Hide Yourself Away

by Mary Jane Clark

  “There’s always the bushes, kid. Or the gatehouse is open. You can go in there.”

  CHAPTER

  51

  The night-duty police officers arrived at the Hotel Viking, went to the ballroom, and demanded to talk with the executive producer of KEY to America. Beth Terry was covering the assignment desk.

  “May I ask what this is in reference to?” she inquired.

  “Your scheduled interview with the alleged witness to Madeleine Sloane’s death,” said the officer. “We want to know more about it.”

  “I see. Well, Mr. Nazareth is out at dinner,” said Beth. “But I can try to reach him on his cell phone.” It wasn’t smart to alienate the police, she thought. There was no telling how KEY News might need Newport law enforcement in the days to come. She made the call as the officers stood by.

  “Linus, it’s Beth. I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner,” she lied. Actually, she was glad to distract Linus from Lauren Adams, the KTA lifestyle correspondent with whom he was surely nuzzling.

  “What is it?”

  “The Newport Police are here. They want to talk with you about the interview we’re doing tomorrow morning on the Madeleine Sloane murder.”

  “They don’t know who the interview is with, do they?” Linus asked from his candlelit table at the Clarke Cooke House.

  Beth looked at the policemen. “I don’t think so,” she answered.

  “Is Sam around?” asked Linus, taking his companion’s hand and winking at her.

  “Just left,” Beth answered, smiling at the policemen.

  “Good. I’m not about to be bullied by some rinky-dink cops. I’ve stood up to the feds; I can certainly stand up to the Newport Police. They can talk to Sam all they want after the show tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER

  52

  He pulled up the toilet seat and did what he had to do. As he pushed down the flush lever, Sam thought he heard something outside the closed door, but when he came out of the bathroom there was no one to be seen.

  He stood in the doorway of the gatekeeper’s cottage, looking out at the satellite truck, hoping the driver wouldn’t be gone too long. He needed to plan what he was going to say in the morning. It would be best to be natural and conversational and tell it just as he’d seen and heard it, omitting the part about being loaded and barfing under the tree.

  The violent struggle and the piercing scream. Poor Madeleine Sloane.

  Sam let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes as he pictured it again. He hadn’t actually seen the attacker’s face, but at least he could give a general description of body size and what the killer had been wearing. That was something to go on. Maybe not as much as Linus Nazareth was hoping for, but Sam hadn’t wanted to reveal that in advance. Let Linus think he had something huge to tell. Something that warranted being interviewed on national television. It was still news, wasn’t it, that he had witnessed a murder?

  Sensing a movement behind him, Sam turned and finally did see the face of Madeleine’s killer in the split second before the tire iron came down directly on his head.

  CHAPTER

  53

  She’d dressed in white shorts and her white KEY News T-shirt so she’d be more visible in the darkness. With her long, black braids flapping against her neck, Zoe jogged along Bellevue Avenue, retracing the path she had taken this afternoon when she left the media frenzy at the Forty Steps to get to her self-imposed assignment at Touro Synagogue. She felt at ease as she ran past the mansions on the boulevard, which was well lit by electrified gaslights.

  Zoe marveled as she passed the conspicuous examples of wealth. Wealth built on the backs of cheap labor, both black and white. But the whites had been, for the most part, immigrants who had chosen to come to America in search of a better life. The blacks, by contrast, had been captured like animals, shackled, and forced to leave their homelands. Once they were here, their skin color determined their dismal fates. Rhode Island may have been the first state to pass an antislavery law, and the American Civil War may have technically freed the slaves, but when these mansions were built, people of color were still second-class citizens.

  Zoe trotted right past the intersection with Narragansett Avenue, having no desire to head to the Forty Steps, the scene of Madeleine Sloane’s demise, at the end of the block. Four intersections later, she saw the sign for Victoria Avenue. On impulse, she turned left, to explore the street whose name reminded her of England.

  Her trainers pounded against the macadam on the quiet street. There wasn’t much to see. The lighting was much poorer than it had been on Bellevue. Halfway down the long block, Zoe was about to turn back when she heard the noise. It sounded like someone was closing the bonnet of a car.

  The headlights flashed on, blinding her. The car screeched from the curb, headed right at her. Zoe ran off the road into the grass and strained to see the driver who was in such a hurry. The automobile passed by so quickly, it was impossible to get a good look inside. But the license plate was illuminated, and Zoe managed to make out the first three letters before the car swerved to the left and out of sight.

  S-E-A.

  The driver had been much luckier. In the glare of the headlights, the killer had clearly seen all the letters of the last name emblazoned above the KEY News logo on Zoe’s shirt.

  CHAPTER

  54

  Inside the brown paper bag were a bottle of aspirin and three cans of cold beer. That should be enough to get him through the night.

  Scott opened the door of the satellite truck and was surprised not to find the kid inside. The surprise turned to anger when he checked the gatehouse. It was empty.

  “That little s.o.b.,” Scott muttered. The kid had taken off and left the truck unattended. If anything happened to that truck, that irresponsible jerk’s ass would be grass. He went back out again and checked the truck over.

  Thank God, everything seemed to be in order.

  MONDAY

  —— JULY 19 ——

  CHAPTER

  55

  A large, white tent had been set up on The Breakers’ lawn to shelter the KTA hosts and their guests, but there was no need for it. As the first light peeked over the ocean’s horizon, it was clear that there would be no rain. The weather for KEY to America’s first broadcast from the City by the Sea was going to be picture perfect. Constance Young and Harry Granger would be able to conduct the show under the open sky.

  Constance and Harry arrived early, just as they did at the Broadcast Center in New York, giving them time to scan the major morning newspapers and look over last-minute notes and prepared questions for the upcoming interviews. They joined scores of KEY News employees milling around the grounds of the estate, each executing the editorial and production tasks that needed to be done to get the broadcast on the air. When the opening theme music was played over the network and Constance and Harry welcomed America to Newport, it would all appear seamless, the hundreds of staff hours that went into producing two hours of television unbeknownst to the viewers at home.

  Grace observed the bustling activity with excitement. These were the preparations for live television. Professional, well-thought-out, well-executed plans. Yet the KTA staffers were always aware that the unexpected could happen at any time while millions of people watched.

  That was one of the primary reasons Constance and Harry were paid the big bucks. If something went awry on the air, the cohosts were the ones who had to handle it with grace, aplomb, and lightning-quick wit. It wasn’t easy to do, but they made it look as if it were. Most times, the audience never even knew that something had gone wrong.

  With the start of the broadcast a scant forty-five minutes away, the exclusive interview subject had not shown up. Repeated phone calls to Sam’s room at the hotel had gone unanswered.

  The executive producer was yelling across the lawn to anyone who would listen. “Where the hell is he? Where in the hell is the kid? The intern. Sam Watkins.”

  Feeling she might have someth
ing to offer, with trepidation Grace walked over to Linus. “Sam left the newsroom last night to bring some cable to the satellite truck, and he told me he was coming right back to go to bed,” she said.

  “Well then, check with the truck operator, will you?” Linus’s face was reddening. “See if he knows anything.”

  Grace followed the yards of electrical cable out to the gravel driveway where the truck was parked. The operator’s recollection didn’t paint Sam in a flattering light.

  “Yeah, the kid brought the cable and that’s the last I saw of him. I’m not surprised he hasn’t shown up like he was supposed to this morning. If you ask me, he’s not reliable. Sam said he would watch this truck for me last night, but when I came back from running an errand, he was nowhere to be found.”

  “For God’s sake, will somebody go back to the hotel and try to find him?” Linus barked as he paced the lawn. “I’m gonna kill that goddamn kid.”

  The executive producer looked around frantically. Who wasn’t needed to do a particular job as the minutes ticked away until the start of the broadcast? His eyes fell on Grace again. “You. He’s your buddy. Go see if you can find him.”

  There was no answer.

  Grace banged on the door and called Sam’s name, knowing that she was making enough noise to wake up the guests who still tried to sleep in other rooms up and down the hallway.

  Sam couldn’t possibly be sleeping through this racket, could he?

  She was about to look for the hotel service phone to ask if someone could come up to open the room when she noticed the maid’s cart turn into the hall. Izzie O’Malley was pushing it.

  “Oh, Izzie. Do you remember me? Room two-oh-one?” Grace barely waited for Izzie to nod in recognition. “I have an emergency. I have to see if one of our interns is in his room. He’s supposed to be on the show in just a little while. Can you possibly open the door for me?”

  The chambermaid hesitated for a moment before taking the master key card from her pocket. What the hell? She wouldn’t be working here much longer. And who would even know? Yes, Grace had helped her; now she would help Grace.

  Izzie inserted the card in the lock, watching for the blink of the green light. Together, the two women entered the quiet room.

  The bed had not been slept in.

  CHAPTER

  56

  Someone noticed that the car Sam had borrowed occupied a space in The Breakers’ tourist parking lot. The news staffers buzzed with speculation. Maybe Sam really had nothing to say, maybe he really hadn’t seen anything and the whole thing was an act of fraternity-house bravado. Maybe Sam had gotten scared that he would be caught in a lie, or maybe the intern was afraid that telling what he did see would put him in jeopardy.

  Grace arrived back at The Breakers just in time to hear Linus yelling.

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what the kid’s problem is. Sam Watkins is off this show.” Linus slammed his clenched fist into his open palm. “Nobody makes an ass out of me,” he bellowed. “We promised an exclusive, and we damn well better give them something that can make good on that promo. Think, everybody. Think fast.”

  Grace braced herself.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Nazareth.”

  The executive producer turned to look at her, his eyes bulging with anger. Grace noticed a vein throbbing beneath the skin on his right temple.

  “What is it?” he barked.

  She took a deep breath and blurted it out, praying that Linus wouldn’t dismiss her suggestion as ridiculous. “Professor Cox, our consultant, knew Madeleine Sloane and her mother. In fact, he was sitting with Madeleine at the clambake. He may not be a witness to her death, but he was with her on the night she died.”

  Grace could almost see the wheels spinning in the executive producer’s head as he considered her suggestion.

  “The eyewitness to the death of a daughter of Newport society tells what he saw,” Linus muttered to himself. “It’s not an exact fit, is it?”

  Rebuked, Grace bit her lower lip.

  “But it’s the only thing we’ve got,” Linus continued. “And it’s better than anything anyone else around here has come up with. Let’s go with it.”

  Grace felt a rush of satisfaction. Emboldened, she asked, “Don’t you first have to see if Professor Cox is willing to talk about Madeleine?”

  A sly smile spread over Linus’s face. “Oh, he’ll talk, all right. Gordon Cox is on our payroll for the week.”

  CHAPTER

  57

  The shot from the helicopter provided the first video for the broadcast, a sweeping aerial view of the mansions that dotted the Cliff Walk.

  “Good morning,” Constance Young’s energized voice welcomed the television audience. “It’s Monday, July nineteenth, and this is KEY to America, coming to you this morning from Newport, Rhode Island.”

  The KTA theme music began, the graphics ran on the screen, and the director switched to the primary camera shot, showing Constance and Harry standing on The Breakers’ lawn with the Atlantic Ocean gleaming in the morning sun behind them.

  “All this week, we’ll be broadcasting from this glorious city by the sea, sharing with you the beauty and history of this remarkable town.” Constance seemed to ignore the fact that the breeze blowing off the water was pushing her carefully styled hair into her face. “This morning we start off here at The Breakers, the seventy-room cottage that Cornelius Vanderbilt II had built for his family’s summer vacations.”

  The camera panned over the Renaissance Revival–style structure’s oceanside façade. Four stories of Indiana limestone, hand-carved columns, open balconies, and multiple chimneys glistened.

  “But, first, here’s Harry with the morning’s news.”

  CHAPTER

  58

  It was early. None of the other guests had left their rooms yet, so Izzie could take her sweet time in this one. It was a checkout and had to be cleaned from top to bottom.

  She switched on the television in the armoire, keeping the volume just high enough to hear as she stripped the sheets from the double bed. Izzie groaned as she tugged at the clean fitted sheet, securing it over the mattress. Her arm was really paining her this morning. She had to take a little rest.

  How much longer could she keep this up? As it was, she had barely made it to Mass yesterday morning and had spent most of the day sleeping, not bothering to turn on the TV or open the newspaper. After all that rest, she was still exhausted.

  Taking a seat on the chair at the desk, Izzie happily watched the aerial shot of the Cliff Walk, thinking of all the times that she and Padraic had strolled there, hand in hand. It was one of their favorite things to do, especially in the last months, when he was so sick. Such a soothing and cleansing pastime, costing absolutely nothing. The right price for their eternally tight budget.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and watched a bit more, but when the panoramic views of Newport stopped and they started with the news, Izzie forced herself to get up. She didn’t want to hear about fighting in Iraq or suicide bombings in Israel. She felt sorry for those people over there, but she had plenty of problems of her own right here. Izzie didn’t want to bring herself down. Her doctor was always telling her it was important to have positive thoughts. He claimed that it would help her immune system.

  As she pulled back the shower curtain to scour the tub, Izzie caught a snippet of conversation that drew her back to the bedroom.

  “These are what are known as the Forty Steps, and this is where Madeleine Sloane’s body was found Sunday morning.”

  As she focused on the screen, Izzie’s hand went to her chest, covering the spot where her heart beat beneath, the spot where her left breast had once been. The picture of the steep stone steps and the crashing waves was taken from high above, and the video was shaking a bit. Izzie watched intently as the shot changed and that pretty Constance Young reappeared on the screen.

  “Professor Gordon Cox, our KEY News historical consultant for the week, was among the l
ast people who saw Madeleine Sloane alive Saturday night. Thank you for being with us, Professor Cox.”

  The teacher nodded, a solemn expression on his face. Solemn or sour, Izzie couldn’t decide which.

  CHAPTER

  59

  The professor was painfully aware of the television camera trained upon him, uncomfortable with the questions he was being asked, resentful of being called in as a last-minute replacement to fulfill Linus Nazareth’s sensational promise.

  This was not what he had signed on for, thought Gordon as he stood talking with Constance Young at the top of the Forty Steps. He was supposed to discuss Newport’s history, one of his areas of professional expertise—not rehash Charlotte Sloane’s disappearance or describe his time with Madeleine the night she died.

  Gordon cleared his throat. “Well, Madeleine had seemed to be doing pretty well, to me, considering the fact that she had just learned that her mother’s remains had been identified as those found in the old slave tunnel at Shepherd’s Point.”

  “There have been reports that Madeleine had been drinking that night,” Constance led.

  Gordon glowered at the cohost. “Just about everyone at the clambake had been drinking. Madeleine didn’t seem to be overly affected to me.”

  “If you had to speculate, Professor, would you say that it was more likely that Madeleine fell down these steps or that she was pushed?”

  “I wouldn’t care to speculate one way or the other. All I can say is that Madeleine Sloane was quite a fine young woman, and her death is a very great tragedy.”

  As he pulled off his microphone at the end of the segment, Gordon fumed inside. Yet his anger was assuaged almost immediately as he remembered a very important fact. Shepherd’s Point might become the Preservation Society’s property sooner rather than later.