treating me the way that woman did.”
Maggie spoke carefully. “I’m sure other people don’t react that way.”
“It was very upsetting to all of us. Zelda was furious.”
“Zelda?” Maggie asked.
“Nurse Markey. She knows my research and had heard me speak a number of times. I was there because of her. She had told the activities chairperson at Latham how well I lecture.”
His eyes narrowed, became cautious. She could see he was studying her. “I don’t like to talk about this. It upsets me.”
“But I would think that would be a fascinating lecture,” Maggie persisted. “And maybe those bells would be a good visual for an opening or closing shot.”
“No. Forget it. They’re all in a box up in the storeroom, and that’s where they’ll stay.”
He replaced the key under the planter. “Now don’t tell anyone it’s here, Maggie.”
“No, I won’t.”
“But if you’d like to come back yourself and maybe take some pictures of the exhibits that you think I should submit to the cable people, that would be fine. You know where to find the key.”
He walked her to her car. “I have to get back to Providence,” he said. “Will you think about the visuals and see if you can come up with some suggestions? Can I call you in a day or so?”
“Of course,” she replied as, with relief, she slid into the driver’s seat. “And thank you,” she added, knowing that she had absolutely no intention of using the key, or of ever coming back to this place if she could help it.
“See you soon, I hope. Say hello to Chief Brower for me.”
She turned the key in the ignition. “Good-bye, Earl. It was very interesting.”
“My cemetery exhibit will be interesting too. Oh, that reminds me. I better put the hearse back in the garage. Cemetery. Hearse. Funny how the mind works, isn’t it?” he said as he walked away.
As Maggie drove out onto the street, she could see in the rearview mirror that Earl was sitting in the hearse, holding a phone. His head was turned in her direction.
She could feel his eyes, wide and luminous, watching her intently until at last she was beyond his range of vision.
67
Shortly before five, Dr. William Lane arrived at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Boston, where a cocktail party and dinner for a retiring surgeon were being held. His wife, Odile, had driven up earlier to go shopping and to keep an appointment with her favorite hairdresser. As usual when they had that kind of schedule, she had taken a room for the afternoon at the hotel.
As he drove through Providence, Lane’s earlier good mood gradually dissipated. The satisfaction he had felt after hearing from the Van Hillearys had dissolved, and in its place there resounded in his mind a warning, not unlike the beeping caused by a failing battery in a smoke detector. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t clear as yet just what it was.
The mental alarm had started just as he was leaving the residence, when Sarah Bainbridge Cushing called to say she was on her way in to visit her mother again. She had informed him that Letitia Bainbridge had phoned shortly after lunch to say that she wasn’t feeling well, and that she had become terribly nervous because Nurse Markey was darting in and out of her room without knocking.
He had warned Markey about that very thing after Greta Shipley complained last week. What was she up to? Dr. Lane fumed. Well, he wouldn’t warn her again; no, he would call Prestige and tell them to get rid of her.
By the time he arrived at the Ritz, Lane was thoroughly on edge. When he got up to his wife’s room, the sight of Odile in a frilly robe, just beginning to put on her makeup, annoyed him intensely. Surely she can’t have been shopping all this time, he thought with growing irritation.
“Hi, darling,” she said with a smile, looking up girlishly as he closed the door and crossed to her. “How do you like my hair? I let Magda try something a little different. Not too many trailing tendrils, I hope?” She shook her head playfully.
True, Odile had beautiful frosted blond hair, but Lane was tired of being trapped into admiring it. “It looks all right,” he said, irritation apparent in his voice.
“Only all right?” she asked, her eyes wide, her eyelids fluttering.
“Look, Odile, I have a headache. I shouldn’t have to remind you that I’ve had a rough few weeks at the residence.”
“I know you have, dear. Look, why don’t you lie down for a while while I finish painting the lily?”
That was another coy trick of Odile’s that drove him wild, the use of “paint the lily,” when most people said “gild the lily” instead. She loved it when someone tried to correct her. When they did, she was only too happy to point out that the line was often misquoted, that Shakespeare actually had written “To gild refined gold, to paint the lily.”
The would-be intellectual, Lane thought, his teeth on edge. He glanced at his watch. “Look, Odile, that party starts in ten minutes. Don’t you think you’d better get a move on?”
“Oh, William,
She looked to be on the verge of tears.
“Of course you have,” Dr. Lane said, relenting now, his voice softer. Then he paid her the compliment he knew would appease her: “You’re a beautiful woman, Odile.” He tried to sound affectionate. “Even before you paint the lily, you’re beautiful. You could walk into that party right now and outshine every woman there.”
Then, as she began to smile, he added, “But you’re right. I
“Oh.” She sighed, knowing what was coming. “But how disappointing! I was looking forward to seeing everybody here tonight, and to spending time with them. I love our guests, but we do seem to give our whole lives to them.”
It was the reaction he had hoped to receive. “I’m not going to let you be disappointed,” he said firmly. “You stay and enjoy yourself. In fact, keep the room overnight and come back tomorrow. I don’t want you driving home at night unless I’m following you.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. I’ll just make an appearance at the party now and head back. You can say hello for me to anyone who asks.” The warning beep in his head had become a keening siren. He wanted to bolt, but he paused to kiss her good-bye.
She took his face between her hands. “Oh, darling, I hope nothing happens to Mrs. Bainbridge, at least not for a long while. She is very old, of course, and can’t be expected to live forever, but she’s such a dear. If you suspect anything is seriously wrong, please call her own doctor in immediately. I wouldn’t want you to have to sign yet another death certificate for one of our ladies so soon after the last one. Remember all the trouble at the last residence.”
He took her hands from his face and held them. He wanted to strangle her.
68
When Maggie got back to the house, she stood for long minutes on the porch, breathing in deeply, inhaling the fresh, clean, salt scent of the ocean. It seemed to her that after the museum visit the smell of death was in her nostrils.
