CHAPTER NINETEEN
Annie helped Elmo into the king-size bed. He looked so awful, so frail, so sick she wanted to cry. “It's time for your pills, Elmo.”
“I'm not taking any more pills, Annie. That's it. I'm going to take a nap, then I'm going to get up and have a double scotch on the rocks. I know you have things to do, so go out and do them. I'm all right. It's not my time yet. I'd know it if it was. I never lied to you, girl,”
He looked incredibly tired and weary. Annie smoothed the sparse hair back from his forehead with gentle hands. “I know that, Elmo. I shouldn't be more than an hour, two at the most. Jane said she'd stay here with you.”
“That's not necessary. I'm going to sleep. You young people came here to do things, so go out now and do them. I'm just fine. Plus, I know how to press the zero on the telephone if I need help.”
Annie kissed his wrinkled cheek. Sometimes life just wasn't fair. In a perfect world, good people like Elmo Richardson would live forever.
In the sitting room she met Jane's worried gaze. “He wants us to go out and do whatever we came here to do. He refused to take any more medication. There's no way I was going to try and talk him into it. He'll sleep for a while. You and Daisy have plans and . . . I have a few of my own. How about if we meet up, in let's say, three hours. I told Elmo I'd be back in two hours. I'm giving myself an extra hour. I think he'll sleep for a good three or four hours. The room's cool and I closed the drapes. No one is going to call, so the phone won't wake him. On second thought, I'll call down and tell the desk not to put any calls through. Tom might try to call, though, so I'll call him when I get a chance. I'll rent us a car. Is all this okay with you, Jane?”
“It's fine. Daisy and I are going to walk. If we get tired, we'll hail a cab. Don't give either of us another thought. You go ahead. I want to change my shoes.”
In the lobby, Annie whizzed by the front desk, then backed up. “Young man, I'm in room fifteen-oh-two. Do not put any calls through until further notice.” A second later she rounded the corner, credit card in hand. “I need a full-size car. I called earlier. The reservation is under Anna Clark.” Annie blinked in surprise when a set of keys slid across the counter. She did like advance check-in.
“Third car in the second row. Gas tank is full. Return it the same way. There's a road map on the visor. Sign here.” Annie signed her name in two places and initialed it in three other places.
“You're good to go, ma'am.”
Ma'am.
Suddenly the one word made her feel as old as Elmo.
The moment the engine turned over in the silver gray Pontiac, Annie rolled down the windows. She inched her way out of the crowded lot, turned right on Arlington Street and then made a left onto Commonwealth Avenue and followed it all the way to University Road.
Boston University loomed ahead of her. She felt a pang of sweetness as she stared at the university. She drove around until she came to a sign that said,
VISITOR PARKING
. What was she doing here? Sooner or later, criminals always returned to the scene of their crimes. Obviously this was her sooner as well as her later. She couldn't help but wonder who was watching her. She could feel unseen eyes boring into her back. Out in the open like this, she was a living, breathing, moving target. She couldn't worry about that now. She had things to do. Somewhere in the vast campus library she was sure she could find what she was looking for. If not here, then the archives at the local newspaper. Maybe all she needed to do was ask someone where Andrew Pearson's father lived. Notoriety made the local citizenry aware of people's addresses. If that failed, there was always the green stuff called money.
Forty-five minutes later, Annie settled herself behind the wheel of the rental car. She was two hundred dollars poorer, but she had Clyde Pearson's home address, his telephone number as well as directions to his Boston home. She also had the address and phone number of the boy who had been killed after the robbery, just in case she decided to pay the family a visit.
“Time to get this show on the road,” Annie mumbled as she shoved the key into the ignition. She looked down at the map on the seat next to her and then at the directions in her hand. Beacon Hill. Well, she knew where that was. She drove, uncertain of what she was going to.do when she finally faced down Andrew Pearson's father.
It was a beautiful street, tree-lined, each house more magnificent than the next. She thought she could smell the old money behind the iron gates leading up to the beautiful houses. She slowed until she found the house number she wanted painted on the curb. She pulled into the short driveway and waited for the speaker system sticking out of the ground to activate. “I'm here to see Mr. Pearson,” Annie said when a garbled voice asked what she wanted.
“What is your name?”
“Anna Clark. I'm a ... friend of Andrew's,” she lied. She waited a moment to see if there would be further conversation. When the system remained silent, she climbed back into the car. Almost immediately, the ornate gates began to open. Annie drove through in a burst of speed, praying the person controlling the huge gates didn't have a change of heart.
Up close, the house didn't look quite as nice as it did from the street. The windows needed to be cleaned, as did the copper gutters. The steps and banisters needed fresh paint. One windowsill was almost rotted through.
So much for old, moldy, musty money,
Annie thought as she rang the doorbell.
A plump, apple-cheeked woman with a hearty topknot smiled a welcome when she opened the door. “Come in, Miss Clark. Mr. Pearson is expecting you.”
“He is? I just got here a few hours ago. Is it possible you have me mixed up with someone else?”
“I don't think so. Mr. Pearson said you would come someday.” The woman's voice turned fretful. “I wish you had come sooner. Mr. Pearson is not well. Some days he does not remember from one minute to the next. I called upstairs to tell his nurse you were here. Go right up; it's the first door on the right. Can I bring you some tea or coffee?”
“No thank you.” Why would Clyde Pearson be expecting her?
Annie climbed the magnificent mahogany staircase, marveling at the stained-glass window on the landing. Everything was clean and polished and smelled faintly of lemon. There wasn't a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. The hall at the top of the steps was wide and monstrously long with what she supposed were Pearson ancestors in gilt frames and little tables underneath that held books and silver-framed photographs. She knocked tentatively.
“Come in, Miss Clark,” a nurse said cheerfully. “Mr Pearson is waiting for you.”
Annie took a deep breath. Nothing in the world could have prepared her for the sight of Clyde Pearson. Elmo looked robust compared to this bony caricature of a man.
“Mr. Pearson, I'm Anna Clark. I've come to talk to you about your son Andrew. Do you know where he is, and if you do know, will you tell me?”
The skeleton in his nest of pillows held up a bony claw of a hand. He waved it back and forth.
“That means he doesn't know where Andrew is. That young man skulks around here from time to time. He steals from his father and thinks we don't know. Mr. Pearson disowned him after the bank robbery.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't know that. It was my understanding that Mr. Pearson believed in Andrew's innocence and gave him money to find the person responsible for keeping the robbery money even though the money was returned later on.”
The clawlike hands waved furiously. “No, Miss Clark, that is not true. Young Andrew came here once in the middle of the night and cleaned out his father's safe. He's forged his name to checks. According to the household help, Andrew was always a troubled child. Of course that was before my time. The boy's pranks became more serious the older he got. The bank robbery was the last straw for Mr. Pearson. That's when he disowned Andrew. A week later, Mr. Pearson suffered a stroke. He was seventy-five percent recovered with extensive therapy. Then when Andrew was released, the poor dear suffered another stroke.”
“I can't prove this,” Annie said, “but I think Andrew tried to kill me one night and then threw some kind of bomb into my house. No one saw him. There was a child in the house and a very old sick man. If we hadn't left the kitchen when we did, we would be dead. I don't know what to do. I thought if I came here and you told me where he was, I could try to talk to him. It wasn't my fault he was sent to prison.”
The bony arms and hands flopped up and down in a frenzy of motion. “Mr. Pearson understands what you're saying. He can't speak. He's upset for you. We spoke of this many times while he was mending from his first stroke. My name is Selma Daniels, Miss Clark. Mr. Pearson had me type up a letter for you to give the police should you ever come here. Andrew doesn't know about the letter. As I said, Andrew came here several times and boasted about what he was going to do. He's waiting for his father to die, thinking he will inherit, but Mr. Pearson changed his will years ago. Everyone in this house is as afraid of Andrew as you are. Security guards patrol the property with guard dogs. The police can't do anything because he hasn't made any threats against his father. This is still his legal address. Unfortunately, it is not illegal to wait for one's parent to die. Sad as that may sound.”
“If he doesn't stay here, where does he stay?”
“We don't know, Miss Clark. All we can do is give you the letter and some other reports that might be beneficial to you. Mr. Pearson calls them affidavits. Go to the police with what we give you.”
“Do you know any of Andrew's friends?”
“Those old friends want nothing to do with Andrew these days. I'm afraid the friends he has today aren't the kind of people you would want to talk to.”
“I have to do something. I can't just sit around waiting for him to kill me or my friends. I came here to Boston to my reunion hoping to draw him out. I thought maybe the newspapers would do another story on him. My next question is, if Andrew was as troubled as you say, why wasn't he given help?”
“Mercy, child, the boy was in one psychiatric facility after the other. There is a list of psychiatrists as long as your arm in the Rolodex. Andrew had every psychiatric test there was. He was so smart, he could anticipate the questions and give the right answers, then gloat about it. I guess he just wore Mr. Pearson down. It became easier to look the other way because he was afraid of the young man. This is all detailed in the report we drew up for you.”
“Why me? Why did Andrew single me out?”
“He convinced himself you had the money, and had you turned it in, he would have gotten a lesser sentence or he could have plea-bargained and gotten community service. It isn't true, but he thinks it is. It is indicative of his mental state to blame everyone else. If you wait here, I'll get the report.”
“He probably knows I'm here. I think he's watching me and my friends. What will you say if he comes here after I leave?”
“We'll say whatever you want us to say.”
“Tell him to call me at the Four Seasons. I'll meet him wherever he wants. Of course, if he's afraid of a face-to-face confrontation, tell him I understand the coward's way out. I appreciate you talking to me. I'm very sorry, Mr. Pearson.”
Garbled sounds came from the man's scrawny throat. Annie looked questioningly at the nurse. “I think he's trying to tell you to be careful.” Annie nodded.
At a loss as to what to say or do, Annie paced the sickroom. She was not unaware of the priceless oriental rugs and the antiques that filled the room. Where would they all go when Mr. Pearson died? Would being cut out of his father's will push Andrew over the edge? In her opinion, he was already over the edge.
The nurse returned with a legal-size manila envelope. It was so fat, a rubber band was needed to close it. Annie stuffed it into her carryall and zipped it closed.
As she descended the steps she realized how fearful she really was and what she was up against. Knowing it and doing something about it were two different things.
Annie looked at her watch. She'd been gone from the hotel for two and a half hours. Time to get back. Time to get Elmo dressed so she could take him to his old pharmacy. She hoped the old dear was up to the trip.
Back at the hotel, Annie turned the rental car over to the valet. She smiled wearily as the doorman held the door for her. She felt tired, sad, and vulnerable. All she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep and pretend this particular time in her life was all a bad dream. She wished, the way she'd wished a thousand times over, that she could turn the clock back and be that eager young woman living in the cramped little apartment with Jane.
“Annie!”
“Parker! What are you doing here?” This wasn't a bad dreamâit was a damn nightmare. Surely she was going to wake up any minute now, in her own bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. Parker was still standing in front of her.