I've Got My Eyes on You

by Mary Higgins Clark

  Jack had the heart attack and died when Jamie was fifteen. The poor little guy kept looking all over for him and crying, “Daddy!”

  Jack, I’m looking for you to help me now, Marge prayed. Maybe Jamie thought he was playing a game with Kerry, poor girl. But she had a blow on her head. He’d never do that. I’m sure of it.

  But the cops could twist his story if they knew he had been in the pool with her. Can you imagine him going to prison? He’d be so frightened, and men take advantage of a boy like him.

  It can’t happen. It just can’t happen.

  Marge looked down at the rosary she was holding. As she began her prayer, Jamie came down from his room, where he had been watching television.

  “I didn’t tell anyone about going swimming with Kerry,” he said. “Wasn’t that good?”

  16

  Aline loved her grandparents. Both in their late seventies, they had moved to Arizona because of her grandmother’s chronic arthritis. She had been sure that their arrival would combine both comfort and strained nerves.

  The minute they were in the door, her grandmother, shoulders slouching, her arthritic fingers clutching a cane, wailed, “It should have been me. Why this beautiful child? Why? Why?”

  Aline’s first thought was, Because you never go into pools! Her grandfather, strong and healthy for his age, said, “I understand she was having a party when you people were away. That’s what happens when kids are left unsupervised.”

  It was more of an accusation than a consolation. “That’s what I’ve been telling Steve,” Fran chimed in.

  Aline exchanged a glance with her father. She knew her grandparents had always felt her mother should have married the man she was briefly engaged to thirty years ago. He had gone on to work in Silicon Valley and was now a tech billionaire. Her father, a partner in an accounting firm, made a very good income, but it did not include a private plane, a yacht, a mansion in Connecticut or a villa in Florence.

  Normally her father let their criticism roll off his back. Aline was worried about how he would react this time. A roll of his eyes was their unspoken message: “Don’t worry; they’ll be gone in three or four days.”

  • • •

  On Wednesday Aline suggested to her father that she go with him to make arrangements for a wake on Thursday and a funeral on Friday morning. She was afraid her mother would have a total breakdown if she had to choose a casket. But it was her mother who decided that Kerry would be buried in the gown she had worn to her senior prom. It was a beautiful pale blue, full-length organdy, and Kerry had looked lovely in it.

  At one o’clock on Thursday afternoon, dressed in newly purchased black clothes, the family gathered solemnly in the funeral home. When Fran saw Kerry’s body in the casket, she fainted.

  “Why, why?” Aline’s grandmother wailed, as Steve caught his wife before she collapsed. But Fran did manage to find enough inner strength to be on the receiving line when visitors started arriving.

  As news cameras clicked from their locations across the street, the neighbors, teachers and students from the high school, and friends from long ago, arrived. By three o’clock the line looped around the block.

  Aline found herself watching to see if Alan Crowley would appear. But there was no sign of him. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. Remembering the way her mother felt about him, she knew it was better that he had not shown his face.

  Some of Kerry’s former lacrosse team members arrived with the coach, Scott Kimball. He was an attractive man with a disciplined body and dark brown hair. Wearing high heels, Aline was eye-level with him.

  He had tears in his eyes as he took Aline’s hand on the receiving line.

  “I know how you feel,” he said. “My kid brother was killed by a hit-and-run driver when he was fifteen. There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think of him.”

  It was impossible to imagine daily life without Kerry.

  The haunting question of who had murdered her was on everyone’s mind. Aline heard her mother tell people she was absolutely convinced it was Alan Crowley. “I was trying to keep her away from him,” Fran murmured. “With all the boys who were interested in Kerry, why she chose that one, I don’t know. He was always so jealous of her. He had a bad temper. Now look what he’s done to her.”

  • • •

  There was a hint of early September in the air on the morning of the funeral. Even though the sun was shining brightly, the breeze was cool. Following Kerry’s casket up the aisle in the processional renewed Aline’s sense of unreality and detachment. Kerry and I should be at the pool together going over what stuff she should take to college, she thought, not here. Not here.

  Father Frank’s homily was comforting. As he said, “We do not understand why these tragedies occur. It is only faith that gives us the comfort we need.” Father Frank told again the story of looking at life from the wrong side of the beautiful Persian rug. To Aline it had even more meaning than when he was with them the day she found Kerry in the pool.

  The question of whether Alan would dare to show up was constantly on her mind. She watched as people approached the Communion rail, but did not see him or his parents. That was a relief. The sight of him would have driven Mom crazy, she thought. But as Aline and her parents followed the casket out of the church, she did catch a glimpse of Alan. He was kneeling in the last pew in the far corner, his head buried in his hands.

  17

  Because of her stepfather’s job transfer, sophomore Valerie Long and her family had moved from Chicago to Saddle River. The transition was made even harder because they had moved over Christmas and she had started at the high school in January.

  Tall for her age and looking younger than her sixteen years, she had green eyes, jet-black hair and pale skin. The promise of future beauty was in her face. Valerie was an only child, and her widowed mother had remarried when she was five. Her stepfather was twenty years older than her mother. They rarely saw his two grown children, who lived in California. Valerie was sure he considered her excess baggage. Her timid and retiring nature had resulted in extreme shyness.

  Last winter at school Valerie had found herself outside already formed cliques and friendships. This made the adjustment even harder. It was in the spring that things began to change for her.

  Fast and well coordinated, she had excelled at lacrosse freshman year at her previous school. She was hoping that if she made the team at Saddle River, that would create easy opportunities to make new friendships. As usual things did not work out the way she expected.

  Coach Scott Kimball immediately recognized her talent and put her on the varsity squad. The varsity was all seniors except for two juniors and her. She would have preferred to play on the junior varsity with the sophomores and freshmen, but she didn’t want to disappoint the coach or her teammates.

  It was Kerry, the team captain, who first admired Valerie’s skill on the field and also recognized how shy she was. Kerry went out of her way to chat with Valerie and tell her how good she was. She became, in essence, her big sister and the closest thing Valerie had to a confidante.

  Kerry’s sudden death was a stunning blow to Valerie. She could not bring herself to go to either the wake or the funeral, but stood alone across the street watching the casket leaving the church and being lifted onto the hearse. When she walked away, she was still unable to feel the release of tears.

  18

  Marge’s close friend was the Crowleys’ housekeeper, Brenda. Brenda and her husband Curt, a retired plumber, lived in Westwood, New Jersey, a few miles from Saddle River. Curt Niemeier had often worked on construction projects with Jack Chapman. Like Jack and Marge, the Niemeiers had lived in a small Saddle River ranch house before the price of real estate had gone up dramatically. They had sold and bought a house in nearby Westwood and a small place at the Jersey Shore.

  While Curt was enjoying retirement, Brenda found herself restless. In the early years of their marriage she had been a housekeeper to bring
in extra money. She realized she had enjoyed the work and was good at it. “Some people go to a gym. I get my exercise by cleaning.” She decided to look for that kind of work to fill her days. The result was she worked three days a week as a combination housekeeper and cook.

  She and Marge had remained close over the years, and when she confided gossip to Marge, Brenda knew it would not go any further. A medium-sized woman with short gray hair and narrow shoulders, she liked her job at the Crowleys’, but did not like them. She considered June Crowley stuck-up and cheap, and her husband full of himself and a total bore. The one person in the family she cared about was Alan. The poor kid got stuck with those two. In their eyes, he can’t do anything right. When he gets an A in school, it should have been an A+.

  I know he’s got a temper, Brenda often thought to herself, but I swear those two drive him to it.

  Their constant hope was that in September Alan would be enrolled in an Ivy League college so they could brag to their friends.

  They’re always after him, Brenda confided to Marge. “If I were in his boots, I’d have applied to the University of Hawaii just to get away from them.

  “Of course, I wasn’t there over the weekend when that poor girl was killed. But I gather that when the Crowleys found out that a cop had come over and talked to Alan, they hit the ceiling. And now all I hear around town is that everyone thinks that Alan did it.

  “The way the Crowleys are carrying on, I swear I wonder if they don’t think so themselves.”

  19

  The business of picking up the pieces after Kerry’s death began to fall into place. Aline helped her mother with the personal notes to the people who had sent floral tributes to the wake.

  By unspoken understanding they had closed the door to Kerry’s room. The bed, still freshly made, was covered by the blue-and-white coverlet Kerry had chosen when she was sixteen.

  Her clothes were in the closet. The woolly Lassie dog that she had carried under her arm when she was a toddler was perched on a bench in front of the window.

  Originally the plan was to place Lassie in the casket with her, but at the last minute Fran had told Steve and Aline that she wanted to keep it.

  Fran had been adamant that they find a contractor to “demo” the pool, to remove any trace that it had ever existed. Steve had persuaded her to compromise. They would close the pool for the season. They would decide next spring if they should get rid of it.

  In these ten days before school opened Aline had tried to sort out her own thinking. Kerry and I were different siblings hatched in the same nest, she thought. Kerry was so beautiful from the moment she opened her eyes.

  Aline was ten years old then, too skinny, with teeth that obviously would need to be straightened, and mousy brown hair that hung limp on her shoulders.

  But I adored her. There wasn’t ever sibling rivalry. It was just that we were two different people. I used to beg mom to be the one who pushed her in the baby carriage.

  But then there were other differences. From day one I was a voracious reader. I threw myself into books. I wanted to be Jane Eyre, or Catherine running on the moors with Heathcliff. I wanted to show how smart I was. From the first grade I wanted to be first in the class and I made it.

  The only sport I got into was tennis, and I loved it because it was so competitive. “Forty-love” was music to my ears.

  Columbia was my first choice for college, and I got in. Then a master’s degree in psychology.

  And then becoming engaged to Rick. He was a graduate student when we met, and then that was it for both of us. His height made me feel small, so protected.

  He was relatively local, from Hastings-on-Hudson, only forty minutes from Saddle River. Rick used to say his ambition was to get his doctorate and then teach in college, Aline mused. I told him I wanted to teach in high school and/or become a guidance counselor. I had just completed my master’s and he his doctorate when we set the date for our wedding.

  Four years ago. We had made all the arrangements for the big day. Mom and I picked out my gown. I was going to wear her veil, Aline remembered. We had dinner here that night and then Rick drove home.

  The call from his father had come three hours later. Rick had a head-on collision with a drunk driver and died in the hospital. The drunk driver didn’t have a scratch.

  How did I pick up the pieces? Aline asked herself. I knew I had to get away. That was why I took the job at the International School in London.

  Three years ago. Only coming home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Three years of waiting for the pain to ease, and then finally beginning to wake up in the morning without Rick being the first thought on my mind.

  Three years of casual dates since then, but never any interest in letting them progress.

  And this last year the need had come to be home, to be in daily contact with her parents and all the friends she had left behind.

  Instead she had returned to find the little sister she loved a murder victim. There is something I can do, she thought, and that is to be here for them. She had intended to get her own apartment in Manhattan, but that could wait.

  Who had taken Kerry’s life? Who could have done that to someone who had so much promise, who had her whole life to live?

  It’s not going to happen again, Aline vowed. Whoever took Kerry’s life is going to pay the price for it. I like Mike Wilson. I think he’s smart and capable. But how can I help him?

  There was one possible way. Most of the kids who were at the party would be back in school. If any of them knew more than they were telling Mike and the other cops, maybe they’d be more loose-lipped as time passed.

  The police may be zeroing in on Alan Crowley, Aline thought. But from what I gather, the evidence against him is strong but not overwhelming.

  Since graduating from high school, Aline had remained in close touch with the principal, Pat Tarleton. A month earlier Pat had emailed her about an opening in the Guidance Department. Would she be interested?

  It was the job she wanted, and the timing was right. With Kerry having graduated, she would be spared the awkwardness of having her big sister work at the same school.

  20

  Marge was living in a state of suspended animation. Instinctively she had felt that when Detective Wilson stopped in the day Kerry’s body was found, he had observed Jamie looking for her approval. Although she believed he had not told anyone about going into Kerry’s pool, it was always possible he would blurt it out to someone. It didn’t help that sometimes out of the blue he would refer back to it with her.

  “Mom, I didn’t tell anybody about going swimming with Kerry.”

  Her reassurances were quick and hushed. “That’s our secret, dear. We don’t talk about secrets.”

  Every day, when she left him at the Acme market, she held her breath until she picked him up. Without realizing why, she found herself driving him both ways, instead of letting him walk.

  As soon as he got home, she would ask him who he had talked to at work and what they had spoken about. Sometimes he would finish his answer with a triumphant smile. “And I didn’t tell anybody I went swimming with Kerry.” Marge was conflicted. She wanted to keep track of anyone he was speaking to. On the other hand, were these conversations making him think even more about what happened the night Kerry died?

  It made things worse when he suddenly began to talk about “the Big Guy” in the woods. Jack’s affectionate nickname for Jamie was “the Big Guy.” Trying to sound casual, she asked him, “What about the Big Guy, Jamie?”

  “He hit Kerry and pushed her in the pool,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Marge forced herself to ask, “Jamie, who is the Big Guy?”

  “Daddy called me the Big Guy. Remember, Mom?”

  Her throat went dry. Marge whispered, “I remember, Jamie. I remember.”

  Marge knew that she could not bear the burden alone. Her consuming worry was that the police might try to blame Jamie, especially since he had told them about sw
imming with Kerry, but she knew it wasn’t right to hide the truth from them.

  The previous evening Jamie had told her a big guy had come around from the bushes after the first guy left, and he had hit Kerry on the head and pushed her in the pool.

  But if Jamie told that to the police, they would compare him to Alan Crowley. Alan was medium height and on the thin side. Jamie was six feet, one inch, and not fat but broad. Sometime he calls himself “Big Guy,” Marge thought. If he says this to the police, they might think that “the Big Guy” Jamie was describing was actually Jamie himself. If they believe that, they might arrest him.

  He’d be so frightened. He’s so easily manipulated. He always wants to please. He’ll happily say anything they want to hear.

  Marge felt again the familiar tightness in her chest. Her doctor had warned her to take a nitroglycerin tablet whenever that happened. By the end of the day she had taken three tablets.

  Dear God, don’t let anything happen to me, she begged. He needs me now more than ever.

  21

  Mike’s next stops were the homes of the four girls who had texted Kerry after the party. Each set of their parents had agreed to allow their daughter to talk.

  He rang the bell of Betsy Finley and met her and her parents. He was invited to come into the living room. Betsy sat on a couch, wedged between her parents. Wilson settled into a chair opposite the couch.

  He began by saying, as Detective Harsh had said during his interviews, that he had no intention of arresting anyone solely for drinking or having any drugs, but that it was very important that Betsy be honest with him. He emphasized that his only interest was in finding out what had happened to Kerry.