Inherit the Dead

16 MARY HIGGINS CLARK

Perry looked over his shoulder for one fleeting glance. Timmy Knox, the cop he had left guarding the house, was a nice young guy, but fresh out of the police academy. He had the build of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger and looked as though he could tackle a gorilla. That would make him a great bodyguard, Perry thought, but he wasn’t convinced Timmy was what his mother used to call “a deep thinker.” In fact, if Timmy had been standing there when the car had come lunging at Angel, Perry would have bet that instead of pushing Angel aside, Timmy would have tried to take down the license number of the car.

But at least he made a solid-looking obstacle to anyone who just might be trying to get into the nanny’s house.

He called Julia Drusilla and got her voice mail. He left a message saying that he had news for her and that he’d come by soon, though he was glad she was out. It gave him some time to see Nicky.

Perry heard a faint rattle in the engine as he drove into Brooklyn Heights. I just had a complete overhaul two weeks ago, he thought. I just hope the mechanic did it before he started celebrating the Giants winning streak. I should have asked him that, he thought.

Because he was late, there was naturally a fender bender about three cars ahead of him. With a heartfelt groan he realized that two lanes would be out of service, but then reminded himself that at least he would get around them pretty fast. Pity the poor jokers who are going to start piling up behind me, he told himself.

Getting back to the nanny. She seemed like a nice lady, but he wouldn’t have wanted to have been the one to take care of Angel for so many years. No wonder the poor soul looked so exhausted. What was it, Perry thought again, that had made me doubt Angel? Was it just the way she toggled so easily from fear to anger to seduction? His gut told him it was more than that. But what man could think straight around a girl like that?

Perry was trying to avoid looking at the clock on the dashboard, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance at it. Oh God. He was getting even later for his lunch with Nicky. He had called to say he’d been delayed. Then he’d called to say he was still delayed. Should he call again? No, Nicky would wait for him. Maybe if I tell her about Angel, she’ll understand, he thought. I mean, she wasn’t that interested in my last case, when I traced a phony moving van to a secondhand furniture shop, but Angel is different. He even had a picture of her with him. Nicky liked to read People magazine, and Angel looked like a movie star.

Large drops of rain were beginning to fall. Automatically, he switched on the wipers then listened to the usual screeching as they fought their way back and forth across the windshield. The mechanic supposedly changed them, he thought. Even Cyclops could see they were listed on the bill he gave me.

He inched the car up to and around the spot where the accident had occurred. The drivers were standing around and starting to shove each other. Perry’s instinct as a former member of New York’s finest was urging him to stop before there was real trouble, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of a police car speeding toward the scene.

They’re all yours, pal, he thought as, finally in the clear, he put his foot on the accelerator. His thoughts immediately switched back to Angel. She should be safe enough with that block-of-granite cop outside the door. As long as she didn’t go out. That possibility left Perry light-headed. She had promised that she would stay with Nanny dearest, but how many times had Angel changed location in the roughly fifty-two hours he’d been on the case?

Should he call her cell phone and warn her again? No, if she was out, she’d probably lie to him. You didn’t have to be a detective to know that Angel was not a truth-teller. What had the nanny said about her? She’s never been just a kid. But she’s smart — smartest child I ever took care of — because she had to be.

Yeah, Angel was smart all right, and cunning, he could see that.

His shoulders slumping, Perry went back to worrying about how upset Nicky would be when he got there. They’d now changed their date from morning to afternoon and from meeting at the coffee shop to meeting her at home. And how upset would her mother be? Noreen was a stickler for promptness. Hadn’t one of the problems in their marriage been that the meals she’d prepared had gotten cold while he was chasing some thief who had robbed an old lady at gunpoint? Well, that hadn’t been the only problem…

Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, Perry conceded. She probably got upset that I had a few beers with the guys when we went off duty after tackling some guy.

Fifteen minutes later he was looking for a parking spot on the street where Nicky lived with Noreen and her new boyfriend. This is a nice area, he thought. In summer when the trees are out, it’s really pretty. And the building has an elevator. Sure wish mine did. Those five flights of stairs are a killer.

He found a parking spot, a very small one. Back in my squad days the guys used to say that I could park an elephant in a teacup, he remembered with a sigh. He tried to find something to feel cheerful about but could only come up with the fact that it had stopped raining.

He got out of the car, locked it, and walked down the block to Noreen’s building. As he got close to it, he looked up and could see Nicky watching for him from the window. He waved, but she didn’t wave back. Harry, the superintendent, greeted him with the same cliché, “How you doing, Mr. Christo? Been solving any crimes lately?”

“Yeah. I just found the Maltese Falcon. It’s in the trunk of my car.” Perry forced a smile. He was tired of trying to figure out a comeback that Harry would get. Bracing himself for the recriminations he knew would be coming his way, he headed for the elevator and pushed the button. Thankfully, the elevator was already there. At least twenty seconds saved, he thought.

When he got to the sixth floor, Nicky was already in the hall waiting for him. “Daddy, you’re always late,” she said accusingly as she threw herself at him.

Perry wrapped his arms around her and felt the familiar rush of love that engulfed him when he held his daughter. God, she’s gotten even taller in just a couple of weeks, he thought. She’s going to be sixteen. I’ve missed so much of her life. “Oh, baby, you don’t know how glad I am to see you,” he said. He tilted up her face. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even prettier than last time.”

“You said that last time.”

“And the time before that because it’s true.”

She’s the image of Noreen, he thought, not for the first time. But with a sense of humor, thank God. His arm wrapped around her and they walked down the hallway to the apartment. The door was ajar, and as they crossed the foyer he could see that Cornelius Barker, Noreen’s boyfriend, was stretched out in the reclining chair with his feet on the hassock. Perry knew that was his way of showing that he was the man of the house.

“Hi, Corny,” Perry said with mock cheer. “Been setting the world on fire lately?”

“Daddy!” Nicky said reproachfully, even as he knew she was trying not to laugh.

“Well, you certainly haven’t been since we laid eyes on each other.” The crisp voice came from Noreen as she emerged from the kitchen. “And his name is Cornelius, or Neil, if that’s too long a word for you.”

Noreen’s auburn hair was twisted in a bun. Her superb figure was enhanced by a clingy white top and flowing black pants. Her slender high-arched feet were in shoes that consisted of a few scraps of velvet and silver heels.

Noreen was always around when he came to pick up Nicky. And even though she always needled him about something, she always made it her business to look terrific. And she always made it a point to play chef for Corny Barker, so the aroma of something good in the oven was drifting through the apartment.

Perry always felt that, on some unconscious level, Noreen was showing him what he was missing. A nicely decorated comfortable apartment, a good meal, and her. All of which is true, he thought. Not that he hadn’t met some interesting ladies along the way, including one who loved to golf almost as much as he did. Noreen thought that chasing a ball through the grass was, as she put it, “a trivial way to spend the day.”

The trouble with the golfer was that she was a nonstop talker, even when he was about to swing a club. She hadn’t lasted long with him.

Now Nicky was giving him the look that said, Please, Daddy, don’t get into an argument with Mom.

“Hello, Noreen,” he said. “May I say you look lovely? And I think I can detect the delectable scent of a pot roast simmering in the Crock-Pot. Am I right?”

“You know perfectly well that’s a roast chicken,” Noreen snapped. “Unless you’ve taken leave of all of your senses, which of course is possible. And it really is terrible that you kept Nicky waiting so long, and you do it every time. Every single time.”

“Not every single time, and I never do it deliberately. I’m sure when I tell her about the case I’m on, she’ll more than understand.” Perry resisted his desire to kick the hassock out from under Cornelius’s feet. “Nicky, why don’t you grab your coat so that Mommy and Cornelius can dive into that chicken together?”

“Wear your heavy jacket, Nicky, the one with the hood,” Noreen ordered. “I’m sure your father doesn’t have an umbrella in the car, and it may start raining again.”

“Detectives don’t carry umbrellas. They carry guns,” Perry protested, heatedly forgetting for the moment that he wasn’t an NYPD detective anymore. Before Noreen could come back with a zinger that, thanks to his getting into trouble he’d been thrown off the force, he added firmly, “or they should.”

Before she could reply, Cornelius lowered his feet from the hassock and heaved his body from the chair. “I may have been a top-drawer tennis player, but it’s left its mark on the bod,” he groaned.

Cornelius never missed making that speech whenever he got up. Perry wondered if he even said it when he slid off a barstool. The guy had made the quarter finals at Forest Hills twenty-five years ago, lost all his games, and then dropped like a stone from competition. Now he sold tennis clothes and equipment for a manufacturer and occasionally was invited to comment on a minor league tennis match.

“Noreeny,” Cornelius said in an intimate tone that made Perry want to belt him, “we planned a big lunch for an hour ago. I’m worried that the chicken that your detective ex thought was a pot roast will get tired of waiting for us.” He smiled the too-white smile that lit up his salon-tanned face and brushed back his fading blond hair.

Noreen turned from Perry to him. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. Sit down at the table. I’ll bring the salads out.” She turned back to Nicky. “Warm jacket,” she said firmly. “And don’t be late. You didn’t finish your calculus homework, and you have a test on Monday.”

“Mom, please.”

The ringing of Nicky’s cell phone interrupted another round of acrimonious dialogue. She answered it and clasped her hand to her forehead. “Oh my God. I totally forgot. She did text me, but she’s always texting about something. You’d think this show was going on Broadway. Is she mad? Tell her I’ll be right there.”

Nicky snapped the cell phone closed. “I have a rehearsal for the play. Oh my God, how did I forget it?” She grabbed Perry’s arm, raced into the foyer, and reached into the clothes closet with her other hand. “Dad, can you drop me off at school then bring in a pizza to the auditorium? We can eat lunch together there. I don’t come in until the third act, but the director insists we be there for the whole rehearsal. She said otherwise we don’t absorb the uncertainty and sadness of the human condition.”

Perry barely had time to yell, “Bye, Noreeny, bye, Cor-nel-ius,” before he was out the door. Before it closed he had the intense satisfaction of inhaling the distinct odor of something burning coming from the kitchen.

He and Nicky raced to the car. “Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry,” Nicky gasped. “The director moved the rehearsal time. I totally forgot because I was looking forward so much to seeing you. But of course you were late, so it’s not like it’s my fault that we don’t have much time. It’s yours.”

“Your mother could not have put it better,” Perry sighed as he unlocked the door for Nicky and jumped into the driver’s seat. “What’s the play?” he asked as he pulled out of the spot with the same Houdini-like dexterity with which he had gotten into it.

“It’s Our Town. Last year we did Little Shop of Horrors, remember? I really liked that one. This one makes me cry. I mean, Emily dies; little Wally dies because he has a burst appendix. A neighbor who wants to go to Paris only gets to Gettysburg every other year. George throws himself on Emily’s grave. Too much.”

“It’s considered a classic, honey. I think you’ll appreciate it more when you’re in college.”

“But I like being in it. I play ‘first dead woman.’ I don’t have a big line, but I like being onstage.”

Perry remembered that he had played the male lead in Our Town when he was a sophomore in high school. Gigi Jones played Emily, he thought. She was one hot cookie.

“My line is, ‘She lived on the same road we lived on, mmmhmm.’ ” Nicky shrugged and switched subjects. “I think Mom is getting sick of the tennis champion, Daddy.”

“It’s a miracle she didn’t get a blinding headache the first time she was introduced to him,” Perry said, then was annoyed at the secret thrill of satisfaction at hearing his daughter’s words.

“It’s like I’ve been thinking it through. I think you and Mom still love each other, but you don’t like each other very much. Billy and I have discussed it a lot, and we’re synched on it.”

It was raining again. Reluctantly, Perry turned on the windshield wipers. Raising his voice over the screeching sound they emitted, he asked, “Who’s Billy?”

“He’s my boyfriend. He’s the guy who plays the milkman in the show. You’ll meet him later. His mother and father are getting a divorce, but they can’t afford two apartments so his father sleeps in Billy’s room with him. There are twin beds. His father snores, so Billy is totally going nuts.”

They were pulling up to the school. “The auditorium door will be open, so drop me over there. Maybe you’d better get two pizzas. Some of the other kids might want a slice. And bring some Cokes. Okay?”

Nicky did not wait for an answer as she hopped out of the car. Nor did she pull the hood of her jacket to cover her head as she made the dash to the door through the now-teeming rain.

Before he started the car again, Perry called Angel, and her cell phone immediately switched to “Leave a message.”

“Angel,” he said, “I want you to call me back right away. And be sure to stay inside with… Athena.” It had taken him a moment to recall the nanny’s name.

Twenty minutes later he was back at the school, the pizzas and soda balanced in his arms. His visit with Nicky consisted of everyone not onstage coming over to share the pizza. By luck, he managed to get one slice. The director ordered perfect silence in the auditorium during the rehearsal, so his time with Nicky consisted of watching the rehearsal as it dragged on interminably.

It did give him time to worry about Angel. If she was right and someone was trying to kill her, who could it be? Her mother? But her mother was his client. Was he turning into an enabler by tracking down Angel and then reporting where she was to her mother? At least he hadn’t done that so far. But should he do it?

Finally, Nicky was onstage. The director had them do the final scene at least twenty times. “You’re not sad. You’re not glad. You’re matter-of-fact that Emily is dead, too,” she bellowed.

At last the rehearsal was over. “How was I, Dad?” Nicky breathed.

“You were good,” he said. The idea of acting brought Angel to mind. Had she been acting, too? Something in his gut kept saying yes.

“You had what the director was looking for.” Perry searched his head for the right words, which he actually meant. “You had that thoughtful remembrance tone in your voice, which is what the part calls for,” he tried.

Nicky’s sunny smile was sufficient reward for knowing that, at least for once, he had supplied the on-target response he’d been praying for. As the rest of the cast grabbed their outer garments, Nicky turned and pulled over a baby-faced guy with a head of curly hair and a timid smile. “Dad, this is Billy. He was helping backstage. That’s why you haven’t met him yet.”

“Hello, Billy.”

“Hello, sir.”

My God, the kid has manners, Perry marveled then warned himself not to prejudge. It got him thinking about Angel again. How had he judged her? He still wasn’t sure. But something about her act didn’t sit right. Even so, he was supposed to be protecting her.

“Billy, sorry this is a rush. Hope to see you another time. But Nicky has homework to do, and her mother wants her home.”

“Dad,” Nicky whined. “It’s a Saturday.”

“Tell that to your mom,” Perry said, and repeated his apology to Billy.

“That’s okay, sir. I just want you to know that when your daughter is with me you have nothing to worry about, like, I mean, I’m not like a lot of guys.”

“Oh, Billy, shut up,” Nicky said, her face turning into a full-fledged blush.

Methinks he doth protest too much… maybe, Perry thought, but he did seem like a nice guy, and if there’s one thing he was sure of, Noreen kept a close watch on Nicky. “Come on, Nick,” he urged. “Nice to see you, Billy.”

“On the short drive home, Nicky was unusually silent then burst out, “That was a totally stupid thing for Billy to say. It’s not like… I mean… ever… I haven’t… ”

The ring of truth. Thank God for the ring of truth. “I believe you, baby, and keep it that way. Let’s change subjects. I’m minding this”—he searched for an adjective—“ditsy twenty-year-old who claims her mother wants to kill her.”

Instantly distracted, Nicky laughed. “Does she know Mom? Maybe there’s a club they both belong to.” Then as they turned onto the block heading to the apartment, a car went around them. “Dad, see that car?” Nicky asked, “the one that looks as though it got rear-ended? It was behind you when you parked. I saw it drive by when I was looking for you from the window.”

Perry felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to bristle. “Are you sure it’s the same one?”

“Oh, I mean, I think it is. How many cars look as if they’re banged in the same spot?”

Like father, like daughter, he said to himself.

“Who knows? There was a fender bender when I was on my way over. Can you believe it? There’s a spot in front of the building. But pull your hood on anyhow. Let’s make it look good for Mom.”

He stopped the car, and Nicky leaned over to kiss him. “I love you, Daddy. Try to be on time next time.”

“I’m going to the door with you.”

“That’s silly.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Harry the doorman was opening the door for Nicky. “Good night, Sherlock Holmes,” he said to Perry.

“I’m taking her up to the apartment,” Perry said. “I’ll just be a minute. Keep your eye open for flying objects.”

This time they waited for the elevator to descend from the twelfth floor. “Daddy, you’re worried because I told you about that car,” Nicky said.

“Nicky, I’m on a funny kind of case. If you see it again in this neighborhood or around the school, you’ve got to promise you’ll tell the nearest adult that I’m worried about it and then call me. And if possible get a license number but don’t get close to it. This isn’t fooling around. Okay?”

The elevator came, and they got into it. “If anyone is tailing your car, they’re after you, not me, Dad. You be careful. Promise.”

“Promise.”

They got off the elevator and Perry waited as Nicky unlocked the door. “I won’t make any final farewells inside. Let Mom and Corny split the wishbone in peace.” He hugged her. “Talk to you tomorrow, Nick. Who loves you?”

“You do. And I love you.”

Perry checked his phone. There were no messages. Time to see Julia.

He went back downstairs, through the lobby, and out to his car. He had left it running and the windshield wipers were screeching. Forestalling any comment from Harry, who was holding open the door for an elderly couple, he jumped into the car and drove away. The rain was pouring down, and try as he might he had no way of knowing if he was being followed as he approached the Brooklyn Bridge.

And then he saw it, a dark car inching up on him, then trying to pass, way too close for comfort. He sped up. The black car did, too. He weaved in and out of the traffic, and the black car followed. No doubt it was a tail. Then as he was halfway across the bridge the car sideswiped him. The sound of scraping metal was loud in Perry’s ears, and his Datsun skidded on the wet road.

Clutching the wheel, he tried to keep his car from flipping over. It lifted into the air, teetering for a breathtaking moment before slamming down on the road instead of going directly into the railing.

Even with the hopeless flapping of the windshield wipers, Perry could see that the car that had sideswiped him had a battered trunk. Jamming his foot on the accelerator, he pursued his aggressor, darting in and out of traffic to the tune of frantic honking and slamming brakes, until he was over the bridge and in the maze of city traffic, where he lost his would-be assailant.

Damn — Damn — Damn—

You punch your fist against the steering wheel as you try to navigate the traffic of the Manhattan streets. You try to breathe normally, your mind spinning.

So you didn’t stop him, didn’t send his piece of shit car over the side of the bridge.

So what?

Forget him.

A car horn beeps and you jump. You check the rearview mirror for the tenth time. But it’s not him, you’ve lost him. You’re okay. Better than okay.

You drive through the streets, your blood pumping, your head throbbing. It’s time. You’ve got to do it already — what you planned to do from the beginning, why you followed the PI in the first place.

You’ve got to take care of it. Now. You can’t wait anymore.

Do it.

You repeat the words, your hand tapping the steering wheel: Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it.