Mercedes four-door sedan drove away from the Reardon home. I know that for a fact. Absolutely.”
43
Jonathan Hoover was not enjoying his predinner martini this evening. Usually he savored this time of day, sipping the smooth gin diluted with precisely three drops of vermouth and enhanced with two olives, sitting in his wing chair by the fire, conversing with Grace about the day.
Tonight, added to his own concerns, it was obvious that something was troubling Grace. If the pain was worse than usual he knew she would never admit it. They never discussed her health. Long ago he had learned not to ask more than a perfunctory, “How do you feel, dear?”
The answer was inevitably, “Not bad at all.”
The increasing rheumatic assault on her body did not prevent Grace from dressing with her innate elegance. Nowadays she always wore long loose sleeves to cover her swollen wrists and in the evening, even when they were alone, chose flowing hostess gowns that concealed the steadily progressing deformity of her legs and feet.
Propped up as she was, in a half-lying position on the couch, the curvature in her spine was not apparent, and her luminous gray eyes were beautiful against the alabaster white of her complexion. Only her hands, the fingers gnarled and twisted, were visible indicators of her devastating illness.
Because Grace always stayed in bed till midmorning, and Jonathan was an early riser, the evening was their time to visit and gossip. Now Grace gave him a wry smile. “I feel as though I’m looking in a mirror, Jon. You’re upset about something too, and I bet it’s the same thing that was bothering you earlier, so let me go first. I spoke to Kerry.”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“I’m afraid she has no intention of letting go of the Reardon case.”
“What did she tell you?”
“It’s what she didn’t tell me. She was evasive. She listened to me, then said that she had reason to believe that Dr. Smith’s testimony was false. She did acknowledge that she had no concrete reason to believe that Reardon wasn’t the murderer, but she felt it was her obligation to explore the possibility that there might have been a miscarriage of justice.”
Jonathan’s face flushed to a deep, angry red. “Grace, there’s a point where Kerry’s sense of justice approaches the ludicrous. Last night I was able to persuade the governor to delay submitting to the senate the names of candidates for appointment to the bench. He agreed.”
“Jonathan!”
“It was the only thing I could do short of asking him to withhold Kerry’s appointment for the present. I had no choice. Grace, Prescott Marshall has been an outstanding governor. You know that. Working with him, I’ve been able to lead the senate in getting necessary reforms into law, in revising the tax structure, in attracting business to the state, in welfare reform that doesn’t mean depriving the poor while searching out the welfare cheats. I want Marshall back in four years. I’m no great fan of Frank Green, but as governor he’ll be a good benchwarmer and won’t undo what Marshall and I have accomplished. On the other hand, if Green fails, and if the other party gets in, then everything we’ve accomplished will be taken apart.”
Suddenly the intensity the anger had inspired drained from his face and he looked to Grace only very tired and every minute of his sixty-two years.
“I’ll invite Kerry and Robin to dinner Sunday,” Grace said. “That will give you another chance to talk sense to her. I don’t think anyone’s future should be sacrificed for that Reardon man.”
“I’m going to call her tonight,” Jonathan told her.
44
Geoff Dorso rang the doorbell at exactly seven-thirty and once again was greeted by Robin. She was still wearing her witch’s costume and makeup. Her eyebrows were thick with charcoal. Pasty white powder covered her skin except where the lacerations streaked her chin and cheek. A wig of tangled black hair flapped around her shoulders.
Geoff jumped back. “You scared me.”
“Great,” Robin said enthusiastically. “Thanks for being on time. I’m due at a party. It’s starting right now, and there’s a prize for the scariest costume. I need to be going.”
“You’ll win in a landslide,” Geoff told her as he stepped into the foyer. Then he sniffed. “Something smells good.”
“Mom’s making garlic bread,” Robin explained, then called, “Mom, Mr. Dorso’s here.”
The kitchen was at the back of the house. Geoff smiled as the door swung open and Kerry emerged, drying her hands on a towel. She was dressed in green slacks and a green cowl-neck sweater. Geoff couldn’t help but notice how the overhead light accentuated the gold streaks in her hair and the spray of freckles across her nose.
She looks about twenty-three, he thought, then realized that her warm smile did not disguise the concern in her eyes.
“Geoff, good to see you. Go inside and be comfortable. I have to walk Robin down the block to a party.”
“Why not let me do that?” Geoff suggested. “I’ve still got my coat on.”
“I guess that would be okay,” Kerry said slowly, assessing the situation, “but be sure to see her inside the door, won’t you? I mean, don’t just leave her at the driveway.”
“Mom,” Robin protested, “I’m not scared anymore. Honest.”
“Well, I am.”
What’s that about? Geoff wondered. He said, “Kerry, all of my sisters are younger than I am. Until they went to college, I was forever dropping them off and picking them up, and God help me if I didn’t see them safely inside wherever they were going. Get your broom, Robin. I assume you have one.”
As they walked along the quiet street, Robin told him about the car that had frightened her. “Mom acts cool about everything, but I can tell she’s freaking out,” she confided. “She worries about me too much. I’m sort of sorry I told her about it.”
Geoff stopped short and looked down at her. “Robin, listen to me. It’s a lot worse not to tell your mother when something like that happens. Promise me you won’t make that mistake.”
“I won’t. I already promised Mom.” The exaggerated painted lips separated in a mischievous smile. “I’m real good at keeping promises except when it comes to getting up on time. I hate getting up.”
“So do I,” Geoff agreed fervently.
Five minutes later, when he was sitting on a counter stool in the kitchen watching Kerry make a salad, Geoff decided to try a direct approach. “Robin told me about this morning,” he said. “Is there a reason to worry?”
Kerry was tearing freshly washed lettuce into the salad bowl. “One of our investigators, Joe Palumbo, talked to Robin this afternoon. He’s concerned. He thinks that a car doing a reckless U-turn a few feet from where you’re walking could make anybody jumpy, but Robin was so specific about the window opening and then a hand appearing with something pointing at her… Joe suggested that somebody might have taken her picture.”
Geoff heard the tremor in Kerry’s voice.
“But why?”
“I don’t know. Frank Green feels that it might be connected to that case I just prosecuted. I don’t agree. I could have nightmares wondering if some nut may have seen Robin and developed a fixation. That’s another possibility.” She began to tear the lettuce with savage force. “The point is, what can I do about it? How do I protect her?”
“It’s pretty tough to carry that worry alone,” Geoff said quietly.
