The Lost Years

66

At one o’clock on Thursday afternoon, Mariah arrived back at her parents’ home and walked into the kitchen. There was a note from Betty on the table. “Mariah, I stopped in and left some cold cuts for you in case you came home for lunch. Tidied up quickly but feeling under the weather and leaving now—8:20 A.M.”

The message light on the kitchen phone was flashing. Mariah pushed the button to retrieve the messages and punched in the code. Her parents had kept it easy to remember by choosing the year of her birth. “The happiest event in our lives,” her father had told her.

Besides his attempts to reach her on her cell, Richard had also called on this phone at nine fifteen that morning. “Mariah, please, we have to talk.” She quickly deleted the rest of the message, not wanting to hear the sound of his voice.

As Greg had told her, he had tried to reach her twice on this line. “Mariah, you’re not answering your cell phone. I’m worried about you. Please call me.”

Alvirah’s three calls, made before Mariah had spoken to her from the apartment, were first about trying to trace Lillian and then wondering why Mariah wasn’t calling her back.

Mariah made a turkey and cheese sandwich from the assortment of cold cuts that Betty had brought in. She took out a bottle of cold water and carried it and the sandwich into her father’s study. This was Dad’s favorite sandwich, she remembered, and then realized that no matter what she did or where she went she always felt his presence.

She ate the sandwich and realized that her eyes were heavy. Well, I did get up early and I haven’t exactly been sleeping much lately, she thought. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. I can’t concentrate on anything until Lloyd calls about that report. I wouldn’t mind dozing off for a while.

At three thirty she was awakened from a surprisingly deep sleep by the ring of the phone on her father’s desk. It was Lloyd. “Mariah,” he began, “it almost sounds like a cliché, but the truth is that I have good news and bad news. Let me tell you the good news first, because I think it will soften the rest of what I have to tell you.”

Afraid of what she was about to hear, she clutched the phone as Lloyd explained the developments surrounding Wally Gruber.

“You mean to tell me that this guy says he saw somebody running out of here right after Dad was shot? My God, Lloyd! What does this mean for Mom?”

“Mariah, I just got off the phone for the second time today with Peter Jones. He told me that the New York police have arrested Wally Gruber’s fence and all of Lisa’s jewelry has been recovered. Of course, Lisa and I are relieved about that, but much more important, it does give at least some credibility to this Gruber fellow.”

“Did he get a good look at that person? Was it a man or a woman?”

“So far, he’s not even getting that specific. He’s been trying to make a deal to get time taken off the sentences he’ll get for the burglaries. Jones has agreed to have him brought from the New York jail to the prosecutor’s office tomorrow morning so that he can sit with their composite officer. Hopefully, they’ll get a good sketch and with any luck at all it will help Kathleen.”

“You mean that it would prove Mother didn’t kill Dad?” Mariah had a vivid flash of the image of her mother arriving at the courthouse in a prison uniform.

“Mariah,” Lloyd cautioned her, “we don’t know where this is going, so don’t get your hopes up too high. But of course, if the sketch turns out to be someone whom you recognize or the detectives recognize, it would go a long way to proving that she had nothing to do with your father’s death. Don’t forget, his closest friends swore that they never saw the parchment. If they’re telling the truth, Jonathan may have consulted a different expert or experts in the field and we don’t even know who they are. And there’s always the possibility that Gruber was telling the truth about the jewelry but the rest of his story is a sham.”

“Lloyd, there’s something you don’t know yet. Greg told me that he’s had a tip that Charles Michaelson has been shopping the parchment. He said he heard it from a collector in the field. That’s all I know.”

There was momentary silence on the other end of the phone, then Lloyd said quietly, “If that is proven to be true, then at the very least Michaelson is guilty of possession of stolen property.”

Mariah’s relief at the possibility that someone whose face they might recognize would be revealed on the sketch gave way to the frightening thought that Lloyd had also told her that he had bad news.

“Lloyd, you said you had bad news for me. What is it?” she demanded.

“Mariah, the psychiatric report recommends that your mother be kept in the hospital for further observation and therapy.”

“No!”

“Mariah, it indicates that several times your mother has exhibited very aggressive behavior. ‘Further observation’ could mean her staying there as little as a week or two more. I’ve had other defendants with psychiatric problems who’ve been in that hospital. They were well treated and safe there. The report says that she not only needs round-the-clock care but additional security measures as well. You would have to make all of those arrangements before the judge would agree to release her. I’ve already consented to putting off tomorrow’s hearing.”

“Lloyd, most of the time when she seems to be aggressive, it’s because she’s so frightened. I want to see her.” Mariah knew her voice was rising. “How do I know for sure that she’s being treated well?”

“You can start by seeing it for yourself. I told Peter Jones that I wanted you to have the right to visit her. He had no problem with that. He promised that he’ll get an order from the judge by the end of the court day. They’ll fax the order to the hospital. There are visiting hours this evening from six to eight.”

“When we do we get to see that sketch that Gruber will do tomorrow morning?”

“Jones promised me that I could come to his office after it’s done and look at it. He said he’ll give me a copy. I’ll bring it directly to you.”

With that, Mariah had to be content. She called Alvirah, told her about the conversation with Lloyd, and then, unable to even think about trying to do any work on her computer, went upstairs to her father’s bedroom. She looked sadly at the handsome four-poster bed. They bought this house and this furniture when Mom was expecting me, she thought. They told me that when I was born, they were so afraid that I might stop breathing they kept me in a crib right next to their bed for the first six months.

Until four years ago, her parents had shared this room. It had then become necessary, because of her mother’s nocturnal wanderings, to create a separately secured two-bedroom suite for her and her caregivers.

When Mom comes home, I know that Delia will fill in for me during the week until I can get a new Monday-to-Friday person, she thought. God knows where Rory’s disappeared to. But one thing is for certain. I’m giving up the apartment in New York and moving back here. So I might as well get settled into this room now. I’ve got to do something to keep myself busy. It’ll help keep me sane.

She was relieved that she had already gone through her father’s clothing. With feverish haste, she moved back and forth between the bedrooms, bundling in her arms the hanging garments from her closet and transferring them to the large walk-in closet in her father’s room. Then she pulled out the drawers from her own dresser and, not even noticing how heavy they really were, carried them down the hall and emptied their contents into her father’s mahogany dresser.

At five minutes of five, she was finished. Her father had never moved her mother’s vanity table from this room. In the early stages of her dementia, Kathleen had been frightened by the mirror over the table. Sometimes when she saw her own reflection, she had been afraid that there was an intruder in the house.

Now Mariah’s cosmetics and comb and brush were neatly arranged on its glass top. I’ll get a new spread and dust ruffle and curtains for in here, she decided. And I think I will eventually redo my old room, with those red walls and the red-and-white flowered coverlet. She recalled the Bible verse that began, “When I was a child, I spake as a child,” and ended with, “when I was a man, I put away childish things.”

Realizing what time it was, she began to worry. Why hadn’t Lloyd called again? Surely the judge wouldn’t refuse to allow her to visit her mother. That can’t happen, she thought. It simply can’t.

Ten minutes later, the phone did ring and it was Lloyd. “They just faxed me the judge’s order. Permission granted. As I said earlier, the visiting hours are from six to eight.”

“I’ll be there at six,” Mariah said. “Thanks, Lloyd.” She heard her cell phone ringing in the study. She hurried downstairs and looked at the caller ID. It was Richard. With a mixture of anger and sadness, she decided not to take the call.