As Grace listened to Constance describe what had happened, she marveled at the dark video that appeared on the television screen. The images of the tunnel were shaky, as if the cameraman had been running.
“KEY News has this exclusive footage of the scene last night.”
Grace watched as the camera zoomed closer to the tunnel’s end, recording the video of the two figures who lay on the floor. She shivered as she recognized herself lying alongside the murderer.
“Forty-two-year-old Albert Manzorella, a detective with the Newport Police Department, was taken to Newport Hospital to be treated for injuries sustained in a confrontation with KTA employee Grace Callahan. Early this morning, Manzorella confessed to the murders of Charlotte Wagstaff Sloane, her daughter, Madeleine Sloane, and KTA intern Zoe Quigley. Manzorella also admitted attacking Sam Watkins, another KTA intern. Grace Callahan is also in Newport Hospital, recovering from a stabbing wound inflicted by Manzorella.”
“Thank God I didn’t kill him,” Grace murmured. But the thought that the disgraced detective might be in a nearby room unsettled her.
B.J. turned from the television to look at her. “Did you hear that, Grace? Constance said ‘KTA employee Grace Callahan.’ You got the job, baby!”
The phone rang almost immediately following the news report. It was her father, frantic with worry.
“I’m fine, Dad. Really, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m getting in the car and driving up there,” Walter Wiley said.
“You don’t have to do that, Dad.”
“I’ll be there by lunchtime.”
Grace replaced the receiver in the cradle, not unhappy, despite her protestations, that her father would be with her soon. Maybe, with her newfound leverage, she could talk Frank into letting Lucy go home with her early and they could all go back to New Jersey together. Maybe B.J. would want to drive along with them.
When B.J. had gone down to the coffee shop to get them something decent to eat, the attending physician came in, checked her, and reiterated what B.J. had already told her. Grace could leave the hospital later in the day as long as she took it easy. She should see her own doctor at home.
A nurse came in with a comb, washcloth, and toothbrush. Grace walked carefully to the small bathroom and freshened up. When she came out again, Oliver Sloane was sitting in the vinyl-covered chair next to the bed, a bouquet of yellow roses in his lap.
He stood up. “Oh, Grace. Thank the good Lord you are all right.”
Grace smiled, touched that this man who had been through so much, lost so much, had come to see her. “I’m fine, Mr. Sloane. The doctor says I’m going to be fine.”
“I wanted to thank you, Grace. For everything you’ve done. Manzorella would have gotten away with everything if not for you. Charlotte, my sweet Madeleine, and those other poor young people.”
Grace sat back on the bed and pulled the thin cotton blanket over her legs. “I don’t know about that. I think the police would have figured things out sooner or later.”
Oliver grimaced. “Maybe, maybe not. They hadn’t figured anything out in fourteen years—why should we think they were going to do any better now? Who knows how many traitors they have in their midst?” he asked with bitterness in his voice.
She felt sorry for the man as she watched him. His wife and daughter dead, murdered by someone who wanted Oliver’s wife but could not have her. As a man who had dallied while married, even as his wife was trying to make things work out between them, Oliver had to be carrying around a great deal of guilt. That was for him to reconcile, if he possibly could, thought Grace. He was going to have some tough days ahead.
He handed her the flowers, and she thanked him. As he started for the door, she stopped him.
“I hesitate to tell you this,” Grace began, “but I think you’d want to know. The scrimshaw paperweight you gave me?”
“Yes?”
“It isn’t authentic, Mr. Sloane.”
“I don’t understand,” said Oliver.
“I tested it. It’s plastic of some sort.”
“How could that be?” asked Oliver, perplexed. “I purchased that piece from Kyle Seaton. He’s a very reputable dealer.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Sloane, but you might want to check the other pieces in your collection.”
The hospital had no problem allowing Lucy to be with her mother. At first the girl was solemn, her brown eyes frightened, but she relaxed after just a little while, reassured that Grace was all right. Fifteen minutes into the visit, Lucy was clicking the remote control, searching for a Law & Order rerun on the room’s television set.
“You like Law & Order?” B.J. asked.
“I love Law & Order,” Lucy corrected him.
“Me, too.”
Lucy looked at B.J. with interest, taking this tall guy’s measure. He might be all right. She couldn’t tell yet. But she did know one thing. Her mother didn’t seem like a sick person as she sat in that hospital bed. Her mother looked happy. Real happy.
Hide Yourself Away Page 24
