"If I tell you that Maryanne is adopted. Is that it?"
"Yes."
Jim thought of Maryanne. Whatever the cost, she was worth
having. "No, she is not adopted. I was present at her birth. I
filmed it."
"It is quite unlikely for two brown-eyed parents to have a
green-eyed child," Richard said flatly. Then he stopped. "Are you
the baby's father?" he asked quietly.
"If you mean did Liz have an affair with another man? No. I'd
stake my life on that."
"How about artificial insemination?" Richard asked.
"Liz and I rejected that possibility years ago."
"Might Liz have changed her mind and not told you?"
Jim looked away a moment and then said, "I've often wondered
about Maryanne's coloring, but I haven't let it bother me. That
baby is everything to us." He looked at Richard. "My wife is the
most honest person I've ever known. Last month I decided to make
it easy for her. I said that I'd been wrong about artificial insemination,
that I could see why people went ahead with it."
"What did she say?" Richard asked.
"She said that if I thought she could make a decision like that
and not tell me, I didn't understand our relationship. I swore I
didn't mean that; went through hell trying to reassure her. Finally
she believed me. But, of course, I know she did have artificial insemination.
She was lying."
"Or else she wasn't aware of what Highley did to her," Richard
said flatly.
AT THE hospital, the admitting clerk was briskly bright. "You
certainly rate, Mrs. DeMaio. Dr. Highley has given you suite one
on the third floor of the west wing. That's like going on a vacation.
You'll never dream you're in a hospital."
"He said something about that," Katie murmured. She was not
about to confide her fear of hospitals to this woman.
"You may be a bit lonesome up there. The other two suites on
that floor are empty. And Dr. Highley is having the living room
of your suite redecorated. Why, I don't know. It was done less
than a year ago. Anyhow, if you want anything, all you have to
do is press the buzzer. Now here's your wheelchair. We'll just
whisk you upstairs."
Katie stared. "I have to use a wheelchair?"
"Hospital regulations," the admitting clerk said firmly.
John in a wheelchair going up for chemotherapy. John's body
shrinking as she watched him die. The antiseptic hospital smell.
Katie sat down in the chair and closed her eyes. There was no
turning back. The attendant, a middle-aged volunteer, pushed the
chair down the corridor to the elevator.
"You're lucky to have Dr. Highley," she informed Katie. "His
patients get the best care in the hospital."
They got off the elevator at the third floor. The corridor was
carpeted in soft green. Reproductions of Monet and Matisse paintings
hung on the walls. In spite of herself, Katie was reassured.
The corridor turned to the right. "You're in the end suite," the
volunteer explained. "It's kind of far off."
She wheeled Katie into a bedroom. The walls were ivory, the
carpet the same soft green as in the corridor. The furniture was
antique white. Printed draperies in shades of ivory and green
matched the bedspread. "Oh, this is nice!" Katie exclaimed.
"I thought you'd like it. The nurse will be in in a few minutes.
Why don't you just make yourself comfortable?"
She was gone. Katie undressed, put on a nightgown and warm
robe. She put her toilet articles in the bathroom and hung her
clothes in the closet. Suddenly she was swaying. She held on to
the dresser until the light-headed feeling passed. It was probably
just the rushing and the aftermath of the trial and, let's face
it, she thought—apprehension. She was in a hospital. Daddy. John.
The two people she'd loved best in the world had gone into the
hospital and died. No matter how she tried, she could not lose
that terrible feeling of panic.
There were four doors in the room. The closet door, the bathroom
door, the one leading to the corridor. The other one must
go into the living room. She opened it and glanced in. As the admitting
clerk had said, it was pulled apart. The furniture was in
the middle of the room, covered with painter's drop cloths.
She closed the door and walked over to the window. The hospital
was U-shaped, with the two side wings facing each other
across the parking lot. On Monday night she'd been exactly opposite
where she was now. Where was the parking stall she'd dreamed
about? Oh, of course—that one, over to the side, directly under the
last light post. There was a car parked there now, a black car, just
as in her dream. Those wire spokes on the wheels; the way they
glinted in the light.
"How are you feeling, Mrs. DeMaio?"
She spun around. Dr. Highley was standing in the room. A
young nurse was hovering at his elbow.
"Oh, you startled me. I'm fine, Doctor."
He came over to the window and drew the draperies. These
windows are drafty. Suppose you sit on the bed and let me check
your pressure. We'll want blood samples too."
The nurse followed him. Katie noticed that the girl's hands
were trembling. She was obviously in awe of Dr. Highley.
The doctor wrapped the pressure cuff around Katie's arm. A
wave of dizziness made her feel as though the walls of the room
were receding. She clutched at the mattress.
"Is there anything wrong?" The doctor's voice was gentle.
"No, not really. I'm just a touch faint."
He began to pump the bulb. "Nurse Renge, kindly get a cold
cloth for Mrs. DeMaio's forehead." He studied the pressure gauge.
"You're low. Frankly, if you hadn't scheduled this operation, I'm
sure you'd have had it on an emergency basis."
The nurse came out of the bathroom with a neatly folded
cloth. She was biting her lower lip to keep it from quivering. Katie
felt a rush of sympathy for her. She neither wanted nor needed
a cold compress, but she let the nurse put it on her forehead. The
cloth was soaking, and freezing water ran down her hairline. A
flash of humor raised her spirits. She could just see telling Richard
about this poor, scared kid who'd practically drowned her.
Richard. She should have told him she was coming here. She
wanted him with her now.
Dr. Highley drew blood from a vein in her right arm and put
the blood-filled tubes on the tray the nurse held out to him.
"I want these run through immediately," he said brusquely.
"Yes, Doctor." The nurse scurried out.
Dr. Highley sighed. "I'm afraid that timid young woman is on
desk duty tonight. But you won't require anything special, I'm
sure. Did you take all the pills I gave you?"
Katie realized that she had not taken the three-o'clock pill and
it was now nearly seven. "I'm overdue for the last one. They're in
my handbag." She glanced at the dresser.
"Don't get up. I'll hand it to you."
When she took the bag from him, she unzipped it, fished inside
<
br /> and brought out the small bottle, which she held out to him.
There were just two pills in it. Dr. Highley poured a glass of water
from the carafe on the night table. "Take these," he said. He
handed her the glass and dropped the empty bottle into his pocket.
Obediently she swallowed the pills, feeling his eyes on her.
His steel-rimmed glasses glinted under the overhead light. The
glint. The spokes of the car glinting. There was a blur of red on
the glass as she laid it down. He noticed it, reached for her hand
and examined her finger. The tissue had become damp again.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing. Just a paper cut. But it keeps bleeding."
"I see." He stood up. "I've ordered a sleeping pill for later."
"I really prefer not to take sleeping pills, Doctor."
"I'm afraid I insist. I want you well rested in the morning. Oh,
here's your dinner now."
A thin, sixtyish woman carrying a tray came into the room and
glanced nervously at the doctor. They're all petrified of him, Katie
thought. Unlike the usual plastic or metal hospital tray, this one
was made of white wicker and had a side basket that held the
evening newspaper. A single red rose stood in a slender vase.
Double loin lamb chops were carefully arranged on the dinner
plate. The china was delicate. The attendant turned to go.
"Wait," Dr. Highley commanded. He said to Katie, "As you
will see, all my patients are served fare that compares favorably
with the food in a first-class restaurant." He frowned, then added,
"However, I would prefer if you did not eat dinner tonight. I've
come to believe that the longer a patient fasts before surgery, the
less likelihood she will experience discomfort after it."
"I'm not at all hungry," Katie said.
"Fine." He nodded to the attendant. She picked up the tray
and hurried out.
"I'll leave you now," Dr. Highley told Katie.
At the door he paused. "Oh, I regret, your phone apparently
isn't working. The repairman will take care of it in the morning.
Is there anyone you expect to call you here tonight? Any visitors?"
"No. My sister is the only one who knows I'm here, and she's at
the opera tonight."
He smiled. "I see. Well, good night, Mrs. DeMaio, and please
relax. You can trust me to take care of you."
"I'm sure I can."
He was gone. She leaned back on the pillow, closing her eyes.
She was floating somewhere; her body was drifting like . . .
"Mrs. DeMaio." The young voice was apologetic. Katie opened
her eyes. It was Nurse Renge carrying a tray with a pill in a small
paper cup. "You're to take this now. It's the sleeping pill. Dr.
Highley said I was to stay and be sure you took it."
"Oh." Katie put the pill in her mouth, swallowed water from her
carafe. Then she pulled herself up and went into the bathroom
while the nurse turned down the covers. In the bathroom, she removed
the sleeping pill from under her tongue. No way, she
thought. I'd rather be awake than have nightmares. She splashed
water on her face, brushed her teeth and returned to the bedroom.
She felt so weak, so vague.
The nurse helped her into bed. "You really are tired, aren't you?
Just push the buzzer if you need me for anything."
"Thank you." Her head was so heavy.
Nurse Renge went to pull down the shade. "Open the drapes and
raise the window about an inch, won't you?" Katie murmured. "I
like fresh air in my bedroom."
"Certainly. Shall I turn off the light now, Mrs. DeMaio?"
"Please." She didn't want to do anything except sleep.
The nurse left. Katie closed her eyes. Minutes passed. Her
breathing became even. She was not aware of the faint sound when
the door from the living room began to open.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AFTER Gana Krupshak's excellent pot-roast dinner, Gertrude
gratefully accepted a generous slice of homemade chocolate cake.
"I don't usually eat this much," she apologized, "but I haven't
swallowed a morsel since we found poor Edna."
Gana nodded soberly. Her husband picked up his coffee cup.
"I'm gonna watch the Knicks," he announced, not ungraciously.
He settled himself in the living room in front of the television.
Gana sighed. "The Knicks . . . the Mets . . . the Giants. . . .
But at least he's here. When I come home from bingo, I know I'm
not going into an empty place, like poor Edna always had to."
"I know." Gertrude thought of her own solitary home, then reflected
on Nan, her oldest granddaughter. "Gran, why not come
to dinner?" or "Gran, are you going to be home Sunday? We
thought we'd drop in to say hello." She could have it a lot worse.
"Maybe we should go take a look at Edna's place," Gana said.
"I kind of hate to do it, but it's something you can't avoid."
"I'll get the key."
As they hurried across the courtyard, Gana thought of Edna's
lovely imitation-leopard coat. Maybe she could take it home tonight.
It was hers.
Inside the apartment, they became quiet. Inadvertently they
both stared at the spot where Edna's crumpled body had lain.
"There's still blood on the radiator," Gana muttered.
"Yes." Gertrude shook herself. Get this over with.
Gana went to the closet and removed the leopard coat. It did
not take them long to finish sharing the contents of the apartment.
Gana had little interest in the furniture; what Gertrude did not
want Gana was giving to the Salvation Army, but she was delighted
when Gertrude suggested she take the silver plate and
good china. "I guess that's it." Gana sighed. "Except for the jewelry,
and the police will give that back to us pretty soon."
The jewelry in the night-table drawer. Gertrude thought of Dr.
Highley. He had started to open that drawer.
"That reminds me," she said, "we never did look there. Let's
make sure we didn't forget anything." She pulled it open. The
police had removed the jewelry box. But the deep drawer was
not empty. A scuffed moccasin lay at the bottom of it.
"Now why would Edna save that thing?" Gana said. She held
it up. It was stained and out of shape.
"That's it!" Gertrude cried. "That's what had me mixed up."
Gana looked mystified, and Gertrude tried to explain. "Mrs.
DeMaio asked me if Edna called one of the doctors Prince Charming.
She didn't, of course. But Edna did tell me how Mrs. Lewis
wore terrible old moccasins for her appointments. The left shoe
was too loose, and Mrs. Lewis was always walking out of it.
Edna used to tease her that she must be expecting Prince Charming
to pick up her glass slipper."
Gertrude reflected. "I wonder. Could Mrs. Lewis' shoe be what
Dr. Highley wanted from this drawer? You know, I've half a mind
to go to Mrs. DeMaio's office and talk to her, or at least leave a
message. Somehow I feel I shouldn't wait till Monday."
Gana thought of Gus, who wouldn't have his eyes off the set
until midnight. Her desire for excitement surged. "Tell you what:
I'll drive over th
ere with you. Gus'll never know I'm gone."
DANNYBOY Duke zigzagged across Third Avenue, racing toward
Fifty-fifth and Second, where he had the car parked. The woman
had missed her wallet just as he got on the escalator. He'd heard
her scream, "That man robbed me."
She had come rushing down the escalator after him, shouting
and pointing as he went out the door. The security guard would
probably chase him.
If he could just get to the car. He couldn't ditch the wallet. It
was stuffed with bills. He'd seen them, and he needed a fix.
Was he being followed? He didn't dare look back. He'd call too
much attention to himself. In a minute he'd be in the car. He'd
drive home to Jackson Heights and get his fix.
He looked back. No one running. No cops. Last night had been
so lousy. The doorman had almost grabbed him when he broke
into that doctor's car. And what did he get for his risk? No drugs
in the bag. A medical file, a messy paperweight and an old shoe.
He'd have to get rid of it all.
He was at the car. He opened it, slipped in. He put the key into
the ignition, turned on the engine, then heard the siren as the
Clark, Mary Higgins 03 - The Cradle Will Fall Page 14
