds of food. Near the pool a table was beautifully decorated. The center-piece was a sheet cake with all of our names on it and the symbols of the four colleges we went to in their school colors.”

“You chose to commute to Vassar, didn’t you, Claire?”

Again Alex saw a look in Claire’s eyes that he could not identify. What was it? Anger, disappointment, or both? He took a shot at what he surmised. “Claire, were you disappointed that you didn’t go away to college as your other friends did?”

“Vassar is a wonderful college. I may have missed out on a part of the college experience by commuting instead of boarding, but my mother and I were so close that I was happy to stay home.”

Claire’s smile was more of a sneer, but then she recovered herself. “We all had a wonderful time at the party,” she said. “Then, as you know, the other girls slept over. When everyone was gone we put on our pajamas and robes, went to the den, and drank wine. Lots of wine. We gossiped about the party, as girls do.”

“Were your mother and Mr. Powell with you in the den?”

“Rob said good night to us right after the last guests left. My mother sat with us for a few minutes, but then she said, ‘I want to get comfortable, the way you all are.’ She went upstairs and came back down in her nightgown and robe.”

“Did she stay long?”

For a moment there was a real smile on Claire’s lips and in her eyes. “My mother wasn’t a drunk, never think that, but she did love to have a couple of glasses of wine in the evening. She had about three glasses that night before she went upstairs. She hugged and kissed us good night, which is why we all had DNA from her hair on our pajamas or robes the next morning.”

“The other girls were very fond of your mother, weren’t they?”

“I think they were in awe of her.”

Alex knew that what Claire didn’t say was that each of the girls had a reason to hate Betsy Powell. Nina, because her mother tortured her about having introduced Robert to Betsy. Regina, because her father had lost all his money in one of Robert Powell’s investments. Alison, because she had lost out on a scholarship that she should have won but Betsy Bonner directed elsewhere. Robert Powell had donated a load of money to Alison’s college. That donation was not forgotten when the graduate scholarship was awarded to the daughter of a woman who chaired a club Betsy was desperate to join.

“After your mother said good night to all of you, did you see her again?”

“Do you mean did I see her again alive?” Claire did not wait for an answer. “My last memory of seeing my mother alive was when she turned and smiled and blew a kiss to all of us. Of course it’s a vivid memory. She was a very beautiful woman. She always wore beautiful matching nightgowns and robes. That night she was wearing a pale-blue satin set, edged in ivory lace. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, and she seemed so happy about how successful the party had been. The next time I saw her, either Rob or Jane had taken the pillow off of her face. Her eyes were wide open and staring. One hand was still clutching the pillow. I know she must have been sleepy because of all of the wine she had drunk, but I always had the feeling she put up a fight.”

Alex listened as Claire spoke in a voice that seemed to be suddenly without emotion. Her hands were now clasped together, and her face had turned even paler than it had been.

“How did you know that something was terribly wrong?” Alex asked quietly.

“I heard the most terrifying shriek coming from my mother’s room. I later learned that it was Rob, who was bringing my mother her usual cup of morning coffee. I think all of us girls were in a heavy sleep— we had talked and drunk until three A.M. We all got to the room at about the same time. Jane must have heard Robert’s shout. She got to my mother’s room first. She was on her knees bending over Robert, who had collapsed and was writhing in pain. I guess he must have rushed to grab the pillow away from my mother’s face, and the hot coffee had spilled all over his hands. The pillow was to the side of my mother’s head and had coffee stains on it.”

Alex saw that Claire’s expression suddenly turned cold. It was a startling difference from the way she had reacted to his questions about her grandmother.

“Then what happened, Claire?” he asked.

“I think it was Alison who picked up the phone and dialed 911. She shouted something like ‘We need an ambulance and the police! Betsy Bonner Powell is dead! I think she’s been murdered!’”

“What did you do while you waited for them?”

“I don’t think it was more than three minutes later that both the ambulance and the police arrived. Then it was chaos. We were literally chased out of her room. I remember the police chief ordering us to go back to our bedrooms and change our clothes. He had the nerve to say that he could see what we were wearing and we shouldn’t try to switch what we had slept in. Later we realized that those clothes would be tested for DNA as potential evidence.”

“So you changed into jeans and T-shirts similar to the ones you were photographed in this morning?”

“Yes. When we had changed we were escorted downstairs here to the den and told to wait until the police questioned us. They wouldn’t even allow us to go to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.”

“You’re still very angry about that, aren’t you, Claire?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, her voice trembling with rage. “Think about it. We were all barely twenty-one. Looking back, I realize that even though we thought we were all grown up, having just graduated from college, in reality we were just frightened kids. The interrogation they put all of us through that day, and for weeks afterward, was a travesty of justice. They called us in to the police station over and over again. That’s the reason that the press began to refer to us as ‘suspects.’”

“Who do you think killed your mother, Claire?”

“There were three hundred people at that party.

Some of them we can’t identify from the photos and film we have of that night. People were going in and out of the house to use the bathrooms. Jane had put a rope across the landing at the bottom of the staircase, but anyone could have sneaked up the stairs. My mother was wearing her emeralds that night. Anyone could have picked out her bedroom and even hidden in one of those walk-in closets. I think someone waited until he thought she would be in a deep sleep, then picked up the emeralds from her dressing table. Who knows if she started stirring and he panicked and tried to put them back? One emerald earring was found on the floor. I believe she woke up. Whoever was in that room tried to keep her from calling for help the only way that was available to him.”

“And that person, you believe, is your mother’s murderer?”

“Yes, I do. And remember, we had left the patio door open. The four of us were smokers, and my step-father absolutely forbade smoking in the house.”

“Is that why you resent the media coverage of your mother’s death?”

“That is why I am telling you that none of us here—not Rob, nor Jane, nor Nina, Regina, or Alison—had a thing to do with my mother’s death. And obviously neither did I.” Claire’s voice became shrill. “And neither did I!”

“Thank you, Claire, for sharing your memory of that terrible day when you lost the mother you loved so dearly.”

Alex reached across the table to shake Claire’s hand.

It was drenched in perspiration.

Chapter 49

On Tuesday morning, George Curtis got up at six thirty as was his custom and brushed Isabelle’s forehead softly with his lips, trying not to wake her. He felt a desperate need to touch her. He had woken often during the night and put his arm around her. Then the guilty memory would flood his brain: Betsy always wore satin nightgowns, too. Inevitably his next thought was, Isabelle, I almost lost you. I almost lost the joyful life I have been living with you and our children for nearly twenty years.

That new life had begun the morning of the Gala when Isabelle told him that she was expecting twins. That incredible news was followed by Betsy demanding $25 million for her silence about their affair. I didn’t mind paying her, George thought, but I knew it would be only the beginning of her threats to go to Isabelle.

These were the thoughts that were running through his head as he showered, dressed, and went down to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. He carried the cup out to the car, placed it in the holder, and was on his way to his office, the international headquarters of Curtis Foods, ten miles away in New Rochelle.

He loved his early morning hour-and-a-half alone time in the office. It was when he could concentrate on important mail and e-mails from his district managers all over the world. But today he could not concentrate. After going over the highly favorable earnings reports, his only reaction was that he could easily have found a way to pay Betsy and bury the payment without raising any suspicion.

But I couldn’t have trusted her, was the refrain that ran through his head.

When the office began to fill up just before nine, he greeted his longtime assistant Amy Hewes with his usual cordiality and crisply began to go over some e-mails he wanted answered immediately. But he knew he was too distracted to concentrate. At eleven-thirty he called home. “Any plans for lunch?” he asked Isabelle when she answered.

“Not one,” she said promptly. “Sharon called and asked me to meet her for golf, but I’m too lazy today. I’m stretched out on the patio. Louis is preparing gazpacho and a chicken salad. How does that sound?”

“Perfect. I’m on my way.”

As he passed Amy’s desk and told her he wouldn’t be coming back this afternoon, she looked surprised. “Don’t tell me that you, the sought-after speaker who always wows the audience, is nervous about being interviewed this afternoon?”

George tried to smile. “Maybe I am.”

The short drive seemed interminably long to him. He was so impatient to see Isabelle that he left his car in the circular driveway, bounded up the steps, threw open the door, and rushed down the long hallway to the rear of the house. Before he opened the glass door to the patio he stopped and looked out. Isabelle was sitting in one of the padded chairs, her feet on a hassock, a book in her hands. Sixty years old on her last birthday, her hair was now completely silver. She wore it in a new shorter length and with bangs. The style framed her face perfectly, with her classic features that were the product of generations of fine breeding. Her ancestors had come over on the Mayflower. Her slender body was already tanned. She had kicked off her shoes, and her ankles were crossed.

For a long minute George Curtis studied the beautiful woman who had been his wife for thirty-five years. They had met at a dance given by the senior class at Harvard. Isabelle had attended it with friends from Wellesley College. The minute she walked into the room, I made a beeline for her, George thought. But the first time I met her parents, I know they were underwhelmed. They would have preferred that our family had made its money on Wall Street, not by selling hot dogs and hamburgers.

What would her mother and father have thought had they known I was having an affair with my best friend’s wife? They’d have told Isabelle to get rid of me.

And if Isabelle had ever known, even though she was pregnant with our twins, she would have dropped me, too.

And still would, George thought grimly as he slid open the patio door. Hearing the sound, Isabelle looked up and smiled warmly. “Was it me or the menu that inspired you to join me for lunch?” she asked as she got up and kissed him warmly.

“It was you,” George replied fervently, returning her kiss and putting his arms around her.

Louis, their chef, came out onto the patio carrying a tray with two iced teas.

“Good to have you home for lunch, Mr. Curtis,” he said cheerfully.

Louis had been with them for twenty-two years. He had been working as a chef in a nearby restaurant when one evening as they were having dinner there, he came to the table. “I heard that you are looking for a new chef,” he had said quietly.

“Yes, our current chef is retiring,” George had verified.

“I would very much like to try out for the job,” Louis said. “We serve mostly Italian food here, but I am a graduate of the Culinary Institute in Hyde Park, and I promise I can offer you a wide selection of menus.”

And so he had, George thought, including preparing fresh baby food every day when the twins were born and letting them “help” him in the kitchen when they were little.

George sat in a chair near Isabelle, but as Louis placed the glass next to him, he said, “Louis, will you put my tea on the table and bring me a Bloody Mary?”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “That’s not like you, George. Are you nervous about the interview with Alex Buckley?”

He waited until the patio door closed behind Louis, then answered, “Uncomfortable rather than nervous. To me the whole idea of this program seems bizarre. I get the feeling that this is not about proving people innocent as it is proving that someone in the group was guilty of Betsy’s death.”

“Someone like you, George?”

George Curtis stared at his wife, his blood running cold. “What do you mean by that?”

“I overheard that interesting conversation you had with Betsy the night of the Gala. Even though you had pulled away from the crowd, I followed you. I was on the other side of those palms they had brought in for decoration. You didn’t realize how much you had raised your voice.”

George Curtis knew that the nightmare he had feared was happening. Was Isabelle going to tell him, now that the twins were raised, that she wanted a divorce? “Isabelle, I’m sorrier than you can possibly imagine,” he said. “Please, please forgive me.”

“Oh, I already have,” Isabelle said promptly. “Did you think that I was too stupid to suspect you were having an affair with that slut? When I overheard the two of you, I decided I wasn’t about to lose you. I realized we had grown apart, and I knew that some of it was my fault. I wasn’t going to forgive you too easily, but I’m still glad I made that decision. You’ve been a wonderful husband and father, and I love you dearly.” “I was so terribly worried and guilty all these years,” George Curtis said, his voice breaking.

“I know you were,” Isabelle said crisply. “That was my way of punishing you. Oh, here’s Louis with your Bloody Mary. I’ll bet you’re ready for it now.”

My God, I thought I knew my wife! George Curtis exclaimed to himself as he reached for the glass Louis was putting in front of him.

“Louis, I think we’re ready to have lunch now,” Isabelle said as she took a sip of her iced tea.

When Louis went back to the kitchen, Isabelle said, “George, when you warned Betsy that if she ever told me about your affair with her you would kill her, I may not have been the only one who heard you. Like I said, you didn’t realize how loud you were speaking. Then, after we came home and went to bed, I fell asleep in your arms. When I woke up at four A.M. you weren’t in bed, and it was more than an hour before you returned. I just assumed that you were downstairs watching television. You always do, if you wake up and can’t go back to sleep. When I heard Betsy had been smothered, I begged God that if you had killed her, you didn’t leave any evidence that would lead to you. If anything comes up during the filming of this program, I’ll swear that you never left our bed that night.”

“Isabelle, you don’t believe”

“George, we live only a few blocks away from them. You could have walked to their house in five minutes. You knew the layout. And frankly, I don’t care if you killed her. I know we can afford it, but I see no reason why you should have paid twenty-five million dollars in blackmail to that tramp.”

As George held her chair for her at the table, Isabelle said, “I love you so dearly, George, and the twins adore you. Don’t say anything to spoil that. Now here comes Louis with the salad. I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

Chapter 50

“Okay, guys, that was great. Take a break now. Alison Schaefer is next. We’ll start in half an hour,” Laurie said briskly. Jerry, Grace, and the camera

crew knew that was Laurie’s way of saying, “Get lost.” It was clear to them that she wanted to talk to Alex Buckley alone. As they filed out, they closed the door of the den without asking. Then Alex suggested, “Why don’t I get a cup of coffee for both of us? I know you like yours black, no sugar.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Laurie admitted.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he unfolded his long legs and stood up.

When he returned five minutes later, coffee cups in hand, Laurie was seated in the chair where Claire had been and was busy scribbling notes. “Thanks so much,” she said as he placed the cups on the table between them. “Are they all out there? I mean, is Claire talking to them about her interview with you?”

“I don’t know where Claire is, but there’s something funny going on with the rest of them,” Alex Buckley replied. “Regina is white as a ghost, and Nina and her mother are obviously having an argument on the patio. No surprise there. Alison and Rod are taking a walk near the pool. The way he has his arm around her, I think she’s terribly upset. She’s holding a handkerchief and dabbing her eyes.”

Astonished, Laurie asked, “What could have brought all that on?”

“When you and I left them, Claire followed only a few minutes behind,” Alex said, his brow furrowed. “We left the other three waiting for Josh to bring more coffee. I’m telling you, Laurie, something happened that upset all of them. Maybe I can get it out of Alison when I interview her.” His tone became crisp. “I know you want to talk to me about the interview with Claire.”

“Yes, I do,” Laurie said. “Why did you ask her so much about her relationship with Robert Powell?”

“Laurie, think about it. She and her mother had obviously been very tight for the first thirteen years of Claire’s life. Then Robert Powell enters the picture. No matter how glamorous it may have been for her to move into this mansion, there is no doubt from everything I have read that Claire’s mother and Powell were virtually inseparable. And why didn’t Claire go away to college as her friends did? Claire must have been home alone a lot of nights. From what I gathered, Betsy and Powell were out almost every night on the social scene. Why couldn’t Claire board at Vassar? Didn’t you hear and see the way Claire’s expression changed when she talked about Powell? I’m telling you right now that something was going on there,” Alex said vehemently.

Laurie stared at him, then nodded.

Alex smiled. “You caught it, too. I was sure you would. Whenever I’m preparing a case for trial, I have my investigators dig into the backgrounds of the people I’m defending as well as the ones who are on the witness stand testifying either for or against my client. One of the first things I learned was to dig below the obvious. If you ask me, Claire Bonner was not as heartsick at her mother’s death as she claims to be.”

“At first I was attributing her reaction to shock,” Laurie admitted. “Then I felt the same way. She only talked about her anger over the way the police treated her and the other girls. Not one word about grieving for her mother.” Laurie changed gears. “Now, before Alison Schaefer comes in, let me give you my first impressions of her.”

Alex sipped his coffee as Laurie continued. “Rod Kimball and Alison Schaefer were married four months after the Gala, and yet she hadn’t even invited him as her date that night. Was she rushing into a situation because of the way they were all grilled after Betsy’s death? The only other thing that I can see was that she lost out on a scholarship. It was awarded to the girl whose marks were second to hers but who happened to be the daughter of Betsy’s friend. Did the fact that Powell donated a ton of money to Alison’s college influence the scholarship award? Yes, I think it was the kind of scholarship donated by an alumnus, and the dean chose the winner at his discretion.”

Alex nodded. “You’ve done plenty of your own digging, I see.”

“Yes, I have,” Laurie agreed. “And I’ve wondered whether the fact that Rod had just signed a great contract with the Giants had anything to do with Alison suddenly marrying him. But if so, when he had that accident, she certainly stuck by him, didn’t she? Apparently he had always had a crush on her, from way back when they were in kindergarten. At the time they were married, he had a brilliant future as a quarterback. Even if the attraction was the fame and fortune of pro football, there had to be more to her feelings than that. The last twenty years are proof of it.”

“Or is it possible she was so upset about losing the scholarship that she smothered Betsy and confessed it to Rod? That would certainly have been his hold over her for all of these years,” Alex suggested.

There was a knock on the den door, and the cameraman looked in. “Laurie, are you ready for us yet?”

Laurie and Alex looked at each other. It was Alex who answered. “You bet we are. Please ask Alison Schaefer to come in now.”