The Melody Lingers On (12 page)

An hour later the master bedroom had been transformed. The intense blue of the walls, broken by the white wainscoting, made a striking background for the white coverlet and blue bed skirt, which
was the same color as the wall.

The draperies, valances, vanity skirt, and chaise complemented the blue and white theme with a colorful flower pattern.

The bedroom had become an inviting and charming chamber.

“Absolutely great,” Lane enthused.

Alan smiled. “Tell Glady not to hit us with any more ‘I want it yesterday’ calls.”

“I’ll do that,” she promised.

“On the other hand, don’t tell her. I hear she’s got Countess Sylvie de la Marco as a new client. I want to be part of that scene, so tell Glady it’s always a pleasure to
work on a tight schedule when it’s for her.”

“Is that the final message?”

“Sure, only you can throw in that she’s the best interior designer I know and I’m proud to work for her.” He paused. “That should do it.”

It was nearly noon when Alan and his crew left. Lane was not sure what she should do. If Anne Bennett was sleeping, she did not want to disturb her. On the other hand, if she was as ill as she
looked, it wouldn’t be right to leave her alone.

She had to risk checking on her. With one last admiring glance at the transformed room, she walked down the hallway and knocked on the door of the other bedroom.

When she heard a weak, “Come in,” Lane opened the door. Mrs. Bennett was fully dressed. She had obviously put on some makeup because the ghostly pallor was partially concealed. But
Lane could see that her eyes seemed sunken and weary.

“I’d better get downstairs. If Eric can get away early from a meeting, he will come for lunch,” Anne said, a little animation in her tone.

“How nice for you,” Lane said sincerely. But there was one thing she knew for sure. She did not want to run into Eric Bennett. “And I’ve got to be on my way,” she
added. “Glady is expecting me back in the office by one o’clock.”

“Surely you can spare a half hour to have something to eat,” Anne protested.

At that moment there was a brief ring of the doorbell and then the door opened.

As Lane had feared, it was Eric. He was wearing a trench coat with the collar turned up. His hair was tousled from the wind. He was carrying a bag of groceries. He looked at her, smiled, and
said, “Hello, Lane. Did Katie get my letter?”

“Yes she did. That was so nice of you.”

“Does she know how to make oatmeal cookies?”

“She does now. And I must be on my way.”

“You can’t be. I brought in lunch for the three of us. You’ll be out of here in forty-five minutes. I promise, because I have to leave by then too.”

Anne Bennett was looking at her expectantly. “Please stay, Lane. I was looking forward to visiting with you.”

Lane remembered Glady’s warning, then brushed it aside. “I’d love to stay,” she said. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” Eric said promptly. “You and Mother talk to me and I’ll get everything ready. I bought chicken noodle soup and had them make up a small assortment of
sandwiches,” Eric announced as they went into the dinette. “How does that sound, Mom?”

“It sounds good to me, dear.”

Lane saw that Anne Bennett had perceptibly brightened since Eric came in.

“How’s Glady Harper?” was Anne’s first question as she and Lane got settled at the table.

“Glady is Glady,” Lane said, then added, “a perfectionist, as you know, very smart, and underneath her intimidating exterior, a very nice person.”

“I certainly appreciate how kind she has been to me,” Anne said quietly. “I don’t know any other decorator who not only would select the furniture but also redo my
bedroom.” She looked at Eric, who was putting a bowl of soup on the table. “Don’t you agree, Eric?”

“In a way I do, Mother,” Eric said. “On the other hand, she made so much money when she decorated our house ten years ago that I don’t think you need to go overboard
being grateful to her.”

The words seemed harsh to Lane, but they were said in a gentle voice, and she could see the affection in Eric’s eyes as he looked at his mother.

The soup was delicious and a reminder that she had slept a little later this morning and had been behind schedule giving Katie breakfast. When Bettina had arrived to walk Katie to preschool, she
had not yet brushed her hair and put on the little makeup she habitually wore to work. Because she was coming out here, she had driven her car and parked near the office. In the car, when she
stopped for a red light, she had put on some blush and twisted her hair and fastened it up with a comb, but she knew it was not the best hairdressing job.

Eric made some coffee and Lane said, “I’m afraid I don’t have time for more than a few sips before I leave.”

“I so enjoyed visiting with you,” Anne said, “and Eric has told me about your adorable little girl.”

“She’s pretty special,” Lane agreed. “I have to admit that. I’ll be back,” she said, changing the subject. “I want to take the small pillows on the
couch and chairs in the living room. They look a bit tired and it will be very easy for us to replace them.”

And what will Glady have to say about that? she wondered, and then stood up.

“Glady will be at the window looking for me. I really have to go. I’ll collect the pillows and be on my way.”

“I’ll take them out to your car,” Eric said.

Lane could have bitten her tongue. This meant they would be alone for a few moments and she didn’t want that. Being with him made her realize how intensely she had hoped that he would call
her for another dinner date.

After he had put the pillows in the backseat of the car, he interrupted her quick “Thanks, Eric,” as she turned the ignition key.

“Lane,” he said with his eyes focused intently on her face. “You must have realized how very much I enjoyed having dinner with you.”

“It was very pleasant,” she agreed evasively. “And now I really have to be off.”

“Lane, it was more than very pleasant. It was special, and I think you felt that too. I can’t tell you how many times I turned on my phone to call you and then turned it off
again.”

“Why did you do that?” she asked, even though she instinctively knew the answer.

“I didn’t call you because I’m Eric Bennett, son of Parker Bennett, master crook. You certainly have seen the headlines this past week. My father’s secretary has been
indicted. That’s started a rehash of the case. Poor Eleanor is no more a thief than I am. You must have noticed that my mother looked pretty pale today. She’s been reading all that
stuff in the tabloids about my father’s affairs, especially with Countess de la Marco. It’s tearing her apart.”

He paused. “Lane, I’ll say it straight. The paparazzi have me in their crosshairs. If you go out to dinner with me, you may end up in the gossip columns. You’re the
stepdaughter of a powerful columnist who hates my guts.”

“And I’m the daughter of a congressman who absolutely despised guilt by association,” Lane said crisply. “Eric, I get the message that you want to have dinner with me.
How about Saturday night at eight o’clock?”

For an answer, Eric leaned in the car and kissed her forehead. “Saturday at eight,” he said. “You say that Katie is making oatmeal cookies now. Put my order in for
two.”

“I shall.”

As she backed the car out of the driveway, she could see in the rearview mirror that Tony Russo was waiting to pull his car into the driveway. She waved as she passed him.

As Jon waved back, she could not know that he was thinking, How could she get involved with that lowlife? Is she out of her mind?

O
n Wednesday afternoon Sean Cunningham drove up the West Side Highway to visit Eleanor Becker in Yonkers, New York. It was a relatively short
distance. No traffic, about forty minutes, Sean thought. Usual traffic, an hour and a quarter.

Actually he liked driving and used the time in the car to go over in his mind the best way he could help Eleanor through her ordeal. There was not a question in his mind that a jury would find
her guilty as a co-conspirator to Parker Bennett. That meant she might be sentenced to as little as five years or as much as fifteen or even longer.

It was impossible that Parker Bennett committed the theft without help, and she was the most likely suspect. It should have been Parker’s son, Sean thought, but they haven’t a shred
of evidence against him.

The Becker house was only fifteen minutes from the Yonkers exit off the Saw Mill River Parkway. It was on a street with older, well-kept homes. The last time he had been here the trees had been
abundant with leaves that had softened the fact that Eleanor and Frank’s house badly needed a paint job.

Now there were dead leaves scattered on the lawn and he could see that the gutters were overflowing with them.

Shaking his head, he rang the bell. The door was opened immediately. Eleanor was almost unrecognizable. The sweater and slacks she was wearing hung off her gaunt frame. Her hair was pure white
and held back from her face with bobby pins. She was a shadow of the woman he had seen six months ago.

“Come in, Sean,” she said. “Come in.” Tears began to spill from her eyes. “It’s so nice of you to come. Most people are avoiding me. Remember in the Bible,
the lepers had to shout ‘Unclean, unclean,’ if anyone came near them?”

“Yes I do,” Sean said, “but, Eleanor, you are not unclean and you know it.”

“I do know it, and what good does that do me?”

She led the way into the small den where Frank was sitting in a reclining chair. “Hi, doctor, good of you to come.”

His voice sounded cheerful but Sean was sure it was a false bravado for Eleanor’s benefit. How could it be anything else? he asked himself.

He got straight to the point. “I’ve been trying to decide how I can help you,” he told them.

“There is no way to help me,” Eleanor said, dabbing at her eyes.

“Eleanor, I want you to think hard. It’s obvious Parker had this scheme going for the entire thirteen years his fund existed. What I want is for you to go over it in your mind and
see if you can remember any time that you felt something seemed odd to you. I know it’s asking a lot, but it’s hard to believe that at least once in that time Parker didn’t slip
in some way.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t think so. I really don’t.”

Sean stayed for an hour and had a cup of tea with them. He could see that the realization that he absolutely believed in Eleanor’s innocence was a comfort to both of them.

But being a comfort to them isn’t the same as helping them, he thought as he drove home in the gloomy, cloud-filled afternoon that was a reflection of his state of mind.

A
t 26 Federal Plaza Rudy Schell stared in frustration at the newspapers on his desk. Besides the ones from New York, there were the
Washington
Post
, the
Chicago Tribune
, the
Los Angeles Times
, and the
San Francisco Examiner
.

On every front page there was a picture of Parker Bennett and Eleanor Becker.

Rudy had interviewed Becker a half dozen times and had tried every trick in the book to trip her up on her story.

Every instinct told him that she was not involved in the fraud. He had expressed his opinion to the prosecutor, who did not agree and had gone to the grand jury to get an indictment. She may be
dumb, he thought, but she’s not a crook.

He corrected himself. She may not be dumb, but she sure is naïve if she never for one minute wondered about Bennett’s consistently high annual returns to the investors.

The two people who might be in touch with Parker Bennett if he was still alive were his son, Eric, and his girlfriend, Sally Chico, alias Countess Sylvie de la Marco.

They had been investigated up and down and no agency had been able to pin anything on them. Of course it was entirely possible, even probable, that they had unregistered prepaid phones that
could not be traced. Yesterday there had been an item in one of the gossip columns saying that famed interior decorator Glady Harper was redecorating the countess’s duplex.