All Around the Town

by Mary Higgins Clark

  The judge set the sentencing date for August 31. Sarah closed her eyes. Everything was moving too fast. She had lost her parents less than a year ago, and now her sister was to be taken away from her too.

  * * *

  A sheriff’s officer led them to a side exit to escape the media. They drove away quickly, Gregg at the wheel, Moody beside him, Justin in the backseat with Laurie and Sarah. They were heading for Route 202 when Laurie said, “I want to go to Professor Grant’s house.”

  “Laurie, you’ve been adamant about not going there. Why now?” Sarah asked.

  Laurie pressed her head with her hands. “When I was in court before the judge, the loud thoughts were pounding like tom-toms. A little boy was shouting that I was a liar.”

  Gregg made an illegal U-turn. “I know where it is.”

  The realtor’s multiple-listing sign was on the lawn. The white ranch-style house had a closed and shuttered look. The grass was in need of cutting. Weeds were sprouting around the foundation shrubbery. “I want to go in,” Laurie said.

  “There’s a phone number for the real estate agent,” Moody pointed out. “We could call and find out about getting the key.”

  “The lock doesn’t catch on the sliding glass door to the den,” Laurie said. She chuckled. “I should know. I opened it often enough.”

  Chilled, Sarah realized that the sultry laugh belonged to Leona.

  They followed silently as she led them around the side of the house onto the flagstone patio. Sarah noticed the privacy screen of tall evergreens that shielded the patio from the side road. In her letters to Allan Grant, Leona had written about watching him through this door. No wonder she had not been noticed by passersby.

  “At first it seems to be locked, but if you just jiggle it a little . . .” The door slid open, and Leona stepped inside.

  The room smelled musty. There was still some furniture scattered haphazardly in it. Sarah watched as Leona pointed to an old leather chair with an ottoman in front of it. “That was his favorite chair. He’d sit there for a couple of hours. I used to love to watch him. Sometimes after he went to bed, I’d curl up in it.”

  “Leona,” Justin said. “You came back for your pocketbook the night Allan Grant died. Debbie told us you had left him sleeping, and your tote bag and the knife were on the floor beside him. Show us what happened.”

  She nodded and began to walk with careful, silent footsteps to the hallway that led to the bedroom. Then she stopped. “It’s so quiet. He isn’t snoring anymore. Maybe he’s awake.” On tiptoe she led the way to the door of the bedroom, then stopped.

  “The door was open?” Justin asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Was there a light on?”

  “The night-light in the bathroom. Oh no!”

  She stumbled to the center of the room and gazed down. Immediately her stance changed. “Look at him. He’s dead. They’re going to blame Laurie again.” The young boyish voice that came from Laurie’s throat was shocked. “Got to get her out of here.”

  The boy again, Justin thought. I must get to him. He’s the key to all this.

  Sarah watched horrified as Laurie, who was not Laurie, her feet wide apart, her features somehow reassembled with fuller cheeks and narrowed lips, closed her eyes, bent down and with both hands made a yanking gesture.

  She’s taking the knife from the body, Sarah thought. Oh dear God. Justin, Brendon and Gregg were standing in a line with her like spectators at a surrealistic play. The empty room suddenly seemed to be furnished by Allan Grant’s deathbed. The carpet had been cleaned, but Sarah could imagine it spattered with blood as it had been that night.

  Now the boy alter personality was reaching for something on the carpet. Her tote bag, Sarah thought. He’s hiding the knife in it.

  “Got to get her out of here,” the frightened young voice said again. The feet that were not really Laurie’s feet rushed to the window, stopped. The body that was not her body turned. The eyes that were not her eyes swept the room. She bent down as though picking up something and mimed shoving it in a pocket.

  That’s why the bracelet was found with Laurie’s jeans, Sarah thought.

  The window was being cranked open. Still clutching the imaginary bag, the boy alter stepped over the low sill into the backyard.

  Justin whispered, “Follow him out.”

  * * *

  It was Leona who was waiting for them. “That night the kid didn’t have to open the window,” she said matter-of-factly. “It was already open when I went back. That’s why the room had gotten so cold. I hope you brought cigarettes, Doctor.”

  97

  BIC AND OPAL did not attend Laurie’s court appearance. For Bic the temptation had been great, but he realized that he would undoubtedly be recognized by the media. “As a minister of the Lord and family friend it would be appropriate for me to be present,” he said, “but Sarah is refusing all our invitations to share dinner or to visit with Lee.”

  They spent a lot of time in the New Jersey house now. Opal hated it. It upset her to see how often Bic would go into the bedroom that had been Lee’s. The room’s only piece of furniture was a decrepit rocking chair similar to the one they’d had on the farm. He’d sit in it for hours, rocking back and forth, fondling the faded pink bathing suit. Sometimes he’d sing hymns. Other days he’d listen to Lee’s music box playing the same tinkling song over and over again.

  “ ‘All around the town . . . Boys and girls together . . .’ ”

  * * *

  Liz Pierce, the People magazine reporter, had been in touch with Bic and Opal several times, checking on facts and dates. “You were in upstate New York and that’s where you found your calling. You were preaching on the radio station in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, then in Marietta, Ohio; Louisville, Kentucky; Atlanta, Georgia, and finally New York. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  It always chilled Opal that Pierce had the dates in Bethlehem so accurately. But at least no one there had ever seen Lee. There wasn’t a person who wouldn’t swear that they’d lived alone. It would be all right, she told herself.

  The same day Lee pled guilty to manslaughter, Pierce called to arrange for more photographs. They’d been chosen as the People magazine cover story for the August 31 issue.

  98

  BRENDON MOODY had driven to the Hunterdon County courthouse in his own car. He’d planned to go home from there, but after what he’d witnessed in Allan Grant’s bedroom he wanted a chance to talk quietly to Dr. Justin Donnelly. That was why when Sarah suggested he join them for lunch at the condo, Brendon readily accepted.

  He got his opening when Sarah asked Donnelly to start a fire in the barbecue. Moody followed him onto the patio. In a low voice, he asked, “Is there any chance that Laurie or the alter personalities were telling the truth, that she’d left Allan Grant alive and came back to find him dead?”

  “I’m afraid it’s more probable that an alter personality we haven’t met is the one who took Grant’s life.”

  “Do you think there is any possibility at all that she is totally innocent?”

  Donnelly carefully arranged the charcoal briquettes in the barbecue and reached for the lighter fluid. “Possibility? I suppose anything is possible. You observed two of Laurie’s alter personalities today, Leona and the boy. There may be a dozen more who haven’t surfaced yet, and I’m not sure that they ever will.”

  “I still have a gut feeling—” Brendon clamped his lips together as Sarah came out to the patio from the kitchen.

  99

  “THANK YOU for going to the courthouse with us Friday, Dr. Donnelly,” Laurie told Justin. She was lying on the couch; she seemed calm, almost tranquil. Only the way she clasped her hands together hinted at inner turmoil.

  “I wanted to be with you and Sarah, Laurie.”

  “You know, when I was making the statement I was more worried about Sarah than myself. She’s suffering so much.”

  “I know she is.”

  “This morning at abo
ut six o’clock I heard her crying and went into her room. Funny, all these years she’s been the one to come to me. You know what she was doing?”

  “No.”

  “Sitting up in bed making a list of more people she’d ask to write to the judge for me. She’s been hoping that I’ll only have to serve two years before I’m eligible for parole, but now she’s worried that Judge Armon might give me five years without parole. I hope you’ll stay in touch with Sarah when I’m in prison. She’s going to need you.”

  “I intend to stay in touch with Sarah.”

  “Gregg is terrific, isn’t he, Doctor.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I don’t want to go to prison,” Laurie burst out “I want to stay home. I want to be with Sarah and Gregg. I don’t want to go to prison.”

  She sat bolt upright, swung her feet down onto the floor and clenched her hands into fists. Her face hardened. “Listen, Doctor, you can’t let her get those ideas. Laurie’s got to be locked up.”

  “Why, Kate, why?” Justin asked urgently.

  She did not answer.

  “Kate, remember a couple of weeks ago, you told me the boy was ready to talk to me. He came out yesterday in the Grants’ house. Were he and Leona telling the truth about what happened? Is there someone else I should talk to?”

  In an instant Laurie’s face changed again. The features became smooth, the eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be asking so many questions about me.” The boyish voice was polite but determined.

  “Hi,” Justin said easily. “I was glad to see you again yesterday. You took very good care of Laurie the night the professor died. You’re very smart for a nine-year-old. But I’m grown up. I think I could help you take care of Laurie. Isn’t it about time you trusted me?”

  “You don’t take care of her.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You let her tell people she killed Dr. Grant, and she didn’t do it. What kind of friend are you?”

  “Maybe someone else who hasn’t talked to me yet did it?”

  “There are just four of us, Kate and Leona and Debbie and me, and none of us killed anyone. That’s why I kept trying to make Laurie stop talking to the judge yesterday.”

  100

  BRENDON MOODY could not let go of his gut reaction to Karen Grant. The last week of July, as he impatiently waited for the subpoena to be issued by the Chicago court, he wandered around the lobby of the Madison Arms Hotel. It was obvious that Anne Webster had finally retired from the agency. Her desk had been replaced by a handsome cherrywood table, and in general the decor of the agency had become more sophisticated. Moody decided it was time to pay another visit to Karen Grant’s ex-partner, this time at her home in Bronxville.

  Anne was quick to let Brendon know that she had been deeply offended by Karen’s attitude. “She kept after me to move up the sale. The ink wasn’t dry on the contract when she told me that it was not necessary for me to come into the office at all, that she would handle everything. Then immediately she replaced my things with new furniture for that boyfriend of hers. When I think of how I used to stick up for her when people made remarks about her, let me tell you, I feel like a fool. Some grieving widow!”

  “Mrs. Webster,” Moody said, “this is very important. I think there is a chance that Laurie Kenyon is not guilty of Allan Grant’s murder. But she’ll go to prison next month unless we can prove that someone else did kill him. Will you please go over that evening again, the one you spent at the airport with Karen Grant? Tell me every detail, no matter how unimportant it seems. Start with the drive out.”

  “We left for the airport at eight o’clock. Karen had been talking to her husband. She was terribly upset. When I asked her what was wrong, she said some hysterical girl had threatened him and he was taking it out on her.”

  “Taking it out on her? What did she mean by that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a gossip and I don’t pry.”

  If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that, Brendon thought grimly. “Mrs. Webster, what did she mean?”

  “Karen had been staying at the New York apartment more and more these last months, ever since she met Edwin Rand. I have the feeling that Allan Grant let her know he was mighty sick of the situation. On the way to the airport, she said something like, I should be straightening this out with Allan, not running a driving service.

  “I reminded her that the client was one of our most valuable, and that she had a real aversion to hired cars.”

  “Then the plane was late.”

  “Yes. That really upset Karen. But we went to the VIP lounge and had a drink. Then Spartacus came on. It’s my—”

  “Your favorite movie of all time. Also a very long one. And you do tend to fall asleep. Can you be sure that Karen Grant sat and watched the entire movie?”

  “Well, I do know she was checking on the plane and went to make some phone calls.”

  “Mrs. Webster, her home in Clinton is forty-two miles from the airport. Was there any span of time when you did not see her for somewhere between two to two-and-a-half hours? I mean was it possible that she might have left you and driven to her home?”

  “I really didn’t think I slept but. . .” She paused.

  “Mrs. Webster, what is it?”

  “It’s just that when we picked up our client and left the airport, Karen’s car was parked in a different spot. It was so crowded when we arrived that we had quite a walk to the terminal, but when we left it was right across from the main door.”

  Moody sighed. “I wish you had told me this before, Mrs. Webster.”

  She looked at him, bewildered. “You didn’t ask me.”

  101

  IT WAS just like it had been in those months before Lee was locked up in the clinic, Opal thought. In rented cars, she and Bic began to follow her again. Some days they’d be parked across the street and watch Lee hurry from the garage to the clinic entrance, then wait however long it took until she came out again. Bic would spend the time staring at the door, so afraid of missing even one glimpse of her. Beads of perspiration would form on his forehead, his hands would grip the wheel when she reemerged.

  “Wonder what she’s been talking about today?” he’d ask, fear and anger in his voice. “She’s alone in the room with that doctor, Opal. Maybe he’s being tempted by her.”

  Weekdays Lee went to the clinic in the morning. Many afternoons she and Sarah would golf together, usually going to one of the local public courses. Afraid that Sarah would notice the car following them, Bic began to phone around to the starters to inquire about a reservation in the name of Kenyon. If there was one, he and Opal would occasionally drive to that course and try to run into Sarah and Lee in the coffee shop.

  He never lingered at the table, just greeted them casually and kept going, but he missed nothing about Lee. Afterwards, he’d emotionally comment about her appearance. “That golf shirt just clings to her tender body . . . It was all I could do not to reach over and release the clip that was holding back that golden hair.”

  Because of the “Church of the Airways” program, they had to be in New York the better part of the weekend. Opal was secretly grateful for that. If they did get a glimpse of Lee and Sarah on Saturday or Sunday, the doctor and the same young man, Gregg Bennett, were always with them. That infuriated Bic.

  One mid-August day he called to Opal to join him in Lee’s room. The shades were drawn, and he was sitting in the rocker. “I have been praying for guidance and have received my answer,” he told her. “Lee always goes to and returns from New York alone. She has a phone in her car. I have been able to get the number of that phone.”

  Opal cringed as Bic’s face contorted and his eyes flashed with that strange compelling light. “Opal,” he thundered, “do not think I have not been aware of your jealousy. I forbid you to trouble me with it again. Lee’s earthly time is almost over. In the days that are left, you must allow me to fill myself with the sight and sound and scent of that pretty child.”


  102

  THOMASINA PERKINS was thrilled to receive a note from Sarah Kenyon asking her to write a letter on Laurie’s behalf to the judge who was going to sentence her.

  You remember so clearly how terrified and frightened Laurie was, Sarah wrote, and you’re the only person who ever actually saw her with her abductors. We need to make the judge understand the trauma Laurie suffered when she was a small child. Be sure to include the name you thought you heard the woman call the man as they rushed Laurie from the diner. Sarah concluded by writing that a known child abuser by that name had been in the Harrisburg area then and, while of course they couldn’t prove it, she intended to suggest the possibility that he was the kidnapper.

  Thomasina had told the story of seeing Laurie and calling the police so often that it could practically write itself. Until she got to the sticking point.

  That day the woman had not called the man Jim. Thomasina knew that now with absolute certainty. She couldn’t give that name to the judge. It would be like lying under oath. It troubled her to know that Sarah had wasted time and money tracking down the wrong person.

  Thomasina was losing faith in Reverend Hawkins. She’d written to him a couple of times thanking him for the privilege of being on his show and explaining that, while she would never suggest that God had made a mistake, maybe they should have waited and kept listening to Him. It was just that God had given her the name of the counter boy first. Could they try again?

  Reverend Hawkins hadn’t bothered to answer her. Oh, she was on his mailing list, that was for sure. For every two dollars she donated, she got a letter asking for more.

  Her niece had taped Thomasina’s appearance on the “Church of the Airways” program, and Thomasina loved to watch it. But as her resentment of Reverend Hawkins grew she noticed more and more things about the taped segment. The way his mouth was so close to her ear when she heard the name. The way he didn’t even get Laurie’s name straight. He had referred to her at one point as Lee.