I've Got You Under My Skin

83

“It’s time to get back,” Alex said reluctantly. For the last ninety minutes, in between thoroughly enjoying chatting with Laurie over an excellent dinner, he had found himself telling her stories of his own background-how his mother and then his father had died when he was in college, how at age twenty-one he had become his seventeen-year-old brother’s guardian.

“He became my ‘little guy,’ ” he said, and then, appalled at his own words, said, “Laurie, I’m sorry. There’s no comparison with your situation.”

“No, there isn’t,” Laurie said matter-of-factly. “But I hate it when people weigh and measure every word they say to me. It’s a continuing factor of my life. But your brother grew up and is a successful lawyer, and someday Blue Eyes will be captured and this awful burden will be gone. My one comfort is that Blue Eyes swore he’d get me first.” She sipped a taste of champagne. “I can drink to that!” she said.

“Put down that glass,” Alex said forcefully. “Let’s drink to Blue Eyes being captured and rotting in prison for the rest of his life.” He did not add, Or being shot between the eyes in cold blood, as he murdered your husband, Dr. Greg Moran.

Reluctantly, Alex signaled for the check.

Fifteen minutes later they were driving toward Westchester on the Henry Hudson Parkway.

Alex could see that Laurie was struggling to stay awake. “Look, why don’t you close your eyes?” he suggested. “You told me you didn’t sleep last night because you were worried about your dad, and I doubt you’ll sleep much tonight, either.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Laurie sighed. She closed her eyes and in less than a minute Alex heard the sound of her soft, even breathing.

He glanced over at her from time to time. From the outside lights of the parkway he could see her profile, and then was pleased when, in her sleep, her head turned toward him.

He thought about how worried Leo Farley was about her being under the same roof as these people, one of whom was surely a murderer-but which one?

And there was something familiar about that gardener. What was it? He had snapped his picture yesterday when he was out on the patio and sent it to his investigator. He had also called Perfect Estates. He had told the person answering the phone that, for security reasons, he was just verifying the names of everyone on the property.

Robert Powell’s speech at lunch was clearly an attempt to frighten one of them into making a move, Alex thought, and whoever that person is may take a last, desperate chance to stop him.

Thirty minutes later he tapped Laurie’s arm. “Okay, ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ ” he said briskly. “Time to wake up. We’re here for the night.”

Bruno was in the office at the camp. The counselor on night duty had been summoned from his cabin.

Toby Barber was twenty-six years old, a good sleeper, an early-to-bed type. Rubbing his eyes, he came into the office to confront Bruno, authoritative in his police uniform, a concerned look on his face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Barber,” he told Toby, “but it’s very, very important. Commissioner Farley has had a major heart attack. He may not make it. He wants to see his grandson now.”

Bruno was a good actor. He stared straight into the young counselor’s eyes.

“We’ve been warned to take particular care of Timmy,” Toby said, trying to come fully awake, “but I do know that his grandfather called the head counselor today and told him he was in the hospital with a heart condition. I’ll call my boss right away on his cell to get his permission. He’s visiting friends at a birthday party.”

“Commissioner Farley is dying,” Bruno said, his voice laced with fury. “He wants to see his grandson.”

“I understand, I understand,” Toby said nervously. “Just one phone call.”

There was no answer on the phone.

“He probably doesn’t hear it,” Toby said worriedly. “I’ll try again in a few minutes.”

“I am not waiting a few minutes,” Bruno thundered. “The commissioner is a dying man who wants to see his grandson.”

Thoroughly intimidated, Barber said, “I’ll get Timmy. Just let me help him change.”

“Don’t change him. Put on his bathrobe and slippers!” Bruno ordered. “He has plenty of clothes at home.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right. I’ll get him.”

Ten minutes later Bruno was holding the hand of a sleepy Timmy and putting him in his car.

His mind was racing with a combination of triumph and anticipation.