No Place Like Home Part 18

"Two guest bedrooms," he joked. "I don't have close family, but with those two bedrooms, I'd better look up those cousins of mine in Ohio and have them out for a weekend."

They rode back down in the elevator, went outside, and, as Amy locked the front door, Zach said, "I'll take it. As is. Furnished."

"That's wonderful," Amy Stack exclaimed. "Are you prepared to make a deposit now?"

"Didn't Ted Cartwright tell you that he's giving me this unit?" Zach asked, his tone astonished.

"I saved his life once, and now that I have to get out of where I've been living, he told me to come over and choose my s.p.a.ce. Ted never forgets a favor. You must be proud to be in his employ."

CHAPTER 48.

Alex called shortly after the prosecutor and his entourage left. He was at the airport in Chicago.

"I'm going to have to go back tomorrow for a couple of days more," he said. "But I miss you guys and just want to get back for the night. Why don't you see if Sue is available to babysit, so you and I can go out for a late dinner at The Grand Cafe?"

The Grand Cafe in Morristown is another one of the restaurants from the past. Mother and Daddy went there frequently, and on weekends, they'd often take me with them. I knew I'd enjoy going there with Alex. "Sounds great," I told him. "Jack had a play date, so he'll be ready for bed early, and I'll call Sue right away."

I was still in my riding clothes. I phoned Sue. She was free to come over. I made the reservation at the restaurant. I gave Jack a ride on Star, then settled him in front of the television with a Muppet tape and went upstairs. For the week we had been here, I'd been showering in the morning. But now, in the bathroom that my father had designed for my mother, I luxuriated in her deep English tub, trying to wash away the bewildering events of the day. So many things had happened: Detective Walsh following me. The fact that I must have pa.s.sed the place where the landscaper was shot at right around the time of the shooting. The prosecutor, previously so courteous, becoming cold and formal when I refused to let him and his a.s.sociates in. My appointment with Benjamin Fletcher tomorrow.

How much should I tell Alex? Or should I just say nothing, and try to have a stress-free evening with him? He has to go back to Chicago tomorrow morning. Maybe in the next few days they would solve these two crimes and the prosecutor's office would lose interest in me. I tried hard to believe that's what would happen, because it was the only thing I could believe and stay sane.

When I got out of the tub, I put on a robe, fed Jack, bathed him, and put him to bed. Then I went back to the master bedroom to get changed. A memory suddenly came to me, and it was not a pleasant one. I had gone to this bedroom to say goodnight to my mother before she and Ted went out to dinner. I thought he was downstairs, and I knew she was dressing. The door was open, and I saw she was untying her robe. Then, before I could speak, Ted came out of his bathroom pulling on a tie. He reached his arms behind her and slid the robe off her shoulders.

She turned to him, and the kiss she gave him was as ardent as the ones he showered on her.

That was only days before she threw him out.

What happened? What caused her to change so dramatically? From the time she started dating him until the day they separated, she was always pleading with me to be friends with Ted. "I know how much you loved Daddy, Liza, and how much you miss him, but it's okay to love Ted in a different way. Daddy would be happy to know that Ted is taking care of us."

I remember my answer: "All Daddy wanted to do was to live with us forever and ever."

How different it is with Jack. Of course, he can barely remember his father, but he truly loves Alex.

I have a dark green silk shantung pant suit that's dressy without being fussy. I decided to wear it tonight. While living in New York, Alex and I had gotten in the habit of going out a couple of times a week for a late dinner. The babysitter would come in as I was reading Jack his story, then Alex and I would go to Neary's, our favorite Irish pub, or, if we were in the mood for pasta, to Il Tennille. Sometimes we'd go with friends, but more often it would be just the two of us.

The feeling of being a newlywed certainly has been erased since we moved in here last week, I thought, as I touched my eyelids with mascara and applied blush to my lips. I had washed my hair, and decided to let it hang loose, knowing that Alex likes it that way. I clipped on my favorite emerald and gold earrings, given to me by Larry on our first wedding anniversary.

Larry-how sad it is that the memory of those few contented years I had with him is forever marred by the fact that he extracted that promise from me on his deathbed.

I hadn't heard Alex come in, and didn't know he was there until I felt his arms around me. He laughed at my startled gasp, then turned me to him. His lips found mine and I responded, eager for his embrace.

"I've missed you," he said. "Those stupid depositions are turning out to be endless. I simply had to get home, even if only overnight."

I smoothed his hair back. "I'm so glad you did." Jack came running in. "You didn't say h.e.l.lo to me."

"I thought you were asleep," Alex said as he laughed and scooped him up, so that now his strong arms were hugging both of us. It felt so good. It felt so right, and for a few hours, I was able to pretend that it was.

Several people stopped by our table at The Grand Cafe. They turned out to be friends of Alex's from the Peapack Riding Club. All of them offered their regrets about the vandalism and my experience of having found Georgette's body. Alex's response was that we were thinking of giving the house its old name again, "Knollcrest," and he promised each visitor, "When Ceil does her magic on it we'll have the mother of all c.o.c.ktail parties."

When we were alone at our table, Alex smiled and said, "You can't blame me for hoping."

That was when I told him about the prosecutor coming to the house, and about Detective Walsh following me and telling me that there was something suspicious about the fact I made it home so quickly from Holland Road.

I watched as the muscles in Alex's face tightened, and a dark red flush stained his cheekbones.

"Do you mean to tell me that those people have nothing better to do than worry about the fact that you managed to get home quickly in a catatonic state?"

"It gets worse," I said, and told him about the murder of the landscaper, and the fact that I must have pa.s.sed the property about the time he was killed. "Alex, I don't know what to do." I was practically whispering now. "They say it all has to do with our house, but I swear to you, they're looking at me as though I was responsible for Georgette's death."

"Oh, Ceil, that's ridiculous," Alex protested, but then he saw that once again I was on the verge of breaking down. "Honey," he said, "I'll get a later plane to Chicago tomorrow. I'm going over to Morristown tomorrow morning and talk to that prosecutor. He has one h.e.l.l of a nerve to let one of his detectives follow you around. He also has one h.e.l.l of a nerve to show up at your doorstep and ask you where you were when that landscaper was killed. I'll straighten the bunch of them out fast."

On the one hand, I felt grat.i.tude. My husband wants to fight my battles, I thought. On the other hand, what will Alex think when, the next time Walsh or Jeff MacKingsley shows up, I refuse to answer their questions on the grounds that I might incriminate myself? I have already lied to them about firing a gun, and about Georgette giving me directions to Holland Road.

I cannot answer even the simplest of questions, like, "Mrs. Nolan, were you ever in Mendham before your birthday last month? Were you ever on Holland Road before last Thursday?" To answer those questions would lead to so many others.

"Ceil, you have nothing to be concerned about. This is ridiculous," Alex said. He reached across the table to take my hand, but I pulled it away, fishing in my purse for my handkerchief.

"Maybe this isn't the best time for me to stop by, Celia. You seem to be upset."

I looked up at Marcella Williams. Her voice was kindly and soothing, but her eyes, alive with curiosity, betrayed her excitement at happening upon us when we both were visibly upset. The man standing at her side was Ted Cartwright.

CHAPTER 49.

At 4:30 on Tuesday afternoon, Jeff MacKingsley had barely returned to his office when Sergeant Earley phoned to tell him that he'd just learned that Robin Carpenter was Charley Hatch's half-sister. "I've called a press conference for five o'clock," Jeff told him. "Ask her to come to my office at six. Or better yet, maybe you'd better drive her over."

As he had expected, the press conference was confrontational. "There have been two homicides in Morris County in less than one week, both at million-dollar-plus homes. Were the deaths connected?" the Record reporter asked.

"Charley Hatch had been the landscaper at the Holland Road house. The man who collected his garbage claims that this afternoon Sergeant Earley confiscated a bag he'd collected from Hatch's trash barrel and took jeans and sneakers and figurines out of it? Was Charley Hatch a suspect in Georgette Grove's death?" That was the question from the New York Post reporter.

"Did these homicides have anything to do with the vandalizing of Little Lizzie's Place on Old Mill Lane, and does the prosecutor's office have any leads?" the Asbury Park Press stringer demanded.

Jeff cleared his throat. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "Charley Hatch, a landscaper, was shot sometime between 1:40 and 2:10 this afternoon. We believe his a.s.sailant was known to him, and possibly had arranged to meet him. No one reported hearing the shot, which was not unusual since there was a power mower in use on a neighboring property on Valley Road." He had not intended to say anything more, but then changed his mind, realizing that he could not stop without giving some additional information to the media. "We believe the deaths of Charley Hatch and Georgette Grove were connected, and also may be linked to the vandalism on Old Mill Lane. We are pursuing several leads, and will keep you informed."

He made his way back to his office, aware that his frustration and irritation were landing squarely on Clyde Earley. I'll bet anything that he didn't wait to go through Charley Hatch's garbage until it was off the premises, he fumed. I'll bet Charley knew it had been disturbed and panicked. If Earley was suspicious, he should have waited until the garbage got to the dump to go through it. Then we could have put a tap on Charley's phone and found out who he was working for. That way, we wouldn't have the guy who picked up the garbage blabbing about it to everybody.

And where does that s.e.xy receptionist from Grove's office, who claims to be Charley Hatch's half sister, fit into the picture? he wondered.

At six o'clock, Robin Carpenter, escorted by Sergeant Earley, arrived at Jeff's office. Walsh, Ortiz and Sh.e.l.ley sat in on the meeting, and Jeff was sure that all of them were aware that Robin was the kind of woman who could get whatever she wanted from a man. Funny, Jeff thought. She kept herself fairly low-key last week when we talked to her, after Grove's body was found. Now she's openly playing to the field. And to my staff, he thought, noticing that Ortiz could not keep his eyes off her.

"Ms. Carpenter, I'd like to extend my sympathy at your brother's death. I'm sure this has been quite a shock for you."

"Thank you, Mr. MacKingsley, but I don't want to give the wrong impression. I am very sorry about Charley, but I must explain that I never even knew he existed until a year ago."

Jeff listened intently as Robin explained that at age seventeen her mother had given birth to a baby. In a private adoption, she had signed him over to a childless couple to raise. "My mother's been dead for ten years. Then one day last year, Charley showed up on my father's doorstep and introduced himself. He had his birth certificate and pictures of himself in my mother's arms, so there was no doubt he was who he said he was.

"My father's remarried, so he wasn't at all interested in Charley. In all honesty, he may be my half-brother, but the little I got to know him, I didn't much care for him. I mean he was always whining. He complained that he had to pay too much to his wife when they were divorced. He said he hated landscaping, but that once he got into that business, he was kind of stuck with it.

He couldn't stand most of the people he worked for. He just wasn't the kind of person anyone would seek out to try to make a friend."

"Did you have much contact with him?" Jeff asked.

"Quite frankly, I didn't want any. Occasionally he'd call and ask me to have a cup of coffee with him. The divorce was fairly recent, and he was at loose ends."

"Ms. Carpenter, we have reason to believe Charley Hatch was the person who vandalized the house on Old Mill Lane."

"That's absolutely impossible," Robin protested. "Why would Charley do that?"

"That's exactly what we want to know," Jeff replied. "Did Charley ever come into your office to see you?"

"No, never."

"Did Georgette know he was related to you?"

"No. There was no reason to talk about him."

"Would Georgette or Henry have had any contact with him?"

"Possibly. I mean sometimes the people who are selling houses are away, and of course the houses and properties must be maintained. Charley was a landscaper and also had a snowplowing service in the winter. If Georgette had an exclusive listing on a property, she'd be the one making sure that it was being kept up, so it's entirely possible that she knew Charley if he was working on one of those properties. But his name never came up in the year I worked with her."

"Then that would be true of Henry Paley as well?" Jeff asked. "He might have known Charley before last week."

"Of course."

"When was the last time you spoke to your half brother, Ms. Carpenter?"

"It was at least three months ago."

"Where were you between 1:40 and 2:10 this afternoon?"

"In the office. You see, Henry was having lunch with Ted Cartwright. When he came back a little after one o'clock, I ran across the street to get a sandwich and bring it back in. Henry had an appointment at 1:30 to take a client out."

"Did he keep that appointment?"

Robin hesitated, then said, "Yes he did, but Mr. Mueller, the potential buyer, phoned to say he was delayed, and couldn't meet Henry until 2:30."

"Then Henry was in the office with you until that time?"

Robin Carpenter hesitated. Her eyes moistened, and she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. "I can't believe that Charley is dead. Is that why...?" Her voice trailed off.

Jeff waited, then slowly and deliberately said, "Ms. Carpenter, if you have any information that would a.s.sist this investigation, it is your obligation to reveal it. What did you just start to say?"

Robin's composure broke. "Henry has been trying to blackmail me," she burst out. "Before I went to work for Georgette, I dated Ted Cartwright a few times. Of course, when I realized how much she despised him, I didn't mention it. Henry's been trying to twist everything around to make it sound as if I was undermining Georgette. That wasn't true, but what is true is that Henry Paley was not in the office today from the time he left at one fifteen until nearly four o'clock. In fact, he had just gotten back minutes before Sergeant Earley came in and told us Charley was dead."

"His appointment to show a house had been changed from one thirty to two thirty?" Jeff confirmed.

"Yes."

"Thank you, Ms. Carpenter. I know this has been very trying for you. If you wait just a few minutes until your statement is ready to sign, Sergeant Earley will drive you home."

"Thank you."

Jeff looked at his a.s.sistants, each of whom had been quietly taking notes. "Any one of you have a question for Ms. Carpenter?"

"Just one," Paul Walsh said. "Ms. Carpenter, what is the number of your cell phone?"

CHAPTER 50.

At quarter of three, Dru Perry received a call from her editor, Ken Sharkey, telling her about the report that had come over the police band. Charley Hatch, the landscaper of the Holland Road house where Georgette Grove had been murdered, had been shot to death. Ken was dispatching someone else to cover the story at the location, but he wanted Dru to attend the press conference MacKingsley was sure to call.

Dru a.s.sured Ken she would wait around for the press conference, but she did not share with him the stunning information she had just uncovered. She had been busy tracing back three generations of Liza Barton's maternal ancestors. Liza's mother and grandmother had been only children. Her great-grandmother had three sisters. One of them never married. Another married a man names James Kennedy and died without issue. The third great-great aunt married a man named William Kellogg.

Celia Foster Nolan's maiden name is Kellogg. One of the New York reporters referred to that fact when he wrote about the vandalism, Dru remembered. I just wrote that she was the widow of the financier Laurence Foster. I think it was the guy from the Post who gave the background about her-that she had met Foster when she was decorating his apartment, that she had her own design business, Celia Kellogg Interiors.

Dru went down to the courthouse cafeteria and ordered a cup of tea. The cafeteria was almost deserted, which suited her well. She needed time to think, and was only just beginning to realize the ramifications of what she had learned.

As she held the tea cup with both hands, she stared ahead unseeingly. Maybe the fact that her name is Kellogg is merely the wildest of coincidences, Dru thought. But no, I don't believe in that kind of coincidence. Celia Nolan is exactly the right age to be the grown-up Liza Barton. Is it really a coincidence that Alex Nolan just happened to buy that house as a surprise? It's a one-in-a-million chance, but it could happen. But if he bought it as a surprise, it has to mean that Celia never told him about her true background. My G.o.d, I can only imagine how shocked she must have been when he drove her up to the house on her birthday, and she had to pretend to be thrilled.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, the day she moved in she was greeted by that writing on the lawn, and the paint on the house, and that doll with the gun, and the skull and crossbones carved into the door. No wonder she fainted when she saw all the media charging at her.

Did it cause her to become unbalanced? Dru wondered. Celia Nolan had been the one who found Georgette's body. Is it possible she was in such a frenzy about being in the house and all that terrible publicity that she would kill Georgette?

It was a possibility Dru did not relish considering.

Later, at the press conference she was uncharacteristically silent. The fact that Sergeant Earley had confiscated the murdered landscaper's jeans and sneakers and carvings meant only one thing to her. They were looking to tie Charley Hatch to the vandalism.

Dru found herself hoping that Celia Nolan had an ironclad alibi for the thirty minutes between 1:40 and 2:10 that afternoon, and then feeling with increasing certainty that she would not have any alibi at all.

It had been a long day, but after the press conference, Dru went back to the office. On the Internet she found a number of articles about Celia Kellogg. One of them was an interview in Architectural Digest that had taken place seven years earlier. When the established designer she had been working for retired, Celia had gone out on her own, and the magazine was calling her one of the most innovative and talented of the new crop of designers.

It gave her background as the daughter of Martin and Kathleen Kellogg. She didn't let on that she was their adopted daughter, Dru noticed. She had been raised in Santa Barbara. Reading further, Dru found the information she wanted. Shortly after Celia moved east to go to the Fashion Inst.i.tute of Technology, the Kelloggs had relocated to Naples, Florida. It was an easy matter to get their telephone number from the directory. Dru copied it in her notebook. It's not time to call them yet, she decided. They're sure to deny that their adopted daughter is Liza Barton. The next thing to do is to get Liza's picture computer aged, then I have to decide if I should share my suspicions with Jeff MacKingsley. Because, if I'm right, Little Lizzie Borden is not only back, but she's very possibly unhinged and on a killing spree. Her own lawyer said he wouldn't be surprised if she came back someday and blew Ted Cartwright's brains out.