She felt a rush of dirt on her hand. Frantically she tried to poke open the vent with her finger. More dirt tumbled down.
“Oh, one more thing, Maggie,” he said, his voice suddenly more muffled. “I took the bells from the other graves. I thought that was a good idea. I’ll put them back when they bury the bodies again. Sweet dreams.”
She heard the thump of something hitting the air vent; then she heard nothing. He was gone. She was sure of it. The vent was packed. She did the only thing she could think of to help herself. She flexed and unflexed her left hand so that the string on her ring finger would keep the mud from hardening around it. Please God, she prayed, let someone see that the bell is moving.
How long would it be before she used up all the oxygen? she wondered. Hours? A day?
“Neil, help me, help me,” she whispered. “I need you. I love you.
84
Letitia Bainbridge had absolutely refused to go to the hospital. “You can cancel that ambulance or ride in it yourself,” she tartly informed her daughter, “but I’m not going anywhere.”
“But Mother, you’re not well,” Sarah Cushing protested, knowing full well that to argue with her was useless. When her mother got a certain mulelike look, there was no point in further discussion.
“Who’s well at ninety-four?” Mrs. Bainbridge asked. “Sarah, I appreciate your concern, but there’s a lot going on around here, and I don’t intend to miss it.”
“Will you at least take your meals on a tray?”
“Not dinner. You do realize Dr. Evans checked me out just a few days ago. There’s nothing wrong with me that being fifty wouldn’t cure.”
Sarah Cushing gave up the argument reluctantly. “Very well, but you’ve got to promise me one thing. If you don’t feel well, you’ll let me take you to Dr. Evans again. I don’t want Dr. Lane treating you.”
“Neither do I. Sneak that she is, Nurse Markey did see a change in Greta Shipley last week and tried to get Lane to do something about it. He, of course, couldn’t find anything; he was wrong and she was right. Does anyone know why the police were talking to her?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, find out!” she snapped. Then in a quieter tone, she added, “I’m so worried about that wonderful girl, Maggie Holloway. So many young people today are so indifferent or impatient with old fossils like me. Not her. We’re all praying that she’ll be found.”
“I know, and so am I,” Sarah Cushing agreed.
“All right, go downstairs and find out the latest. Start with Angela. She doesn’t miss a thing.”
Neil had called on the car phone to tell Dr. Lane he would like to stop by to discuss the Van Hillearys’ interest in residing at Latham Manor. He found Lane’s voice curiously indifferent when he agreed to a meeting.
They were admitted to Latham Manor by the same attractive young maid they had seen before. Neil remembered that her name was Angela. When they arrived she was talking to a handsome woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties.
“I’ll let Dr. Lane know you’re here,” Angela said softly. As she crossed the entrance hall to the intercom, the older woman came over to them.
“I don’t want to seem inquisitive, but are you from the police?” she asked.
“No, we’re not,” Robert Stephens said quickly. “Why do you ask? Is there a problem?”
“No. Or at least I certainly hope not. Let me explain. I am Sarah Cushing. My mother, Letitia Bainbridge, is a resident here. She has become very fond of a young woman named Maggie Holloway, who seems to have gone missing, and she is terribly anxious for any news about her.”
“We’re very fond of Maggie, too,” Neil said, once again experiencing the lump in his throat that now was threatening to undermine his composure. “I wonder if it would be possible to speak to your mother after we see Dr. Lane?”
Noting a look of uncertainty in Sarah Cushing’s eyes, he felt he had to explain. “We’re groping at straws to see if Maggie may have said anything to anyone, even casually, that might help us to find her.”
He bit his lip, unable to go on.
Sarah Cushing studied him, sensing his distress. Her frosty blue eyes softened. “Absolutely. You can see Mother,” she said briskly. “I’ll wait in the library for you and take you up when you’re ready.”
The maid had returned. “Dr. Lane is ready to see you,” she said.
For the second time, Neil and Robert Stephens followed her to Lane’s office. Neil reminded himself that as far as the doctor was concerned, he was here to discuss the Van Hillearys. He forced himself to remember the questions that he had intended to ask, on their behalf. Was the residence owned and operated by Prestige, or was it franchised by them? He would need proof of sufficient reserve capital.
Was there any allowance for the Van Hillearys if they opted to decorate and refurbish the suite themselves?
Both men were shocked when they reached Dr. Lane’s office. The man seated at the desk was so radically changed that it was like seeing and talking to a different human being. The suave, smiling, courteous director they had met last week was gone.
Lane looked ill and defeated. His skin was gray, his eyes sunken. Listlessly he invited them to sit down, then said, “I understand you have some questions. I’ll be happy to answer them. However, a new director will be meeting your clients when they come up on the weekend.”
He’s been fired, Neil thought. Why? he wondered. He decided to plunge ahead. “Look, I don’t know what’s been going on here, obviously, and I’m not asking you to explain the reasons behind your departure.” He paused. “But I am aware that your bookkeeper had been giving out privileged financial information. That was one of my concerns.”
“Yes, that’s something that has just been brought to our attention. I’m very sure it won’t happen again in this establishment,” Lane said.
“I can sympathize,” Neil continued. “In the investment business, we unfortunately always seem to face the problem of insider trading.” He knew his father was looking at him curiously, but he had to try to learn if that was the reason Lane was being fired. Secretly he doubted it and suspected that it had something to do with the sudden deaths of some of the residents.
“I’m aware of the problem,” Lane said. “My wife worked in a securities firm in Boston -Randolph and Marshall- before I took this position. It would seem that dishonest people crop up everywhere. Ah, well, let me try to answer whatever questions you have. Latham Manor is a wonderful residence, and I can assure you that our guests are very happy here.”
When they left fifteen minutes later, Robert Stephens said, “Neil, that guy is scared stiff.”
“I know. And it’s not just because of his job.” I’m wasting time, he thought. He had brought up Maggie’s name, and Lane’s only response was an expression of polite concern for her welfare.
“Dad, maybe we should skip meeting with anyone here,” he said as they reached the entrance hall. “I’m going to break into Maggie’s house to search it. Maybe there’s something there that will give us some idea of where she was going last night.”
Sarah Cushing was waiting for them, however. “I phoned up to Mother. She wants very much to meet you.”
Neil was about to protest but saw his father’s warning glance. Robert Stephens said, “Neil, why don’t you pay a visit for a few minutes? I’ll make some calls from the car. I was about to tell you that I happened to keep an extra key to the new lock on Maggie’s door, in case she ever forgot hers. I told her about it. I’ll call your mother and have her meet us there with it. And I’ll call Detective Haggerty, too.”
It would take his mother half an hour to get to Maggie’s house, Neil calculated. He nodded. “I’d like to meet your mother, Mrs. Cushing.”
On the way up to Letitia Bainbridge’s room he decided to ask her about the lecture that Earl Bateman gave at
