To Have and to Kill

by Mary Jane Clark

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Travis began, looking around at the audience and flashing a blindingly white grin. “Ready to take out those checkbooks?”

  The audience chuckled politely.

  “What a good-looking crowd you are,” Travis continued, “all ready to bid heartily and generously, knowing that every dollar you spend is going to better the environment in which your daughters are educated.”

  The applause was enthusiastic but Piper noticed that Phillip Brooks’s hands remained still. In spite of herself, she felt sorry for Phillip. He had really made a mess of his life. Once, he had had it all, with a beautiful family and a big job. Now, he was an admitted felon with a broken marriage, his personal and professional life shattered. He had to be miserable.

  “Let’s hear it, ladies and gentlemen, for one of our most talented parents here at Metropolitan, Miss Martha Killeen. We’ve all marveled at her work in Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar. There’s no one in the world who has more creativity—and not only will she be documenting our event tonight, she has donated her time and talent as one of tonight’s auction items.”

  After the audience finished enthusiastically applauding, Travis cleared his throat.

  “So let’s get started,” he cheered. “The fabulous Glenna Brooks is holding up the first item. What do I hear for the man’s TAG Heuer watch?”

  One by one, the items listed on the program were auctioned off as the audience paid rapt attention to the action on stage, whispering to each other and straining to see who was paying what for each luxurious item. Almost $1 million had been raised by the time the heated bidding began for the photography session with Martha Killeen.

  Piper saw Martha snapping pictures of the audience and of what was happening onstage. Piper was definitely impressed. It must have been difficult for Martha to show up in support of the school when everyone and their mother knew she was going through such a financial nightmare.

  “Come on, ladies and gents,” Travis urged the bidding upward. “You can go to Martha’s studio or she will come to you. Don’t you have a special event coming up that you’d like to have recorded by the best photographer in the world?”

  Eventually, the bidding came down to Quent Raynor and Glenna, who called out from the stage.

  “I bet you want it for your upcoming wedding, don’t you, Glenna?” asked Travis. “Go for it, baby.”

  Glenna beamed her dazzling smile and gazed out into the audience at her fiancé. He shrugged his shoulders. She closed her eyes and said, “Fifty thousand.”

  Everyone turned to look at Quent Raynor.

  “One hundred thousand dollars,” he called out defiantly.

  The spectators let out a collective gasp and turned their attention to Glenna and her next move. The actress executed an exaggerated bow to her boss.

  “It’s all yours,” she said.

  Chapter 17

  It was a bargain, really. You couldn’t put a price tag on all the publicity that would be garnered for A Little Rain Must Fall when Martha Killeen worked her magic. Quent was certain that many of the top magazines would be interested in running a story, with Killeen’s photos attached. He was thrilled that he had been successful in obtaining the precious prize and confident that he could find a way to pay for it by juggling the ALRMF budget.

  He knew exactly when he wanted Martha to come to the set: it would be perfect when they shot the dream sequence. Afterward, there would be a few weeks before the show debuted from Los Angeles. During that period, the pictures would get all sorts of play, in print and on the Internet, luring viewers to tune in and watch as the soap opera continued. It could only help the ratings.

  As he watched Glenna Brooks walk over to the table next to the podium and pour a glass of water, Quent was happy for another reason. He was glad that he had foiled Glenna by making sure she didn’t get the photo shoot she wanted so much. She had been calling all the shots lately, and it angered him. Glenna was acting selfishly, as if her personal life was paramount. What about all the people who needed A Little Rain Must Fall to succeed? Their livelihood depended on the show. And for Quent, the show was his life.

  Glenna was putting his life in jeopardy.

  Chapter 18

  Following the bidding, Glenna was looking out at the audience as she put down the pitcher. Not paying attention to what she was doing, she misjudged the space on the tabletop and knocked over the glass of water she had just poured.

  “Oh, I’m such a klutz,” she exclaimed.

  Someone rushed out with a roll of paper towels, cleaned up the spill, and took away the broken glass.

  “I’m gonna try to get it right this time, folks,” said Glenna, smiling as she picked up the pitcher and poured water into the remaining glass.

  Glenna was just about to take a sip when Travis turned his head away from the microphone for a spate of coughing.

  “Here you go, Travis. Drink this,” she said, passing the glass to him.

  “I can wait,” said Travis unconvincingly.

  Another cough.

  “Okay, thanks.” He turned to the audience. “Hold on a minute, everybody,” he said, holding up his index finger. Raising the glass to his lips, Travis took a long gulp, followed by another. He ignored the funny taste. Maybe it’s the building’s old pipes, he thought.

  The auctioneer continued to cough. He took another swallow.

  “You want to take a break for a few minutes?” whispered Glenna.

  “No, I’ll be all right.”

  Travis brought the glass to his mouth again and drank. Afterward, his face reddened and he began to hack uncontrollably. He brought his hand to his forehead.

  “Dizzy. I feel dizzy,” he sputtered as he staggered forward. “I can’t catch my breath.” He winced in agony, clutching his stomach.

  Glenna reached out as Travis collapsed into her arms. The force of his weight led them both to the floor as someone in the audience shouted, “Call 911!”

  Chapter 19

  Martha Killeen rushed toward the stage and began taking pictures. Her camera lens captured Glenna fumbling to loosen Travis York’s tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. Martha took pictures of Travis writhing in agony on the stage floor. As Casey Walden and Quent Raynor climbed onto the stage, Martha turned to take general shots of the audience, who sat filled with horror yet driven to watch what was happening right in front of them.

  It took less than ten minutes for the paramedics to arrive, but by then Travis was comatose.

  “He’s still got a pulse,” shouted the emergency worker to his partner.

  Martha got pictures of Travis being intubated, as well as shots of Travis, his face a bright cherry-red, being lifted to a stretcher and rolled out of the room.

  Piper’s first instinct was to move to the stage, but a man identifying himself as a doctor had run up and started administering CPR. She decided to stand aside and not add to the crowd that had gathered.

  Thoughts of her father and his emergency preparedness kits flashed through her mind. She wondered if he had anything in them that would have helped Travis York. As it was, Piper cursed herself for changing to her small clutch tonight from her big shoulder bag, which contained the basic kit her father had made her promise to keep with her at all times. This thing was sure to make the news, and Piper knew her dad was going to grill her about what she had done to help.

  Even in her state of horror, Piper couldn’t help observing that Martha Killeen was taking so many pictures of Travis as he struggled to survive. There was something gross about it. She also noticed that Phillip Brooks had risen to his feet but sat back down again when he saw Casey Walden running to the stage to be with Glenna. In the bedlam of the ballroom, while men shouted and women cried, Piper could feel her heart pounding and the heat rising in her cheeks. She had never before witnessed a
man fighting for his life. She feared that Travis York had already lost his battle.

  Chapter 20

  His wife had long since gone up to bed, ever aware that she had to get up very early in the morning to get to the bakery. Vin Donovan watched the Knicks game in his basement lair while having a couple of beers. When the game was over, he switched to his favorite local news station.

  On the television screen, a pretty young woman bundled in a down coat stood on the sidewalk in front of an elegant old building. She held a microphone to her lips with a gloved hand.

  “A fund-raising auction at the Metropolitan School for Girls here on Fifth Avenue became the scene of tragedy when actor Travis York collapsed on the stage while he acted as auctioneer. He was later pronounced dead at Lenox Hill Hospital.

  “People who attended the auction were stunned and shaken as they left the school tonight, struggling to make sense of what they had witnessed.”

  Video of a well-dressed couple appeared on the screen. The woman was clinging to the man’s arm. Both their facial expressions were grim.

  “One minute he was standing there,” said the man, “making jokes with the audience, trying to jack up the prices, and the next minute he was coughing and gasping for air. His face was beet-red, almost purple. I could see it from the middle of the room where we were sitting. After he fell to the floor, it looked like he was having a seizure or convulsions or something. He was shaking and jerking around uncontrollably.”

  Another man appeared and spoke. “I’m still not sure exactly what happened. About halfway through the auction, he coughed a little bit and then he took a drink of water. After that, all hell broke loose.”

  Vin heard the reporter’s voice again. She was talking over a professional head shot of Travis York’s handsome face, which smiled from the screen.

  “Travis York is known to millions as Drake Darrington on the popular soap opera A Little Rain Must Fall. He had volunteered to be the auctioneer tonight at the request of his costar Glenna Brooks, whose daughter attends the school.”

  Now a woman appeared. The words marching across the bottom of the screen identified her as Jessie Terhune, School Drama Teacher.

  “This is just such a horrible, senseless thing,” she said. “The man was doing a good deed. The proceeds of the auction are meant to go to the drama department. Travis York, as an actor, knew how important our program is to the girls. Before he collapsed, over a million dollars had already been raised and that is a tribute to him and will be part of his legacy.”

  The reporter appeared on screen one last time. “An autopsy will be performed. The Office of the Chief Medical Examiner investigates all unexpected, violent, or suspicious deaths in New York City.”

  Vin lowered the volume on the TV and reached for the phone. He listened in frustration at the repeated ringing before the call was finally transferred to voice mail.

  “Piper? It’s me. Dad. Are you all right, honey? Call me back as soon as you get this. And whatever you do, don’t go near the water that Travis York drank.”

  Sitting on the old couch, Vin waited anxiously and thought about the news report. The symptoms that the onlookers described reminded him of a couple of cases he’d worked on. Those cases involved cyanide poisoning.

  Chapter 21

  The police asked for a list of names of those who had attended the auction and questioned all the people remaining in the ballroom. Every single person described the reaction Travis York had after he drank the water. The crime scene investigators confiscated the glass, the pitcher, and the remaining contents for testing.

  Glenna was somber as she joined her fiancé and friend after the police had finished interviewing her.

  “I still can’t believe all this,” she said as she sank down in the ballroom chair beside Piper. “I can’t believe that Travis is dead.” Glenna tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

  “I know,” said Casey, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “But what I can’t believe is how close it came to being you, Glenna. You almost drank that water instead of Travis.”

  “Casey’s right,” said Piper. “Thank God that didn’t happen.”

  “I do thank him,” said Glenna. “But we don’t know for certain that it was something in that water that killed Travis.”

  “I overheard one of the cops talking,” said Piper. “That’s what they’re thinking.”

  Glenna straightened in her chair. “So somebody poisoned Travis?” she asked incredulously. “Why in the world would anyone do that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Piper, shaking her head. “But here’s the thing, Glenna: if it does turn out that the water was poisoned, what if it was really meant for you?”

  Glenna looked at Piper with skepticism. “No way,” she said.

  “It could have been,” said Piper. “And maybe it has something to do with that letter you got.”

  “What letter?” asked Casey.

  Glenna shook her head. “I didn’t even want to tell you about it. Nonsense, that’s all it was. I burned it.”

  “You’ve got to tell Casey about it, Glenna,” said Piper. “And now you have to tell the police about it, too.”

  Chapter 22

  Martha Killeen had followed the paramedics out onto Fifth Avenue, taking pictures until the body of Travis York was loaded into the back of the ambulance. Then she hailed a cab and directed the driver to take her downtown to her studio. As she sat in the back of the taxi, Martha scrolled through the photos that appeared in the playback viewer of her camera.

  The pictures were powerful and graphic. Martha was well aware of the fact that, because she had taken them, they were more valuable. Even if somebody had taken some pictures with their cell phones, they weren’t going to be in any way comparable to hers in terms of clarity, composition, and pedigree. The photographs she had taken tonight were worth a fortune.

  The appetite for the pictures was going to be tremendous. Once word got out that she had them, broadcast and Internet news agencies would be after her like voracious hounds. She had to decide how she was going to handle things.

  Martha ran her fingers through her short, layered hair as she considered her options. She could sell the whole series of pictures to a single buyer, an exclusive arrangement that would net one enormous sum of money. She could sell to multiple buyers and possibly make even more. Or she could let the pictures out one or two at a time and try to stretch things out, choosing buyers based on their offers for a particular picture.

  But she also had the police to consider. Once they learned of the pictures she had taken, they might confiscate them as part of their investigation. Then she’d have nothing.

  She had to act quickly.

  The cab pulled up in front of her building. Martha paid the fare, got out, and stood on the sidewalk in front of the old three-story warehouse that she had so passionately renovated into her 13,000-square-foot studio and living space. Just Martha and her six-year-old daughter, Ella, shared five bedrooms, five baths, three fireplaces, and an indoor lap pool. Outside, at the back of the building, there were another 2,000 square feet of multilevel terraces and gardens. With her studio on the first floor, Martha literally lived over the store, and was available for Ella whenever needed.

  A place like hers was almost nonexistent in Manhattan—though it really wasn’t hers at all. Three different banks held mortgages on it now. Still, the thought of losing it sickened her. It was the only home Ella had ever known—except, of course, for the Chinese orphanage. Ella was doing so well here and Martha didn’t want to disrupt that. Her daughter had already been through enough in her short life.

  Some people would argue that she didn’t need to live so lavishly, that Ella didn’t need to go to a private school. But Martha was determined to give her child the best of everything.

  As she straightened the wreat
h on the front door, Martha made her decision.

  Chapter 23

  Friday, December 10 . . . Fourteen days until the wedding

  Before he drank his morning coffee or turned on his computer to monitor what the overseas financial markets had done overnight, Phillip Brooks bundled up for the three-block walk to the nearest newsstand. He didn’t have a subscription to the New York Post, but he suspected that the paper would have the most gripping coverage of what had happened last night. If there were pictures to be had, the Post would use them liberally, splashing them across the front page and throughout the tabloid. Going to the Internet was no substitute for holding a newspaper in your own hands.

  He locked the door of his junior one-bedroom apartment and took the elevator down three floors to the small reception area where the building’s residents picked up their mail from the metal boxes set into the wall. As Phillip reached to open the heavy glass door that led out to the street, he was nostalgic for the days when he took a doorman for granted, the days when he and Glenna had lived together in the luxurious “classic eight,” the apartment that Glenna lived in now with Susannah. It sickened him that, soon, Casey Walden would live there, too.

  It was all he could do to nod and keep a pleasant expression on his face when Susannah mentioned things that she did with her mother and future stepfather. Every other weekend, Phillip had to listen to Susannah’s account of the latest excursion she had gone on with Glenna and Casey. The guy was a regular tour guide, taking them to the Museum of Natural History, the Bronx Zoo, the New York Aquarium, and always finding other interesting outings. A walking tour of Greenwich Village, where Casey told her about the many writers and artists who had lived there over the decades; a picnic on the grounds of the Cloisters, where he expounded on the highlights of medieval art; a boat ride out to Ellis Island, where Susannah was able to find the listing for her maternal great-great-grandparents who had arrived in the United States after a miserable ocean voyage from Ireland.