I've Got You Under My Skin

59

“I was right,” Laurie whispered as she turned off her phone. “Dr. Morris said that they’re doing an angiogram on Dad right now, that it’s just a precaution. But can I believe that?”

“Laurie, what exactly did the doctor say?” Alex asked.

“That Dad had heart fibrillations last night.” In a halting voice Laurie explained what the doctor had told her. “I know the reason for the fibrillations. Dad was afraid of my doing this program,” she said. “He thinks that one of these six people is a murderer, and could explode under pressure.”

He may be right, Alex thought. “Look, Laurie,” he said, “when you’re finished here tonight, let me take you straight to the hospital. You don’t have to wait for the company van. Let Jerry and Grace wrap up here.”

Then he added impulsively, “I’ll wait downstairs at the hospital until you have your visit, then we’ll get something to eat, unless you have other plans.”

“My plan for tonight was to have a hamburger with Dad. As ex-cop number one, he’ll want to know every detail of what went on today.”

“Then give him your report in the hospital and have a hamburger with me afterward,” Alex said firmly.

Laurie hesitated. Given the circumstances, she could not picture going out alone to a restaurant. Alex Buckley is a reassuring presence, she thought. And besides, I can talk to him about the interviews we’ll be doing.

“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.” She smiled faintly, then, as Alex watched, she called, “Jerry, will you please tell the crew and Alison Schaefer to come in?” Her voice was crisp and authoritative again.

A grim-faced Regina went looking for Josh Damiano. She found him vacuuming the huge living room. She remembered how Betsy had grandly referred to it as “the salon.” “Until the time she married Richard Powell, the only salon she ever walked into was a beauty salon.” That’s what Mother used to say about Betsy, Regina remembered.

Josh looked up and, when he saw her, turned off the vacuum. “I knew you’d be looking for me, Regina,” he said with a cheerful smile.

Regina had turned on her iPhone and was recording every word they exchanged. “You have different jobs, I see, Josh. Chauffeur-housemaid-blackmailer. Obviously there is no limit to your talents.”

The smile vanished from Damiano’s face. “Be careful, Regina,” he said evenly. “The only reason I’m helping in the house is because Mr. Powell canceled the usual maintenance service until Thursday, when everyone has gone.”

“The housekeeper label isn’t one you like, is it, Josh?” Regina asked. “How about embezzler? Are you sensitive about being called that?”

Josh Damiano did not blink. “I prefer to think that I am defending you from being accused of murdering Betsy Powell. Your father’s suicide note gives you the greatest motive to kill her, and remember, you lied to the cops over and over again that you had not found a suicide note on or near your father’s body.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Regina agreed. “On the other hand, I also did Robert Powell a great favor by not revealing that. Have you considered that? The note details how he let his wife have an affair with my father so she could feed him an inside tip about Powell’s hedge fund. The result was that my father lost his entire fortune, and by doing so, he bailed the Powells out.”

“So what?” Damiano asked.

“So I lied to my son in the conversation you taped in the car. I have another copy of my father’s note. Now I’m giving you an alternative: give me back the original and we call it quits. Otherwise I take the copy and my recording of this conversation today to Police Chief Penn, and you land behind bars. I assume you taped everyone else. I’ll bet they’ll all produce those tapes, if pressed hard enough.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. I was fifteen years old when I found that note. As it was, my father’s suicide was the start of my mother’s slow decline. She would have gone quicker if she had known he was having an affair with Betsy as well.”

Josh Damiano attempted a laugh. “All the more reason you jumped at the chance to spend your first overnight in this house, to get revenge on Betsy.”

“Except that Betsy Powell wasn’t worth sacrificing the rest of my life in prison. I’m a bit claustrophobic. I hope you’re not.”

Without waiting for a reply she left the room. Once she was in the hallway, she began to tremble violently.

Would it work? It was her only hope. She went up to the bedroom where she would spend the night, locked the door, and checked her phone.

The battery was dead.