She handed it over and I fished out the note with Mark and Penny's name on it. Louis was a lawyer in Greenwich. Maybe he would recognize the letterhead.
“Walter Crispus,” he said, glancing at it. “Of course. I haven't had occasion to deal with him, but he's very well known in certain circles.”
“Don't be coy,” said Peg. “What you're trying to say is, you don't really approve but he's probably making a fortune. What does he do?”
“He's a go-between,” said Louis. “He arranges private adoptions.”
Thirty-three
“So that's what Penny meant when she said they were working on it,” I said, when we reached the cars.
“I told you she was too old to be having a baby,” Aunt Peg sniffed.
The point wasn't worth arguing. But Penny's age did raise an interesting thought. She and Mark were in their forties, old enough to maybe feel that they were running out of time. I wondered how long they'd been trying to adopt. I wondered if they'd been turned down before.
I knew that finding a healthy baby to adopt wasn't easy. In private adoptions, birth mothers often had their choice of applicants. Mark and Penny's ages could be a strike against them. Might they have been worried that two strikes would be too many?
Aunt Peg must have been thinking the same thing, because she said, “Didn't you tell me Mark and Penny's note had to do with her drinking?”
“Yes. And we both said the same thing. Big deal, everybody already knows about that.”
Aunt Peg reached out and opened her car door. “Everybody but Walter Crispus, perhaps.”
Now we were getting somewhere.
“Let's go,” I said.
“Where?”
“To the Romanos'. Do you know where they live?”
“Of course I know where they live. I'm the club secretary, I know where all the club members live. But it won't do us any good. I saw Mark at the show yesterday and he mentioned that he and Penny were showing today at Riverhead.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, I have to get back and tend to my litter. But later this evening, I know exactly where Penny and Mark will be.”
“Where?”
“Lydia's holding her reception for Thelma Gooding, remember? Nearly the entire club will turn out. Why don't you come along as my guest?”
The idea had immediate appeal. I thought about everything Louis and Sharon had said and realized that things were finally beginning to fall into place. It was time to gather all the suspects in Monica's murder together, and and let the situation bring itself to a head.
“That sounds perfect,” I said. “I'll meet you there.”
In the car on the way home, I thought about Mark's patience in dealing with Davey, and the dreamy expression on Penny's face when she'd told him it wouldn't be long until they had children of their own. Obviously both were very anxious to become parents.
Monica, in her own devious way, had gathered up a treasure trove of secrets. If she'd told what she knew, Cy had stood to lose money; Lydia, her reputation. Joanne had a position on the Board at stake; Louis, possibly his livelihood. On a scale of importance, where did a baby fit into all that? Had the Romanos wanted a child badly enough to feel that the taking of a life was justified in return?
Â
When I got home, Bob and Faith were there, but Davey wasn't.
“Somebody called,” said Bob. He barely looked up, he was so engrossed in an old rerun of
Charlie's Angels
on the TV. “He's down the street at Joey Bricklayer's house.”
“Brickman,” I corrected. I gave Faith a pat, then walked around the couch and switched off the set. “The boy's name is Joey Brickman. Davey's your son, Bob. How could you let him leave with someone whose name you couldn't even remember?”
Bob looked up at me and grinned. He patted the couch beside him, inviting me to sit. My heart used to turn over when he looked at me like that. Fortunately, that was a long time ago. I sat in a chair instead.
“You're not about to run out on me again, are you?”
“No. Why?”
“I want to continue the conversation we started this morning. I think it's time.”
“Okay,” I said carefully, wondering what was coming.
“I need to go back a bit,” said Bob. “I don't necessarily expect you to understand, but I do want you to listen. There are two sides to every story. Maybe I should have told you mine five years ago. Maybe I wasn't sure you'd want to hear it.”
“Go on.”
“You know I loved you, there was never any question of that.”
“No,” I agreed softly. “There wasn't.”
“I married you because I was afraid I'd lose you otherwise. Even with love, that's a terrible way to start a marriage.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Bob shrugged. “I thought everyone had doubts. I figured that was just the way it was. The next thing I knew, all the guys I knew were still out cruising and carrying on, and I was stuck with a wife and a house in the suburbs.”
“Stuck?” I repeated.
Bob's gaze was unapologetic. “I'm just telling you how it felt to me at the time. I made a mistake, I admit it. I was too young to be married, and I was certainly too young to be a father.”
At least we agreed on that.
“I just felt so trapped. I don't know if you can imagine it. There were days when I'd sit in my office and think I was suffocating. I didn't want to come home at night. I didn't want to go to work. I didn't know what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I had to get out.”
A shiver skated through me. I'd never realized how he felt. Maybe I'd never wanted to. Faith poked my hand with her nose. I scratched under her chin, and she pressed against my thigh.
“Why didn't you tell me any of this?”
“I couldn't. At the time ... maybe ...” Bob's gaze slid away. “Maybe I thought you were the problem.”
“So you left.”
“I had to. I didn't have any choice.”
I slumped back in my chair, feeling defeated. In the end, we all do what we feel we need to do to save our own lives.
“I've thought a lot about Davey in the last four years. And you, too,” Bob amended hastily. “I wondered what things would have been like if I'd toughed it out. I knew I owed it to myself to come back and find out.”
What about what you owed your son? I wanted to ask, but didn't. Bob and I were finally talking. I'd let him tell his story his own way.
“And?”
“Being a father isn't exactly like I imagined.”
That was a news flash. He hadn't had to drive here all the way from Texas to discover that; I could have told him over the phone. Not that he'd have believed me. Bob always did have a way of seeing only what he wanted to see.
“I've been doing a lot of thinking lately,” he said. “And Peter told me that the most important thing is to do what's right for Davey. I think he has a point.”
“Of course, he has a point.” I stopped, frowning. “Peter?”
“You know, Rose's husband?”
“I know Peter. I just didn't realize that the two of you had met.”
“We got to know each other at Frank's house. We had dinner together a couple of times.”
“You did?”
“Why not? They invited me, and they seemed like nice people.”
Why not indeed? I wondered what Rose had been up to. Like Aunt Peg, she likes to hover in the background and pull strings. The women are two of the world's all-time great manipulators. That's why they make such good adversaries.
“Talking to Peter helped me to clarify some things I was already thinking. I love Davey, he's a great kid. But I don't think joint custody is the best idea right now.”
“You don't?” I strove to keep my voice level.
“Maybe when he's older, we'll rethink it. But you know I'm working, and Jennifer has a job, too ...”
As if I didn't. If he told me children took up too much time, I was going to smack him.
“Davey's too young for the kind of arrangement I had in mind. But now that we've gotten to know one another, we could start out slowly. Maybe he could come to Texas for a visit sometime.”
“Maybe he could,” I allowed, not making any promises.
“And I could come back here. Maybe even bring Jennifer with me.”
“That would be interesting.”
Luckily for him, Bob didn't comment on my tone.
I was getting what I wanted, I thought. So why wasn't I happier? Maybe because for the first time, I was seeing what had happened between us from his point of view. For the first time, I was having to consider that maybe it hadn't all been his fault.
There had to have been signs of his discontent. How had I been so wrapped up in Davey that I'd never even noticed? Why hadn't we been able to have this talk five years ago?
“He really is a terrific kid,” said Bob.
I smiled. “I know.”
“I was thinking about what you said earlier, about working out a schedule for child support?” He got up, went into the kitchen and returned with some papers. “I put this together. See what you think.”
I skimmed over what he had written. What I thought was that if Bob kept up his end, I could afford to get the house painted and maybe even take Davey on a small vacation over the summer.
I glanced up at him. “The courts worked out a schedule for us that wasn't as generous as this one, and you didn't stick to that.”
“I figured you might say that. I even figured maybe I deserved to hear it.” He reached in his pocket and dug out a check. “This is for the first three months. I thought quarterly payments made the most sense.”
He wasn't kidding. For a moment, I almost thought he might be. But when I reached up and took the check I saw that it was made out to me in the promised amount. I stared at it for a long moment.
“It won't bounce,” Bob said.
“I wasn't thinking that.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “No, actually I was thinking how much you've changed.”
Bob squatted down in front of my chair. “For the better, I hope.”
“Yes, for the better.” I looked at my ex-husband with his melting eyes and his easy grace. A man I'd once loved to distraction, a man who would always be the father of my child. I sighed softly. “Maybe we were both too young. It's too bad we didn't meet later. Maybe we could have made a go of it.”
“Maybe,” Bob agreed. “But now you have Sam.”
“And you have Jennifer.”
And neither one of us could go back in time to where we'd been before.
“I'll be going home tomorrow,” Bob said. “I figured I'd tell Davey tonight. I'll leave him my address. He can send me pictures, if he wants. And I'll send him letters back. Do you think he'll be okay with that?”
I nodded, pleased. “I think he'll be just fine.”
Faith jumped up and ran from the room. She knocked Bob slightly and he steadied himself by placing his hands on the sides of my chair.
“How about a hug?” he said softly. “For old time's sake?”
It was just that easy to slip into his arms. And it felt just that good. For years, I'd been holding tight to the resentment I'd felt, nurturing it like a noxious weed. It wouldn't all fade away that easily, but I knew the process had been started.
Bob and I shared a bond as Davey's parents. Now we'd have the relationship to go with it. And who knew? We might even end up friends.
I heard a giggle from the doorway and turned to look. Joey and Davey were both there. Alice Brickman, too.
“Gross,” said our son, rolling his eyes. “Mushy stuff.”
Thirty-four
Tranquillity reigned for the rest of the afternoon. In my house, that in itself is unusual enough to be worth noting.
After the Brickmans left, Bob and I sat Davey down and told him that it was time for his father to go home to Texas. Davey was sad, but not crushed. I think he'd always realized Bob wouldn't be staying; and now he had the promise of future letters and visits to look forward to.
Sensing his mood, Faith crowded close to Davey, anxious to offer what comfort she could. The big Poodle puppy climbed in his lap and licked his face until he giggled. Davey was cheered; I relaxed. Even Bob was charmed by the puppy's behavior.
I looked around at my family and decided we'd all come a long way in a few short weeks. On that upbeat thought, we trooped out to the kitchen for a mid-afternoon treat of ice cream and chocolate sauce. Faith even got a scoop of her ownâplain vanillaâin a bowl on the floor.
At six forty-five, I ran upstairs and changed from my jeans into attire more suitable for a cocktail party in Greenwich: linen slacks and a shawl collared blouse. Bob was staying with Davey one last time, and I promised him I wouldn't be long.
When I arrived at Lydia's, the reception was already in progress. The semicircular driveway was filled with cars and I wedged the Volvo behind Aunt Peg's station wagon. The front door to the house was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and let myself in.
Lydia was in the hall, talking to Barbara Rubicov. She smiled when she saw me. “Melanie, I'm so glad you could make it,” she said graciously. “Coats go in the closet, drinks are in the library. I'm sure you can find your way around.”
I could, and I did. I didn't see Penny and Mark Romano, but I found Aunt Peg in the living room. She introduced me to the guest of honor: a trim woman in her mid-fifties whose erect carriage and exuberant demeanor were not at all dimmed by the long day she'd just spent judging dogs.
We were pleased to make each other's acquaintance, but I had places to go and people to see and I soon moved on. Louis and Sharon LaPlante were standing near the fireplace. After our tumultuous visit that afternoon, I was glad to see them there together.
“Melanie.” Louis nodded briefly in my direction. “I think you should know I've written a letter to the
A.K.C.,
withdrawing my application to become a judge.”
“Are you sure that's what you want to do?”
“Actually, I'm quite certain it isn't. But under the present circumstances, I don't see that I have any choice. I hope this whole matter need go no further.”
Aunt Peg had relied on Louis to do the honorable thing, and he had. Still, it seemed a shame. He probably would have made a fine judge. And though he hadn't done anything wrong, thanks to Monica, Sharon's mistake had cost him what he wanted most.
“As far as I'm concerned, the topic is closed,” I told him. Then I turned to Sharon, who had yet to say a word. “The night the dinner checks disappeared, who were you sitting next to?”
She glanced at her husband, as if seeking permission to answer. I wondered how long it would be until she made a move without his approval. “I was next to Louis, of course.”
“And on the other side?”
Her brow furrowed as she thought back. “Darla Heins,” she said finally, pleased to have remembered. “We talked about needlepoint all through dinner.”
“Thank you,” I said and moved on.
A teenage waiter came by with a warm tray of hors d'oeuvres and I felt my stomach rumble. Bob had promised to take Davey out for pizza, but plans for my own dinner were still up in the air. I snagged a stuffed mushroom, a chicken wing, and a napkin on which to balance them both.
As I was dipping the wing in its sauce, the front door opened and I heard Lydia greeting new arrivals. A moment later, Mark and Penny appeared in the doorway.
“Are those any good?” asked Joanne, reaching for the tray.
“Great.”
I had to talk with my mouth full, but the effort was worth it. Joanne held the waiter up long enough that I was able to get a second piece of chicken for myself. With regret, I watched him move on.
“Joanne, I know you told Monica that you'd reported the Heinses. And I believe you mentioned it to Barbara. Did you tell anyone else?”
“Yeah.” Her gaze skittered over to where Bertie was holding court. Seated on a long couch, the redhead was engaged in an animated conversation with Cy and Louis.
“Bertie knew. She was really nasty about it, too. As if she thinks she's little Miss Perfect. And, believe me, she's not.”
At least Bertie and Joanne agreed on something, if only their lack of mutual admiration. I looked around for Mark and Penny. They'd come into the living room and were talking to Peg and Thelma. I hoped Aunt Peg would manage to wait until we got them alone before bringing up what we'd learned.
I crossed the room to where Lydia stood. “If I were able to return the missing dinner checks, would you take them back with no questions asked?”
The club president thought for a moment. “Would I get an assurance that something like this won't happen again?”
“Yes.” The pledge wasn't mine to make. That being the case, I fervently hoped it was true.
“Yes, I would. Do you have them?”
“No. But I know who does. I'll return them to you early in the week. Will that be all right?”
Lydia eyed me assessingly. I knew she wanted to ask. I also knew she was smart enough to realize I wouldn't answer her question. “That would be fine.”
Thelma strolled over and placed an arm around Lydia's shoulders. She had a drink in her hand and a twinkle in her eyes. “You've gone to too much trouble. But I love it. If I'd known you were going to put on a do like this, I'd have come back sooner.”
Lydia smiled fondly at her old friend. “I just wanted you to know how happy the Belle Haven Club is to see you again. We hate to let our good members get away.”
Over Lydia's shoulder, I saw Penny head through a door at the end of the room. I excused myself and followed her.
The door led to the library, a high ceilinged room that was filled with books. A built-in bar, stocked with a generous supply of liquor and mixers, took up the far wall. Penny was there, making herself a drink. We were the only ones in the room and I pulled the door shut behind me.
“I found Monica's notes,” I said quietly. “I know what you were trying to hide.”
Penny whirled to face me. The amber colored liquid in her glass sloshed over the rim and onto her fingers. She didn't seem to notice.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“I'm talking about the adoption you arranged through Walter Crispus.” It was only a guess, but as soon as I'd spoken, I knew I was right. Penny's expression hardened. “You said Monica knew about your drinking, but that wasn't all she knew, was it? How long have you and Mark been waiting for a child?”
“Years,” Penny snapped. “Someone like you ... a mother in your twenties ... you'd never understand what we've been through.”
“Maybe I would. Why don't you tell me about it?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I want to know.”
I want to understand, I could have said. Because looking at the flat, dark anger in Penny's eyes, I suddenly knew that I was seeing the face of Monica's murderer.
She took a long swallow from her drink. “Mark and I got married when we were in our thirties. We started trying to have children right away, but nothing happened. We saw a fertility specialist. Do you know what that costs?”
“I can imagine.”
“When that didn't work, we were stuck.” Penny's tone was bitter. “We knew about private adoptions, knew there was a better chance that way than going through the state agencies, but after all the medical bills, we didn't have the money. Ten thousand, just to get your foot in the door. That's what we needed, and we didn't have it.”
“So you applied for a state approved adoption?” I asked.
“Along with thousands of others. We ended up on a waiting list. And every year we waited, we were growing older and becoming less suitable in the eyes of the agency. What a catch-22.”
Penny tipped up her glass and poured the last of her drink into her mouth. “Then a miracle happened. At least that's what we thought. Our name came up and a baby was available.”
When she didn't continue, I hazarded another guess to nudge her along. “They found out about your drinking, didn't they?”
“Yes. We failed the inspection. Mark was devastated. I was ...” Her hands flailed expressively. “After all that time waiting, the only thing we could do was go back to the beginning and start over.”
I knew she wanted me to feel sympathetic, but I couldn't. I shuddered to think what kind of a mother this woman would make.
“Why didn't you stop drinking?” I asked angrily.
“I tried. Don't you think I tried? But the longer things dragged on, the worse the pressure became. I felt like I was nothing, that I was useless as a woman. My life had no meaning.
“Sometimes I needed a drink or two to help me cope. Sometimes I just needed to forget. But that's over now. As soon as Mark and I get our baby, that will all be behind us. I'll be in control again, and everything will be fine.”
I didn't believe that for a minute. But Penny did, and that was all that mattered. Monica had delighted in picking at the scabs of other peoples' wounds. I wondered if she had known how desperate Penny was to have a baby. I wondered if that had made her enjoy the game all the more.
“So when the state turned you down, you signed up for a private adoption where there would be fewer questions. Where did you get the money?”
“We'd been saving it all those years we were on the waiting list. We're not stupid. And neither is Walter. He got a deal put together pretty quickly. We've met the birth mother and the baby's due in a few weeks. This time, nothing's going to go wrong.”
I watched as Penny fixed herself another drink, a double shot of whiskey, straight up. “How did Monica find out about your arrangement with the lawyer?”
“How did she find out about anything?” Penny snapped. “She was nosy, and she asked too many questions. I told Mark not to say anything until after the adoption was finalized, but after all the time we'd waited, he was just so delighted he wanted to tell the whole world. It wasn't hard for Monica to get him talking.”
I could see how it wouldn't have been. More than once, Mark had told me that he and Penny were about to become parents. I'd misunderstood. No doubt Monica had been quicker on the uptake. Then, once she had the information, she hadn't been able to resist turning the screws.
There was a quiet click as the door opened behind me. I kept my gaze firmly trained on Penny. “Monica was threatening to expose you, wasn't she? Is that why you followed her outside after the meeting?”
“I only wanted to talk to her,” Penny said, her voice rising shrilly. “But she wouldn't listen. She said I wasn't fit to be a mother. She said that I needed help.
“I followed her back to her van because I had to make her see that she was wrong. Do you understand? I
had
to. But Monica just ignored me. She was fiddling with those damn Beagles of hers and didn't even have the decency to turn around and listen to what I had to say.”
I didn't have to ask if Penny had been drinking that night. I already knew the answer. “So you picked up a rock.”
I heard a gasp, and this time I turned. Mark was standing in the doorway, his face ashen.
“No!” he cried. The word sounded like an anguished groan, torn from deep within. Mark started toward his wife, then stopped.
His expression clawed at me. It was both bewildered and disbelieving. He was staring at his wife as if he'd never seen her before. As she started toward him, he backed away.
“Mark, honey ...” Penny held out a placating hand. “I did it for you, for both of us.”
“No!” His voice was firmer, but he was shaking his head violently, as if to negate the terrible truth he'd just learned. He slapped his wife's hand away. “Get away from me.”
Penny stopped, confused. Mark spun on his heel and headed for the door.
“I did it for you,” she said again, her gaze following him.
Mark's stride never faltered.
“Don't you dare walk away from me!”
Mark kept going.
I was watching him, so I didn't see Penny pick up the heavy crystal decanter from the bar. She screamed as she threw it but there wasn't time to react. The faceted glass bottle hit Mark in the back of the head and he fell like a stone. The decanter shattered beside him on the floor, spilling a thick dark liquor over the polished wood.