Nighttime Is My Time

his cavalier dismissal of Alison Kendall's death. 'There's also a Danish proverb that says fish and guests smell after three days,' he observed. Especially dead guests, he thought.

'That was more famously paraphrased by Benjamin Franklin,' Joel Nieman said quickly.

'Are you familiar with the Shakespeare quote about dead lilies?' Sam asked. 'It's somewhat in the same vein.'

Nieman's laugh was an unpleasant, mirthless bark. ' 'Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.' That's a line from one of his sonnets. Sure, I know it. In fact, it's one I think about a lot. My mother-in-law's name is Lily.'

***

Sam drove from Rye to the Glen-Ridge House faster than he approved, allowing the speedometer to climb. He had asked the honorees and Jack Emerson to meet him for dinner at seven-thirty. His gut instinct had been that one of the five men-Carter Stewart, Robby Brent, Mark Fleischman, Gordon Amory, or Emerson-held the key to Laura's disappearance. Now, after interviewing Joel Nieman, he wasn't as sure.

In effect, Nieman had admitted that he did not go home alone the night of the dinner. At Stonecroft he had been the prime suspect in the locker incident. He'd almost gone to jail for assaulting another man in a bar fight. He made no attempt to conceal his satisfaction that Alison Kendall was dead.

At the very least, Joel Nieman could use a great deal more scrutiny, Sam reasoned.

It was exactly seven-thirty when Sam entered the Glen-Ridge House. On the way into the private room, he passed the omnipresent Jake Perkins, sprawled on a chair in the lobby. Perkins jumped to his feet. 'Any new developments, sir?' he asked cheerfully.

If there were, you'd be the last to know, Sam thought, but he managed not to let his annoyance show in his voice. 'Nothing to report, Jake. Why don't you go home?'

'Pretty soon I'll be on my way. Oh, here's Dr. Sheridan. I'd like to catch her for a minute.'

Jean was coming out of the elevator. Even from a distance Sam could see that there was something about her that suggested distress. It was the way she walked so quickly across the lobby toward the dining room. That sense of urgency made his own step quicken to catch up with her.

They met at the door of the dining room. Jean started to say, 'Sam, I heard from-' Then, noticing Jake Perkins, she closed her lips.

Nighttime Is My Time 183

Perkins had overheard. 'Who did you hear from, Dr. Sheridan? Was it Laura Wilcox?'

'Go away,' Sam said firmly. He took Jean's arm, propelled her through the dining room door, and closed it firmly.

Carter Stewart, Gordon Amory, Mark Fleischman, Jack Emerson, and Robby Brent were already there. A small bar had been set up, and all the men stood around with glasses in hand. At the click of the door they all turned, but when they saw the expression on Jean's face, any greetings they were about to offer were forgotten.

'I just heard from Laura,' she told them. 'I just heard from

Laura.'

Over dinner the initial relief they all felt began to be replaced by uncertainty. 'I was shocked to hear Laura's voice,' Jean said. 'But then she hung up before I could ask her anything.'

'She didn't sound nervous or upset?' Jack Emerson asked.

'No. If anything, she sounded upbeat. But she didn't give me a chance to ask her a single question.'

'Are you sure you were speaking to Laura?' Gordon Amory asked the question that Sam knew was on everyone's mind.

'I think I was,' Jean said slowly. 'But if you asked me to swear under oath that it was Laura, I couldn't do it. It sounded like her, out…' She hesitated. 'I have friends in Virginia, a couple, who sound exactly alike on the phone. They've been married fifty years, and the timbre of their voices is the same. I say, 'Hello, Jane,' and David laughs and says, 'Guess again.' Then when we've been chat-ting a few moments, of course I can pick up their different nuances. It was something like that with Laura's call. The voice is the same, but maybe not exactly the same. We didn't talk long enough to be certain one way or the other.'

The point is, though, that if the phone call was from Laura and she's aware that she's considered missing, why wouldn't she be somewhat more specific about her plans?' Gordon Amory asked. 'I wouldn't put it past someone like that Perkins kid to try to keep his hot story going by pulling a stunt like this. Laura was on that TV series for a couple of years. She has a distinctive voice. Maybe some drama student Perkins knows is imitating her for him.'

'What do you think, Sam?' Mark Fleischman asked.

'If you want a cop's response, it's that whether or not Laura Wilcox made that call, I'm not satisfied by it.'

Fleischman nodded. 'That's the way I feel.'

Carter Stewart was cutting his steak with decisive strokes. 'There is another factor that should be considered. Laura is an actress on the skids. I happen to know she's just this side of being homeless.'

He glanced around the table and looked smugly at the startled expressions on the faces of the others. 'My agent phoned. There was a juicy little item in the business section of the L.A. Times today. The IRS is foreclosing on Laura's house to satisfy a tax lien.'

He paused to lift the fork to his lips, then continued: 'Which means that Laura may well be desperate. Publicity is the name of the game for an actress. Good publicity, bad publicity, it doesn't really matter. Anything to keep your name in the headlines. Maybe this is her way of doing it. Mysterious disappearance. Mysterious phone call. Frankly, I think we're all wasting our time worrying about her.'

'It never crossed my mind that you were worried about her, Carter,' Robby Brent commented. 'I think that other than Jean, the only person who really might be concerned is our chairman, Jack Emerson. Right, Jack?'

'What's this?' Sam wondered aloud.

Robby smiled innocently. 'Jack and I had a date this morning to look at some real estate that I might invest in, or at least might have considered investing in were it not so wildly overpriced. Jack was on the phone when I got to his place, and while I waited for him to talk to yet another few potential suckers, I looked over the collection of pictures in his den. There was a pretty sentimental inscription on one of Laura, dated exactly two weeks ago. 'Love and kisses and hugs to my favorite classmate.' It makes me wonder, Jack. How many hugs and kisses did she give you over the weekend, and is she still giving them to you?'

For an instant Jean thought that Jack Emerson would physically attack Robby Brent. Emerson bolted up, slapped both hands on the table, and stared across at Robby. Then, in a visible effort to control himself, he clenched his teeth and slowly lowered himself back into the chair. 'There is a lady present,' he said quietly. 'Otherwise, I'd be using the kind of language you understand best, you miserable little toad. Maybe you've made a good living ridiculing people who managed to accomplish something in their lives, but as far as I'm concerned, you're still the same bird brained dope who couldn't find his way to the bathroom at Stonecroft.'

Dismayed at the exchange of raw hostility, Jean's eyes swept the room to be sure there was no waiter present to overhear Jack Emerson's outburst. When her gaze reached the door, she could see that it was partly open. She had no doubt as to who was on the other side, taking in every word of the conversation.

She exchanged glances with Sam Deegan. Sam stood up. 'If you'll excuse me, I think I'd better skip coffee,' he said. 'I have a phone call to trace.'

51

Peggy Kimball was a generously sized woman of about sixty who emanated an air of warmth and intelligence. Her salt-and-pepper hair had a natural wave; her complexion was smooth except for the fine lines around her mouth and eyes. Jean had the immediate impression that Peggy was a no-nonsense person and that it would take a lot to faze her.