I've Got You Under My Skin

88

Claire sat on the couch in her bedroom, making no attempt to sleep.

So he actually did love my mother, she thought. From the time he started coming into my room less than a month after we moved in here, I allowed it for her sake. I could see that she was so happy, and I wanted to keep her that way. I was sure that if I told her, she’d move out of here, and then where would we be?

Back in a tiny apartment. She dated men along the way, looking for what Robert Powell could give her. We were so close when I was little. I felt I owed it to her. It was my big secret, making that sacrifice for my mother. Counting every night he didn’t come near me as a blessing. Then I overheard them talking. He was telling her about the night before, and she was pleased I was so responsive.

Damn her, damn her, damn her.

I smothered her in my mind from the time I was thirteen. If I was the one who did it that final night and somebody saw me and is saying so now, so be it, so be it.

Nina did not attempt to go to bed. Instead she sat, legs crossed, replaying in her mind the events of the day. Was it possible that her mother had carried out her threat? She’s a good actress, Nina thought, and who wouldn’t believe her?

I didn’t know that Robert Powell was so bulldozed by Betsy that he didn’t see her for what she was. Or maybe he did see her for what she was and found it thrilling.

If Rob has been playing up to my mother these couple of days, she’s obviously been fool enough to fall for it. If she’s said I confessed to killing Betsy, it’s impossible for me. And when Rob shows her the door tomorrow, she can go straight to the police chief to claim the reward. What, if anything, can I do about it?

As the last light went out in the house, Bruno got out of the car. He had given Timmy a sleeping pill and now had him slung over his shoulder. Carefully he climbed over the fence, moving slowly to be sure not to disturb him. He carried him into the pool house and opened the door of the utility room. He laid him on the pile of blankets he had prepared for him and loosely tied his hands and feet.

Timmy stirred and murmured a protest when Bruno tied a relaxed gag around his mouth, then fell back into a deep sleep.

Bruno knew he had to be picked up tomorrow morning by the landscaper’s truck. There would be no explanation for him not being there. But the kid should be okay until I get back, he thought. Even if he wakes up, he can’t get out and he can’t pull the gag off. His hands are tied behind him.

Now that the end was near, he knew that he was not only deadly calm, but would stay deadly calm. He looked down at Timmy’s sleeping face. There was enough light from the full moon that he could see it clearly. “You would’ve looked just like your daddy someday,” he said, “and your mommy is right in that house and doesn’t know you’re here. Wait till she finds out you’re missing.”

He knew he should leave but could not resist reaching into his pocket and taking out a tiny case. He opened it and took out shiny bright blue lenses and put them in his eyes. He had worn them that day because they would stand out just in case anyone got close enough to describe him. He remembered how he had heard Timmy’s wail five years ago: “Blue Eyes shot my daddy.”

Yes, I did, he thought. Yes, I did.

He took out the lenses, saving them for tomorrow.

Leo Farley could not sleep. The cop in him was sending him a warning. He tried to brush it off.

Laurie is okay, he reminded himself. I’m glad Alex Buckley is in that house. It’s obvious that he likes Laurie, but more important, he knows she’s facing a potentially explosive situation tonight with that bunch in the same house.

Timmy sounds great, and I’ll see him Sunday. Then why in hell am I so sure that something is seriously wrong? Maybe it’s just all these heart monitors on me. They’d drive anyone crazy.

The nurse had left a sleeping pill on his night table. “It’s not strong, Commissioner,” she had told him, “but it will take the edge off and let you get some sleep.”

Leo reached for it, then threw it back on the table. I don’t want to wake up half-groggy, he thought angrily.

And anyhow, I know it won’t help me go to sleep.