Francheska groaned with exaggeration. “Do I have to? My flight to San Juan is the next morning.”
Laura smiled, the first since yesterday. “Yes. You have to. I told Emmett you were coming. He’s so proud that his mini-park is the centerpiece of the fund-raiser. You can’t disappoint him.”
112
WHEN RICKY POTENZA showed his mother the ad in the newspaper for the Palisades Park Museum fund-raiser, she had been flabbergasted when he said that he wanted to attend.
He had been very quiet since they had gone to KEY News for Ricky’s interview, though that was not unusual. Rose admitted to herself that she had been hoping for some sort of breakthrough, but once again, it was not to be.
What surprised her now was Ricky’s insistence that he wanted to go to the fund-raiser. Was that a good sign? Was Ricky, on some level, trying to come to terms with his childhood—a childhood made up of many hours spent at the amusement park?
It was worth a try. She could manage to pay for the tickets with the money she had been carefully putting aside each month. If it would help her son, who seldom showed enthusiasm for anything, she would gladly forgo the bus trip to the Poconos with her church group she had been saving for. Anything to help Ricky.
Please, God, let him get well.
But even as she prayed, Rose prepared herself for the cold reality that her prayers would most likely remain unanswered.
113
DELIA BEEHAN’S DEATH would lead on Hourglass tonight and Laura wanted to have nothing to do with the production. With the Palisades Park story set to air in just one week, Laura had her excuse.
She headed for the library and the clipping files.
Pulling Gwyneth’s folder from the shelf, Laura rummaged to the back of it until she found what she was searching for.
Gwyneth Gilpatric’s high school yearbook picture.
Squinting, she studied the necklace that hung from Gwyneth’s young neck. The distinctive marcasite cross was the same as the one that Marta Cruz had shown her.
What does it mean? she asked herself. Gwyneth Gilpatric couldn’t have buried Tommy Cruz. That was impossible to believe. She tried to push the thought from her reeling mind.
But she couldn’t.
It would be impossible to believe, except for Emmett. Gwyneth’s relationship with her father, signaled by the checks she wrote out to him, tied Gwyneth to her father and his beloved Palisades Park. And if Gwyneth was somehow connected to Tommy Cruz’s disappearance, that could mean that Emmett was, as well.
Had Gwyneth been sending her father money to keep his mouth shut?
Laura turned the newspaper clippings carefully, not sure what she was looking for. She studied a picture of Gwyneth receiving a journalism award, showing a confident professional at the top of her chosen career.
This was not a woman who would be involved in a murder.
She was about to close the file when she came to a story about Gwyneth attending the funeral of the source for one of her Hourglass stories. Because she hadn’t thought it important enough in the whole scheme of Gwyneth’s biography, it was a story that Laura had just glanced at as she researched for her obit. Now she realized that this was the story that Mike Schultz had lost his job over.
Laura read with fascination, now, the description of the funeral for Jaime Cordero, the young Hispanic man who had bravely come forward to expose the drug dealing in his East Harlem neighborhood and who had been brutally and grossly murdered for his reward.
The picture showed Gwyneth Gilpatric with arms outstretched toward Jaime Cordero’s weeping mother. Holding Mrs. Cordero’s right arm was a younger woman, her head bowed and a black-leather-gloved hand held up to her face; though partially hidden, just enough of the young woman’s face presented itself to the camera’s unflinching gaze.
Laura’s eyes focused on the figure at the side of the photo. She read the caption beneath the picture, again and again.
KEY News correspondent Gwyneth Gilpatric comforts Juanita Cordero, the mother of slain East Harlem hero Jaime Cordero. Mrs. Cordero’s daughter, Francita Cordero, at left, supports her mother.
Francita Cordero.
Cordero de Dios.
Lamb of God.
Francheska Lamb!
114
“I KNEW I had seen her somewhere before!” exclaimed Matthew as Laura showed him the newspaper article from the clippings file she had smuggled out of the library. “It was at the Cordero funeral!”
Laura shook her head in amazement as she stared at Francheska’s grainy face. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t she ever tell me? I thought we were so close.…” Her voice trailed off in disappointment.
Matthew remained silent. This was for Laura and her friend to work out.
“Hey. I firmed up the interview plans with Officer Alford today,” Matthew offered, trying to distract her. “I’ll fly down on Friday.”
They had agreed that Matthew would go to Florida to do the interview while Laura would remain in New York to oversee things as their deadline drew near.
“Great,” she said glumly as she remembered the other thing she had found in the clippings file.
She told him of the necklace found with Tommy’s body and showed him the high school picture of Gwyneth.
“They match.”
Matthew whistled softly through his teeth. “You buried the lead!”
He studied Gwyneth’s picture intensely. Then he pulled the red scrapbook from his cluttered bookshelf. Opening the album from the back, he squinted at the picture of Emmett Walsh and his girl standing arm in arm in front of the Cyclone. The girl with the long dark hair, parted in the middle.
Another match!
115
EASY ENOUGH.
The small cardboard shipping carton was wrapped in brown paper when it arrived in the afternoon mail. No one could guess its contents.
It was shipped by first-class postage. There was no need to sign for the package.
The contents: a sealed, tamper-proof plastic container, a measuring spoon and instructions. There was a warning:
GHB can be dangerous when used improperly or when mixed with other depressants. Combining a normal dose of GHB with alcohol can trigger an overdose reaction of unrousable sleep. GHB has been attributed to deaths in the U.S.
But mixing GHB with alcohol was not necessary for the result to be lethal. The teenager in the newspaper article had just been drinking Mountain Dew.
All the dosage information was printed in the instructions. Exactly how much of the powder to measure out. Just like following a cookbook recipe, just like baking a cake.
A recipe for death.
116
FRANCHESKA WAS SURPRISED to open her apartment door and find Laura standing in the hallway.
“Hey, girlfriend.” She smiled welcomingly. “Come on in.”
Laura walked through the doorway, a solemn expression on her face. Without taking off her coat, she got right to the point.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Francita?” she implored. “Why didn’t you tell me about your brother?”
Francheska’s face went ashen. She turned and walked into the kitchen, leaving Laura to follow her.
“Want a drink?” she asked, dropping ice cubes into a glass.
“No. I do not want a drink. I want to know why you didn’t tell me. I thought we told each other everything. And this—this is so…”—Laura searched for the word—“huge! You lost your brother, Francheska, in a most violent, horrible way. I just can’t understand why you never confided in me about it.”
“Some things are just too painful to talk about, Laura,” she said softly.
“Even to me, Francheska?”
“To anybody.”
“But I’m not anybody. I’m your best friend.”
“I’m sorry, Laura. I just wanted to put Jaime’s death behind me. Sometimes Leonard would catch me crying in bed and ask me what’s the matter. But this was something I just couldn’t share. Can’t you und
erstand that?”
Laura stood in silence. Yes, she could understand that. While she didn’t know what it was like to lose a brother, she remembered all too well what it had been like to lose a mother. It was still hard to discuss. However, she had talked to Francheska about it several times. It hurt to think that Francheska wasn’t able to share her own painful loss.
“And changing your name? What was that all about?”
Francheska shrugged. “My parents were moving back to Puerto Rico, wanting to get away from what had happened here. God only knew if those drug animals were going to come after the rest of us for what Jaime did. I was trying to start a modeling career. ‘Francheska Lamb’ sounded better to me than ‘Francita Cordero.’ I wanted to make a fresh start with a new name. It’s no crime. People do it all the time.”
117
Wednesday, January 26
AS SHE ARRIVED at Hourglass, Laura ran right into Joel Malcolm.
“Have you seen the overnights for the show last night?” he enthused. “They are through the roof!”
“Congratulations.” She smiled weakly.
“Puts the pressure on you, kiddo. That piece of yours better be great next week to kick off sweeps. I’m depending on it. Don’t disappoint me.”
Laura watched Joel’s back as he turned and strutted down the hallway. How would he feel if it turned out that Gwyneth was responsible for Tommy Cruz’s death?
Probably not that badly, she decided. Because the broadcast of that sorry story could make ratings history.
118
LAURA WORE THE same blue velvet dress she had worn to Gwyneth’s New Year’s Eve party as she stood in the entryway of the Palisadium, the restaurant chosen as the spot for the fund-raiser for the museum to honor the amusement park that had once stood nearby. Built atop the cliffs of the Hudson, the restaurant’s glass walls offered a twinkling, breathtaking view of Manhattan on the other side of the river.
From what Laura could see, the fund-raiser was going to be a big success. The restaurant was already packed, with a steady stream of people still arriving, a few of whom she recognized. Joel Malcolm had schlepped out from the city. Maxine Bronner and her husband, Alan, were there. Even Ricky Potenza and his mother had come.
Emmett’s miniature amusement park was displayed prominently at the middle of the dining room. Her father stood beside it proudly, beaming in the praise of the partygoers as they pointed out the rides and attractions they remembered so vividly.
How sweet this night was for Emmett! How bitter it would be later, when she confronted him about what she now more than suspected.
Laura felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Mike Schultz.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.
“I dragged Nancy out. She didn’t want to come, but I forced her. We’ve got to get out more and have a little fun. Both of us used to go to Palisades when we were kids and I thought, why not come to this?”
“Where’s Nancy?”
“In the ladies’ room.”
“Well, tell her I’ll catch up with her later,” said Laura. “I have to get some work done. Matthew is already in there rounding up interviews and I should be helping him.”
Laura and Matthew canvassed the party with their camera crew, eliciting memories and stories from the happy attendees.
“We’re getting some great stuff,” yelled Matthew above the din of rock-and-roll oldies and Palisades Park songs that blared from the sound system.
“Thank God,” called Laura.
As they continued through the crowd, Laura spied Francheska talking to some man at the bar. She groaned inwardly as she recognized him.
What the hell was Leonard Costello doing here?
119
IT WASN’T WORKING.
When he called her this afternoon, she had seemed happy to tell him that she was going out tonight. Proud to say that she was going to a fund-raiser with Laura Walsh and her television crew. Getting on with her life, she called it. A life that would be interesting and just fine without him.
Getting a ticket at the last minute, Leonard had hoped that by his coming to the party, Francheska would see how much he cared about her, and that he could talk her into staying with him. But she wasn’t having any of it. Francheska was excited about the prospects of living in luxury with her best friend, was glad to be making a new start.
Looking over Francheska’s shoulder, Leonard saw Laura, with microphone in hand, listening intently as some heavy, balding guy went on and on about the silly amusement park.
Silently, Leonard cursed Laura Walsh. If not for her, Francheska would be staying with him, right where she belonged.
120
A COKE WAS ordered from the bartender and carried to a corner of the crowded room. As dancers gyrated to the pulsating sixties music, no one noticed as the white, slightly lumpy powder was poured into the dark drink.
A harried waiter was asked to deliver the soda to the blond woman in the blue dress. The one who was working so hard with the camera crew.
121
LAURA FELT A tug on her sleeve.
“I’m going home now,” Francheska called in Laura’s ear. “My flight is early and I haven’t even packed yet.”
“I can’t leave. We haven’t finished shooting.”
“That’s all right. I have a ride.”
Laura shot her friend a disgusted look. “Please don’t tell me you’re going back with the doctor. I saw you two with your heads together over at the bar.”
“No, don’t worry, honey,” Francheska said triumphantly. “I told Leonard to take a hike. But I met your boss. Joel is giving me a ride back to the city.”
Laura groaned. “Francheska, he’s a leech, too. Watch out, will you?”
“Don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
122
THE COLA TASTED a bit salty, but Laura had swallowed it down thirstily. Fifteen minutes later she began to feel slightly nauseous.
They were almost finished, just another interview or two, so they would have lots of material to choose from when they edited.
As she got the spelling of the name of another interview subject, the room began to spin dizzyingly. She reached out to grab hold of Matthew’s arm as she fell to the floor.
123
Thursday, January 27
EMMETT SAT IN the emergency room waiting area at the Palisades Medical Center and prayed.
Please, God. Please, don’t take Laura from me, too.
Though why God should answer his prayers now, he did not know. He hadn’t been a faithful servant.
Laura’s friend Matthew approached solemnly, a cup of coffee in his outstretched hand. “Here, Mr. Walsh, drink this.”
Gratefully, Emmett took the coffee from him. “Thank you for caring about my girl,” he said simply.
“She’ll be all right,” Matthew whispered, taking hold of the older man’s arm. “I know she will.”
The minutes dragged by and, as they waited together for some word on Laura’s condition, Emmett made his vow.
If Laura comes out of this all right, I swear, I will tell all about what happened that night at Palisades Park. Dear God, I promise I will.
124
LAURA LAY ON the gurney in an unrousable sleep, unaware of the commotion going on around her still body.
She did not feel the cold tube snake down her throat, would not remember what it felt like to have her stomach pumped. She did not see the thick, grainy charcoal mixture that was delivered deep inside to soak up the toxins within her.
It was the harsh cough that she would first hazily recall, as the tube was pulled painfully through her esophagus. It hurt to breathe, her chest tender and bruised, she would later learn, because of the CPR Matthew had administered.
She felt tired. So very, very tired. All she wanted to do was sleep.
125
FRANCHESKA STRAPPED HERSELF into her seat as she felt the gentle roll of the airplane pullin
g away from the La Guardia terminal. She was not really looking forward to the trip in front of her.
The anniversary of Jaime’s murder was coming up and she didn’t want her parents to be alone. She knew that her presence would be a comfort to them.
They were such good, simple people, never showing anger at the horrible way that Jaime had died. They accepted his death, believing that their son was a hero.
She wished that she possessed her parents’ deep religious convictions, their belief that God worked in mysterious ways that human beings could not always understand.
It would be so much easier that way.
126
IT WAS LATE afternoon when Matthew escorted a weakened Laura home to her new apartment. Both Matthew and Emmett had been furious about the hospital’s refusal to keep her longer. But that was the way things were in the new world of managed health care. Treat ’em and send ’em home.
The ER doctor suspected that GHB, the so-called date-rape drug, had been added to Laura’s drink. The chemical compound broke up quickly in the body and was extremely difficult to trace. Very few laboratories in the tristate area had the equipment to detect GHB, and Palisades Medical Center’s lab was not one of them. But physicians around the country had been alerted to the increased use of the drug as more and more cases were wheeled into emergency rooms everywhere.
Matthew and Emmett, listening to the doctor explain his suspicions to Laura, were appalled and deeply frightened at the realization that one of the several hundred people at the fund-raiser had tried to kill her.
The hospital had alerted the Cliffside Park police of its suspicions. The police would go over the list of ticket-buyers and would question the Palisadium staff who worked the party. But the police acknowledged that many of those who came to the fund-raiser had paid the admission fee at the door and might therefore never be tracked down.
Let Me Whisper in Your Ear Page 21
