He had a friendly father-daughter conversation with Beth. “My little girl is getting prettier every day. I’m going to have to build a fence around this house to keep away all the boys who’ll be coming after you.” While she was getting dinner, he nuzzled Susan’s neck. “We should go dancing some night, honey. Remember how we used to dance in college?” Like a cold wind, that ended the fantasy that maybe she had been ridiculous in suspecting him of anything stronger than womanizing. Dancing shoes found on dead bodies.
Later, in bed, Doug reached for her. “Susan, have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“Many times, but one stands out in my mind. “When I lied for you after Nan Sheridan died.
Doug pulled up on one elbow, stared down at her in the dark. “Now when was that?” he asked teasingly.
Don’t let him know what you’re thinking. “The day we were married, of course.” She laughed nervously. “Oh, Doug, no. Please, I’m really tired.” She could not bear his touch. She realized she was afraid of him.
“Susan, what the hell is the matter with you? You’re trembling.”
Sunday was more of the same. Family togetherness. But Susan could spot the wary expression in Doug’s eyes, the lines of worry around his mouth. Do I have an obligation to report my suspicions to the police? And if I admit that I lied for him fifteen years ago, could I go to prison too? And if that happened, what would become of the children? And if he suspected I was going to tell the police that I lied for him about the morning Nan died, how would he try to stop me?
XX MONDAY March 11
On Monday morning, Vince called Nona. “I’ve got a shrink for your program. Dr. Martin Weiss. A nice guy. Sensible. A member of AAPL and very knowledgeable. He says it straight and he’s willing to do the show. Want to take down his number?” “Absolutely.” Nona repeated it, then added, “I like Hank, Vince. He’s terrific.”
“He wants to know if you’d like to see him pitch when baseball starts.”
“I’ll bring the Cracker Jacks.”
Nona phoned Dr. Weiss. He agreed to come to the studio at four o’clock on Wednesday. “We tape at five. It will be aired Thursday night at eight.”
Darcy spent a good part of Monday in the warehouse tagging furniture for the hotel. At four o’clock she arrived at Sheridan Galleries. An auction was taking place. She saw Chris standing on the side of the first row, his back to her. She slipped down the corridor to the conference room. Many of the snapshots were dated. She wanted to find others in that same time frame. Maybe she’d come across another picture of the student who had seemed vaguely familiar. At six-thirty she was still at it. Chris came in. She looked up, smiling. “The bidding out there sounded hot and heavy. Was it a good day?” “Very. No one told me you were here. I noticed the light was on.” “I’m glad you did. Chris, does this fellow look like the one I pointed out yesterday?”
He studied it. “Yes, it does. My mother left a message a few minutes ago. She saw Janet today. That guy was one of the many questioned in Nan ’s death. He had a crush on her, I gather. His name was Doug Fox.” At Darcy’s shocked expression he asked, “You know him then?”
“As Doug Fields. Through a personal ad.”
Honey, they called an emergency meeting. I can’t talk, but a company we’ve recommended to our biggest client is going under.” Somehow Susan got through the evening. She gave the baby and Trish a bath and helped Donny and Beth with their homework.
At last she was able to turn out the lights and go to bed. For hours she lay sleepless. He’d managed to stay home for a weekend. Now he was on the loose again. And if he was responsible for the deaths of those girls, she was equally guilty.
It would be so easy if she could only run away. Bundle the kids in the car and drive as far as they could go.
But it didn’t work like that.
The next afternoon when she’d seen Trish off on the school bus and put Conner down for his nap, Susan picked up the phone and asked information for the number of the FBI headquarters in Manhattan.
She dialed and waited. A voice said, “Federal Bureau of Investigation.” It was not too late to disconnect. Susan shut her eyes, forced her voice above a whisper. “I want to talk to someone about the dancing-shoe murders. I may have some information.”
On Monday evening, Darcy met Nona for dinner at Neary’s and filled her in about Doug Fox. “Vince was out when I tried to reach him,” she said. “I left word with his assistant.” She broke off a piece of roll and lightly buttered it. “Nona, Doug Fox, or Doug Fields as he introduced himself to me, is exactly the kind of guy Erin would have enjoyed and trusted. He’s good looking, bright, artistic, and he’s got one of those boyish faces that would appeal to a nurturer like Erin.” Nona looked grave. “It’s pretty scary that he was questioned in Nan Sheridan’s death. You’d better not see him again. Of course, Vince did say that a lot of guys don’t give their right names when they answer these ads.” “But how many others were questioned in Nan Sheridan’s death?” “Just don’t get your hopes up. So far, it isn’t really more of a lead than the fact that Jay Stratton also went to Brown or that Erin ’s superintendent worked near Nan Sheridan’s home fifteen years ago.”
“I just want it to be over,” Darcy sighed.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore. You’ve been eating and breathing it. How’s work going?”
“Oh, I’ve been neglecting it, of course. But I did have a nice call today about a room I did for a sixteen-year- old girl who had a terrible accident. I used some of Erin ’s things to furnish it. The mother wanted me to know that her daughter Lisa came home from the hospital Saturday and loves the room. And you know what the mother said really got Lisa excited?” “What?”
“Remember the poster Erin had on the wall opposite her bed? The one of the Egret painting?”
“Sure I do. ‘Loves Music, Loves to Dance.’”
They hadn’t noticed that Jimmy Neary had come up to their table. “That’s it,” he said vehemently. “By heaven, that’s it. That’s the way the ad began that fell out of Erin ’s pocket, right here on this very spot.”
XXI TUESDAY March 12
Susan hired a babysitter on Tuesday and took the train down to New York. Vince had asked her to come in. “I can understand how difficult this is for you, Mrs. Fox,” he’d said carefully. He did not tell her that they already had a connection to her husband. “We’ll do everything to keep our investigation from the media, but the more we know, the easier that will be.” At eleven o’clock, Susan was in FBI headquarters. “You can contact the Harkness Agency,” she told Vince. “They’ve been trailing Doug. I would like to think he’s just a philanderer, but if it’s more than that, I can’t let it go on.” Vince saw the agony in the face of the pretty young woman opposite him. “No, you can’t let it go on,” he said quietly. “However, it’s a long jump from knowing your husband is playing around to thinking that he might be a serial killer. How did you make that jump?”
“I was only twenty and I was so in love with him.” It was as though Susan was talking to herself.
“How long ago was that?”
“Fifteen years.”
Vince kept his face impassive. “What happened at that time, Mrs. Fox?” Her eyes fixed somewhere on the wall behind him, Susan told Vince about lying for Doug when Nan Sheridan died and how Doug had called out Erin’s name in his sleep the night her body was discovered.
