I 've Heard That Song Before

64

I hadn’t yet told Maggie about the baby because I was sure that she would confide it to several of her friends, and then I’d be reading about it in the tabloids. Maggie categorically cannot keep a secret. But I thought I’d been spotted at the obstetrician’s office by people who knew me, and since I didn’t want Maggie to hear a rumor about it from someone else, I knew I had to tell her.

After I phoned Nicholas Greco and made the appointment, I collected Maggie and brought her back to the house for dinner. Jane had prepared a roast chicken and wanted to serve us, but I had told her to go ahead home, that we’d serve ourselves. The last thing I needed was to have Gary Barr overhear our conversation. I think Jane was getting worried by now about whether or not they were going to lose their jobs, and she started to protest. But then she stopped and very pleasantly wished us a good evening.

The kitchen is large and accommodates a refectory table and benches where the servants used to eat when there was a large staff. Maggie wanted us to have dinner there, but I vetoed the idea. The chairs in the small dining room are infinitely more comfortable. Besides, I know she feels intimidated by the mansion, and I wanted her to get over that.

When we were settled at the table, I told Maggie about the baby. She was absolutely delighted with my news, but then, of course, immediately started worrying about me. “Oh, Kay, it’s such a tragedy that your baby’s father will never be around to see the little one grow up.”

“Maggie,” I said, “his name is Peter, and I haven’t given up hope. He did not kill Susan Althorp, and he certainly did not kill my father. But please, let’s talk about something else. Daddy was fired only a few weeks after Susan disappeared. Peter told me Elaine Carrington got rid of him because he wasn’t interested in her overtures to him.”

“You told me that, Kay.” Maggie said contritely. I knew she now regretted that she had jumped to the assumption that the firing had been the result of a drinking problem.

“What was Daddy going to do? Did he have any job offers?”

“I don’t know, Kay. It was only a few weeks after he was fired that we thought he had committed suicide. The last time I saw him was on September thirtieth, twenty-two and a half years ago. We’ve talked about this.”

“Let’s talk about it again.”

“On September thirtieth, your dad phoned me around five o’clock and asked me to keep you overnight. He said he had an appointment with somebody. You were kind of unhappy about having to come over because he’d promised that the two of you would try some new recipe for dinner that evening. He promised he’d make it up to you. But the next day he didn’t come for you and didn’t call, and then the police reported his car had been found on the cliff above the river, and that his wallet was on the seat.”

“Did they ever investigate to see who he might have been planning to see on September thirtieth?”

“At the time, the police assumed that he’d just made up that story as an excuse to drop you off.”

I could tell we were going nowhere with this conversation. I kept hoping that maybe some fragment of a forgotten memory might surface in Maggie’s consciousness, but it just wasn’t happening.

Over a cup of tea, I decided it was time to finally tell Maggie about the time, all those years ago, that I had crept into this house because I was so curious to see the chapel.

Her reaction, as expected, was that I was always too adventurous for my own good. Unexpectedly, she let it go at that.

Probably because of her reaction, I ended up telling her that I overheard a quarrel between a woman and a man she seemed to be blackmailing, something I had planned to keep to myself. “That’s why I knew what the man was whistling, even though it was only one line,” I told her, “because you used to hum it for me when you told me about my mother singing it in the school play.”

Maggie gave me a look that I couldn’t interpret.

“What is it?” I asked her.

“Kay,” she exclaimed, “you should have told that to your father! When he and your mother began to date, I told him about the school play and bragged about how well she sang that song. He made her sing it for him. From then on, he called it ‘their song.’ They even chose it for their first dance at their wedding. You know that.”

“Maggie, I knew about the play. But I don’t think I remember your telling about Daddy calling it ‘their song,’ or dancing to it at the wedding,” I protested.

“It doesn’t matter. But after your father came running over here with you to fix those lights the afternoon of that party, he dropped you off at my house. I remember distinctly how really down he looked. He told me that he had heard someone whistling that song when he was here, and had talked with him. I guess your dad told whoever it was why he was nostalgic about it.”

“Did he say who that person was?” I demanded.

“Yes, but I don’t remember.”

“Maggie, it’s so important. Think about it. Please try to remember.”

“I’ll try, Kay. I’ll really try.”

There was a question I had to ask. “Maggie, could it have been Peter?”

“No. Positively not,” Maggie said firmly. “I’d have remembered if it was Peter Carrington. He was the young prince around here. That’s why I was so disappointed to think he killed that poor girl. No, I’m absolutely sure he wasn’t the one your dad mentioned!”

She looked at me. “Kay, what’s the matter?” she asked. “Why are you crying?”

It wasn’t Peter, I thought with relief. It wasn’t Peter! It was some other man being blackmailed that day in the chapel. But, dear God, if I had only told Daddy what I heard that day, and he had reported it to the police, maybe he’d still be alive, and Peter wouldn’t be in jail, accused of murder.