Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “I’ll have to check an older database. Let me see if I can find it now before I have to start dialing.”

  She heard him under his breath mumbling the spelling of Catherine Ryan’s name as he typed. “Okay, it’s opening. Here we go. 40 Forest Drive, Danbury, Connecticut.

  “And with that, I have to say goodbye.”

  7

  Gina went to an online site and found a listing for a Justin and Elizabeth Ryan in Danbury. The street address matched what Rob had given her. Their ages were sixty-five and sixty-three. That was about right for parents whose child was in her early thirties, Gina thought. Her reporter’s instinct told her it would be better to drive to Danbury than to reach out to them by phone.

  The ride on the crisp autumn day was pleasant and not crowded with traffic. Thank God for Waze, she thought as the directions app guided her rental car out of the city to a pleasant suburban area in southern Connecticut with upscale homes on wide lots.

  When she rang the bell, a white-haired woman in her late sixties answered. At first cautious when she read Gina’s card, she warmed up and explained that she and her husband had bought the house less than a year ago from the Ryan family and didn’t have their new address.

  So much for the accuracy of online databases, Gina thought. But as she turned away, she noticed a FOR SALE sign on a neighbor’s lawn. The sign caused her to turn back while the new owner was still standing at the door.

  “One last question,” she promised. “Did you buy this house through a Realtor?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “Do you remember the name of the Realtor?”

  “Yes, I can give you his card.”

  According to Waze the broker was a mile away. It was five o’clock. Hoping that he was still in the office, Gina forced herself to stay within ten miles of the speed limit as she hurried across town.

  The office was on a main street surrounded by a dry cleaner, delicatessen, hair salon, and sporting goods store. Pictures of houses were prominently displayed in the window. Keeping her fingers crossed, she tried the door handle and was relieved to find it open. She stepped inside just as a stocky, balding man of about sixty came from a back room.

  He was obviously disappointed that she was not house hunting, but when she mentioned the Ryans, he became expansive, even loquacious. “Nice family,” he began. “Known them ever since the kids were babies. Hated to see them leave, but Elizabeth’s arthritis was getting worse. They finally decided they needed to do something about it and started looking around. Debated about the Naples and Sarasota areas but ended up in Palm Beach. Good decision if you ask me. They showed me the pictures of the condominium they were planning to buy. I told them in my opinion, even though I’ve only visited the area a few times, they were getting it at a good price. Newly remodeled, big rooms, second bath off the guest bedroom. What more could anyone want? Hated to see them go. Good people, if you get my drift.”

  The agent stopped for breath and Gina managed to get a word in. “By any chance, do you remember the names of their children?”

  “Oh, let’s see. I swear I’m getting old. Used to be that names popped right into my head. No more. It takes a while.” Frowning, he paused. “Wait a minute. I’m starting to remember. Both really good-looking kids. They must be in their late twenties by now. Let’s see. Okay, I’ve got it. Their son is Andrew. The daughter is Catherine. They called her Cathy.”

  “Do you remember how she spells her name? I mean was it with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’?”

  “That I’m sure of. It was with a ‘C.’ C-A-T-H-E-R-I-N-E.”

  “C” Ryan, Gina thought. At least it was the right initial.

  Three minutes later she managed to get the Ryans’ address in Palm Beach and their phone number.

  She walked out to her car, started it, and paused.

  Rather than call now with the possibility of background traffic noise making it hard to hear, or going through areas with spotty cell service, Gina decided to wait until she was home to make the call. This time the distance to Danbury felt longer, and she had to remind herself that she had gotten up early and it had been a long day.

  It was seven-fifteen when she got back to her apartment. Gratefully, she poured herself a glass of wine, settled on a chair in the dinette area, and reached for her land line phone.

  The call was answered by a man’s voice saying, “Ryan residence.”

  Gina repeated what she had told the real estate agent, that she had gone to Boston College with Cathy and was hoping to speak to her. There was a long pause before Andrew Ryan asked, “Were you a friend of my sister?”

  “Not a close friend, but I do want to get in touch with her.”

  “Then you don’t know that Cathy died in an accident last week, when she was on vacation in Aruba.”

  Gina gasped. “No, I didn’t know that. I’m so terribly sorry.”

  “Thank you. Of course, we’re all in shock. It was the last thing we could have expected. Cathy was always very careful, and she was a very good swimmer.”

  “I’d like to tell you more about the reason I’m calling. But I understand if this is not a good time. If you prefer, I can call back—”

  “Now is okay. How can I help you?”

  Gina hesitated for only a moment. “I’m a journalist and I had hoped to talk to Cathy about a story I’m working on. Before I go into it, I have to ask, did she ever work at REL News?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “How long was she there?”

  “Three years. And then she left for a job at a magazine publisher in Atlanta.”

  “When was the last time you saw or heard from Cathy?”

  “About two weeks ago. It was our mother’s birthday so both of us came down to Palm Beach for the weekend to celebrate.”

  “What was the date of the birthday?”

  When Andrew Ryan answered, Gina did a quick calculation.

  “I received an email from Cathy the day of your mother’s birthday. Let me read it to you.”

  Andrew listened as she read the email. Gina explained how she had been about to leave on a trip and had encouraged Cathy to get in touch with her when she returned.

  “And she never contacted you after that initial email?”

  “No, she didn’t. But I’ve gone to great lengths to try to find her.”

  There was a long silence before he said, “I sensed something was not right with Cathy the night of the birthday. She was very quiet. She said she wanted to talk to me about something, but then said, ‘Let’s do it when I get back from Aruba.’ She was going there for five days.”

  “Do you know if she stayed in touch with any of her coworkers from her days at REL News?”

  “I’m pretty sure she kept up with a few people after she left.”

  “Would you happen to know their names?”

  “There was one in the New York area. I’m blanking on her name. Maybe I can find it. I went down to Aruba after the accident and picked up Cathy’s personal items including her cell phone and laptop. I’ll go through them. I know I’ll recognize her name if I see it.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.”

  “Give me your number. I’ll call you as soon as I find something.”

  They exchanged cell phone numbers. Then Andrew asked her quietly, “Do you have any idea what my sister was referring to when she wrote ‘terrible experience’?”

  “Not yet. But I intend to find out.”

  8

  After speaking with Andrew Ryan, Gina sat for long minutes reviewing the conversation in her mind. There were so many more questions she wanted to ask him. She grabbed a pad and began to jot notes.

  Cathy started at REL News right out of college. She would have been twenty-two. Her brother said she worked there for three years before leaving. So the “terrible experience” happened when she was twenty-two to twenty-five. Very young and vulnerable, Gina thought.

  She hadn’t thought to ask about the particulars of her accident. He ment
ioned that she was a good swimmer, so it must have been in the water? It happened in Aruba. Was she there with a boyfriend? girlfriends? alone?

  Aruba, wasn’t that where Natalee Holloway’s family had such a hard time finding out what happened when she disappeared after going there on a high school graduation trip?

  Was there an investigation? If by any chance this was not an accident, how should she follow up?

  Gina pushed the chair back and got up. She remembered that she was to meet Lisa at the Bird’s Nest in another twenty minutes.

  She jumped into the bedroom and quickly changed her clothes. She grabbed a pair of black slacks, a black tank top, and her favorite black-and-white print jacket and hurried out.

  * * *

  The subway ride to the West Village took only twenty minutes. When she opened the door of the restaurant, Lisa was seated at a small table facing the bar.

  Lisa jumped up to meet her. “I missed my buddy when you were on vacation,” she said. “In case you’re wondering, I got this table because I want to watch that bartender make drinks and see if any ice hits the floor.”

  “And has any?” Gina asked.

  “Not so far. Enough about ice cubes. Tell me about Nepal over a glass of wine.”

  “It will take the whole bottle,” Gina said. “To begin, the trip to Nepal was fabulous. I think it did my father a world of good to be with his old friends. He’s still brokenhearted about losing my mother.”

  “Very understandable,” Lisa said. “I loved your mother.”

  Gina took a sip of the wine, hesitated, and then began. “The day I left for Nepal I received an email that may be the next article I’m hoping to write.” She filled Lisa in on the details.

  “A fatal accident of this kind,” Lisa said. “To put it crassly, that’s a lucky break for whoever was trying to settle a lawsuit with her. Maybe too lucky?”

  “That’s the same question I’ve asked myself. Of course it could be a coincidence, but on the other hand, it happened so quickly after Cathy Ryan sent me the email.”

  “What’s your next step?”

  “I need to get an okay from my new boss to go down to Aruba and do my own investigating.”

  “Will the magazine pay your expenses?”

  “I’ll find out later this week.”

  Lisa smiled. “In my next life I want your job.”

  “Enough about what I’m doing, what’s going on with you?”

  “More of the same. Ambulance chasing.” Lisa filled her in on new cases that she had been assigned since Gina had last seen her. A client walking down Fifth Avenue had been hit in the head by a windblown piece of construction debris and sustained a mild concussion. “They’re paying a lot more for concussions nowadays after all the publicity from football players. That will be an easy one.” Another client was exiting the subway via a revolving door made of metal bars. “The door got stuck halfway. My client walked into it and broke his nose. He insists he was sober. But I wonder what he was doing until three o’clock in the morning if he wasn’t drinking.”

  Lisa glanced over at the bar as she heard the sound of a drink being shaken. “So far, no ice on the floor,” she observed wryly.

  9

  At 6:50 the next morning, as Gina stretched and tried to keep her eyes open, her cell phone rang. The name on the screen was Andrew Ryan.

  “I hope I’m not calling too early,” he said. “I’m about to board my flight back to Boston. I want to follow up on yesterday’s conversation.”

  “I’m fine to talk now,” Gina said as she reached for the notebook she always kept on her night table. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”

  “Meg Williamson is one of the people from REL News that Cathy kept in touch with.”

  “Meg Williamson,” she said as she jotted the information. “Any contact info on her?”

  “No, I couldn’t find her on Cathy’s computer or cell phone. The name literally just jumped into my head while I was driving to the airport. When I get to Boston, I’ll call my mother and ask her to try to find it.”

  “That’s great. Thanks so much. Any luck on remembering anybody else at REL News Cathy stayed in touch with?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll talk to my mother. We’ll keep working on it.”

  “Thank you again. If you have any more time, I have some questions I thought of after we spoke.”

  “I’ve got about five minutes. Fire away.”

  “When Cathy went to Aruba, was she alone or with friends?”

  “She went alone.”

  “Do you know if she was planning to meet anybody there?”

  “Not that I know of. She said she just wanted a little R&R on her own.”

  “Aruba’s pretty far to go for a few days of vacation. Any idea why she chose to go there?”

  “None. She loved doing anything and everything near or in the water. Scuba diving, snorkeling, windsurfing.”

  “You told me Cathy died in ‘an accident.’ ”

  “Yes, she had an accident while on a Jet Ski.”

  “What happened?”

  “The Aruba police called the day after the accident to tell my parents that the Jet Ski Cathy was riding had crashed into a boat in the harbor. She was thrown from the ski.”

  “Did she drown or die from the impact of the crash?”

  “It’s not clear which.”

  “I hate to even ask the question. Did they do an autopsy?”

  “No. We asked about that. When they told us it would take two to three weeks, we decided against it. I know she had massive head trauma. The collision almost certainly knocked her unconscious. Cathy had on a life jacket, but she was lying facedown in the water for several minutes before anyone got to her.”

  “I’m sorry to ask this, but do you know if she had any alcohol in her system?”

  “The police report said there was a strong odor of alcoholic beverage on her body.”

  “As far as you know, did she have a drinking problem?”

  “Absolutely not. She was a social drinker. One or two drinks at a gathering. Occasionally three. I never saw her drunk.”

  Gina made a mental note to talk to a pathologist she had befriended to help her make sense of the police report.

  “Was she riding alone or with a group?”

  “It was a tour. There were three or four other skiers and a guide.”

  “Do you know if the police interviewed the other people on the tour?”

  “They said they did. The police report said they all admitted they had been drinking at lunch.”

  Admitted, Gina thought to herself. They make it sound as if they were doing something criminal.

  “Did the police speak to the outfit that provided the Jet Skis?”

  “They did. Predictably, the proprietor claimed all of his Jet Skis were in excellent working order.”

  “Did you speak to the person who rented her the Jet Ski?”

  “No. I’ll admit to feeling shell-shocked when I was down there. It’s a terrible feeling to open drawers and move your sister’s personal items into her suitcase. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to the people who provided the ski.”

  “I can certainly understand that. I’m sorry to be asking you all these questions.”

  “It’s okay. Let’s keep going.”

  “Did anybody examine the ski after the accident?”

  “I didn’t think to ask about that. I don’t know if any experts looked at it.”

  “Did the police report reach any conclusions regarding what happened?”

  “It attributed the accident to operator error. It said Cathy probably panicked after inadvertently putting the ski on full throttle. Her panic likely was made worse because she had consumed a large amount of alcohol in a short time before the accident.”

  “Were you given a copy of the police report?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Would you be willing to share that with me?”

  “Of course. I had it scanned.
I’m calling you on my cell. Text me your email address and I’ll send the report.”

  “If you can get me some recent pictures of Cathy, that would be helpful.”

  “I’ll see what I can find and send them along with the police report. Do you really think that Cathy’s death was not an accident?”

  “I’m not sure what to think. But there’s one thing I can say. I don’t like coincidences. A powerful corporation was negotiating with, maybe pressuring somebody to accept a settlement. That person may have been reluctant. And all of a sudden that person dies in an accident. In my opinion, that’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “My God, to think anyone would have deliberately killed my sister! They’re calling my group number to board. I’m sure we will speak again.”

  “We will. Have a nice flight.”

  The connection ended.

  10

  After showering and getting dressed, Gina, laptop under her arm, walked to the corner and ordered a vanilla latte from Starbucks. When she was writing her articles, she preferred the solitude and quiet of her apartment. But when she was answering emails and doing research, she enjoyed the background noise the coffeehouse never failed to provide.

  Settling at a table near the center of the store, she woke up her computer and started to educate herself about Aruba. The little knowledge she had was the result of reading and watching reports of the Natalee Holloway murder.

  Her first stop was Wikipedia. As she read, she jotted notes.

  18 miles north of Venezuela. In what’s often referred to as “Dutch Caribbean.” Constituent country of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Sandy white beaches. Population 100,000. Popular with tourists because very little rainfall.

  A fact caught the attention of the history buff in her.

  Peter Stuyvesant in 1642 was appointed governor before being sent to his new post in New Amsterdam which would later be renamed New York City.

  Switching over to a travel site, she found direct flights from JFK to Aruba. She could go round trip for $666. And the hotels were very reasonable. She definitely wanted to book the hotel Cathy Ryan stayed in. She wrote herself a reminder to get that information from Andrew.