“No problem, Jack,” Elizabeth said, with remarkable calm. “Do what you have to do. We’ll be here.” He saw she was holding both Lou Lou’s and Mary Lisa’s hands. Mary Lisa didn’t look up at him. She was looking inward, probably still seeing Mrs. Hildebrand, still unable to accept it. Lou Lou looked up at him, no, beyond him. He wondered when he’d see the vivacious smart-mouthed women he’d come to like so much.
He said, “I’m sorry the three of you had to find her. That had to be very tough.”
Mary Lisa raised her eyes to his, back for the moment to the world of the present.
John Goddard appeared in the living room doorway beside him. “I’ve been on the phone to Dr. Hughes, Jack.” At Jack’s nod, he turned to the three women. “You guys all right?” But his eyes were on Elizabeth, and he walked to her like a homing pigeon. She smiled up at him. “Yes, John, we’re fine.”
“We should get you all out of here,” John said. “There might be media, especially if they find out Mary Lisa is here.”
“You’re right,” Jack said. He cursed under his breath, streaked his fingers through his hair, making it stick straight up. He looked out the wide front window. Neighbors were standing in their yards, a clump of them directly across the street huddled together. At least a dozen cars were still in the Hildebrand driveway, some climbed onto the curb in front of the house, one even parked on the grass. He couldn’t, at that moment, think of anything that could possibly be worse.
He walked over to Mary Lisa and held his hand out to her. She took it and stood up, and he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, really sorry you had to find her.”
She pressed her cheek against his neck. “It was pretty bad.” She swallowed down a sob. No more falling apart. It wouldn’t help anything.
“I want you to go back to the inn, okay? Please, stay there until I can get back to you.”
She leaned back in his arms, studied his face. “All right,” she said finally, “but I need to go see my parents soon.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
Mary Lisa stepped quietly into the living room. Her father was holding her mother, her head on his shoulder, and he was rocking her. He looked up, gave her a strained smile. Slowly, he eased her mother back.
“Mary Lisa is here, Kathy.”
Kathleen Beverly looked worn, somehow hollowed out, her makeup smudged, her eyes red-rimmed and vague. She looked toward her daughter and said, “I don’t think there’s enough luncheon meat for you, Mary Lisa, since you didn’t give us any warning you were coming to lunch.”
“I’m not here for lunch, Mom. I came to tell you how very sorry I am about Mrs. Hildebrand.”
Kathleen said, not looking at her, “How very nice of you.” She cleared her throat. “I understand you were the one who found her.”
Mary Lisa nodded. “Yes, Lou Lou and Elizabeth and I. It was-very bad.”
“You saw her hanging there?”
Mary Lisa nodded, mute for a moment. “One of the deputies said you went to visit her last night.”
George Beverly waved his daughter to a chair, but he didn’t look away from his wife’s face. “I wondered where you’d gone last evening. So, you went to see Olivia?”
“What is this? Are the two of you ganging up on me? I find it interesting you are questioning me, Mary Lisa, as if you cared about what’s been happening with us in Goddard Bay all these years.”
George Beverly cut in, his voice sharp. “Kathleen, I know this has been a terrible time for you, but please watch how you speak to Mary Lisa. She is your daughter, and you will strive for a little kindness, a hint of civility at least, if kindness isn’t in your repertoire.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve let the cat out of the bag, Mother. I was hoping I could learn something about what happened. Olivia Hildebrand was your best friend. Did you have any hint she’d do this?”
George Beverly looked up to see Jack Wolf standing in the living room doorway. How long had he been there? Probably long enough, George thought. He waved him in. “Please come in, Jack. We were just waiting for my wife to answer that question you heard. Do be seated, have some tea.”
He soon had Jack sitting opposite his wife, the steam from the hot tea wafting up beside his hand. “Mrs. Beverly, I’m very sorry for your loss. But please go ahead. Did Olivia Hildebrand give you any warning about this?”
Kathleen Beverly shook her head, all the while seeming to study a painting on the wall, a Dutch countryside scene with its requisite cows and shepherd and hazy light. “How very wise the lot of you think you are. Olivia was my first close friend, my only close friend, really. Of course I was worried for her. The fact is, she didn’t kill anyone. I think that breakdown she had this week was staged, because she was trying to protect her daughter. Why don’t you arrest Marci, Jack, instead of sniffing around Mary Lisa?”
They all looked at her, astonished.
Then Kathleen shrugged, impatiently wiped the back of her hand over her eyes. Her mascara was badly smeared. “She’s gone. It doesn’t matter now.”
“I’m very sorry, Mom. I know she meant a great deal to you.”
Kathleen raised her head, stared at Mary Lisa, through her really. She slowly stood up. She was wearing a light cream V-necked sweater with a cream silk blouse and a pair of darker linen trousers. But today, when she stood, she didn’t look beautiful and rich, in control of her world. She looked at each of them. “Marci killed both her husband and her father and her mother. You need only find the proof.”
“Actually, Mrs. Beverly, one of the reasons I came over was that Dr. Hughes, the medical examiner, just called me,” Jack said. “The rope she used was quite thick and heavy, and I really couldn’t see how she managed to fashion a noose and, well, to pull it tightly enough. I doubted she had the strength to do it. But the fact is, she somehow managed it. Dr. Hughes said there were rope burns on her palms where she’d yanked on the rope, and hemp fibers beneath her fingernails. He said she worked really hard but she handled it. She killed herself, Mrs. Beverly. I’m very sorry.”
Kathleen’s harsh choppy breath was the loudest sound in the living room. She looked at each of them, her face utterly without expression, and said, “I don’t believe that,” and she left the living room.
George Beverly sighed, looked down at his clenched hands. He unclenched them, splayed his palms on his thighs. “Until a month ago, our lives were quite pleasant really, never too much excitement, but enough to stave off boredom. Now, I seem to be standing in the midst of a shambles.” He rose, walked to his daughter, kissed her brow. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you’re used to her ways, aren’t you?”
She hugged her father close. She really didn’t want to let him go. He had been her support for so long. He whispered against her ear, “You did well with her. You’re a brave, good girl.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding, “that’s me, brave and good. I’m so sorry about all this, Dad. I probably shouldn’t have come, but I had to. She’s so terribly hurt.” She paused a moment. “Do you know I’ve never before seen her makeup smeared?”
“And you’re always trying to fix things. Maybe your mother will learn to expand her borders a bit at long last. There are very nice people in Goddard Bay. Who knows, maybe she’ll let herself get close to some of them now that Olivia’s gone.” He saw the pain in his daughter’s eyes-his eyes-and couldn’t help but add, “Dearest, dredging up the past would cause too much pain for everyone, myself included, and it would be for your mother to do, in any case. But know this. None of what your mother feels is your fault. You are a very fine woman, and you are the child of my heart.” He nodded to Jack, and followed his wife from the living room.
Mary Lisa looked over at Jack. Her frown smoothed out. “Jack, I don’t know if I can do as my father says, stop banging my head against this particular wall, stop trying to understand my mother. I’ve always trusted him, and I know I should try to let it all go, but how can I? What did he mean, it would bring them too much pain? What happened?
“Oh, all right, so be it. At least I know it’s not about me, me as a person. You know something else? I am a good person and I will be the child of my father’s heart until I die.”
And the woman of my heart, he thought. She didn’t respond and he realized the words were only in his mind.
She was shaking her head. “Do you know I actually had the half-baked idea that I could find out something important, not just about Mrs. Hildebrand, but maybe about my mother? I didn’t find out anything, not really.”
“It seems to me you got a whole lot out of coming here, Mary Lisa. You got a little understanding, and maybe a little peace. And now, maybe, you’ll get more.” He pulled her against him. “Mary Lisa, there’s something else. I came here to show it to your mother privately, but now I want to show it to you first. There was a note, Olivia left it for her. She left it in the garage for some reason, probably where that thick rope was lying. I don’t know why.”
“A note? For my mother?”
He took an unsealed white envelope from his jacket pocket. It had her mother’s name on it. She looked down at it, realized she was afraid to read it. Slowly, she let Jack place the envelope in her hand, and saw him turn away from her to give her privacy.
She pulled the single piece of folded stationery out of the envelope and opened it.
My dearest Kathy,
I know you’re in great pain at this moment and very angry with me as well. I take solace only in knowing that the pain of my death will ease, and perhaps the anger as well. It’s time for honesty between us, too rare a commodity in both of our lives, I think.
You are the only person, besides Marci, who has mattered to me, Kathy, and though I have prized you both, isn’t that a shattering indictment of me? After you left last night, Marci came to see me, but only to tell me she would never see me again. I had told her the truth, you see, that it was I who poisoned Milo, her precious father, that I couldn’t stand to see him alive anymore after he killed Jason for nothing more than money, just stupid money, the only important thing in his life. Marci’s feelings never even entered his mind. I thought she would understand it, Kathy. She says she hates me now, hates me. At least the monster is dead.
And now I will die too. I am not sorry for what I did.
Forgive me, Kathy, I admire you and I love you. But listen to me now. I’m dying with Marci’s hate tearing my heart. I want you to make peace with Mary Lisa.
You told me you simply can’t help yourself, but Kathy, you have to let the past go. Let your beautiful daughter into your heart. The affair George had so many years ago while you were pregnant with her, even that terrible time you spent in a psychiatric hospital where you gave birth to her, surely it has lost its importance. You cannot let it tear at your life forever. He came back to you and his family and you recovered. Forgive him. Forgive her. Forgive yourself. Let it go, dearest, let it go.
Your dearest friend,
Olivia
Mary Lisa had a sheen of tears in her eyes as she folded the letter into the envelope and handed it back to Jack.
“Shall I tell her you read it?” he asked her.
“No, Jack, let it be up to my mother. Olivia’s letter has already made a difference, at least to one of us. Who knows what else it will accomplish?”
And this time, he said it aloud, “You are the woman of my heart, Mary Lisa Beverly.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
There are approximately fifty hours of soap operas each week on the three major networks.
BORN TO BE WILD
Sunday Cavendish is staring out the window of her office, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing a black suit with a white silk blouse beneath, and three-inch black heels. Her red hair is piled atop her head, tendrils lazily curling down in front of her ears. She’s thinking about the scene with her mother at her club when she’d bared her soul.
They roll the club dining room footage, gauzy and vague as Sunday’s memory, then clear. She sees her mother’s pain, the sheen of tears in her eyes-it left her with no doubt that her mother loved her father dearly, and perhaps she still does. Sunday knows it wasn’t an act, but real as it gets. And now he is back.
She shakes herself, pours a glass of water from the crystal carafe, sips slowly. She thinks about her father the last time she saw him, three days before.
They roll the footage of father and daughter in her living room, fading it in again as her remembered thoughts strengthen. Looking somehow diffident, his voice soft, nearly pleading, he told her how much he’s missed her, the awful hollowing pain he’s felt all these years without her. Her uncertainty, her desire to believe him, the tug she’s feeling toward him, are all clear on her face.
She says aloud, barely above a whisper, “Who are you? Who are you both?”
There’s a knock on her office door, pulling her back to the present.
“Enter.”
Her father walks in. “Sunday,” he says, then crosses the distance between them and bends to clasp her hands and kiss them. He straightens and she pulls her hands away. “I wanted to see you. I couldn’t wait. Your secretary said you don’t have an appointment for ten more minutes.”
“I thought you were taping a sermon this morning.”
“It’s done. I came directly here.”
She lightly touches her fingers to his cheek. “Don’t you wear makeup? Or did you wash it off?”
He shakes his head. “The TV people are talking about it, but I’m hanging tough. I’ve always thought it ridiculous for a grown man to have his face powdered up.”
She grins back at him, and nods.
He looks at her intently. “I know you, Sunday. What’s wrong? Something’s bothering you.”
“You’ve known me for two weeks, Father,” says Sunday, her voice light, dismissive. “You can’t begin to tell if there’s anything wrong with me.”
He pauses a moment. “I’ll admit I had some help.”
An eyebrow goes up.
“I saw your mother last night.”
She looks astonished, holds it, holds it-
“Clear! Mary Lisa, you need to have your nose powdered, it’s shining like a beacon under the lights. You too Norman.”
Mary Lisa grinned at Norman. “The TV people are talking about makeup again.”
Norman got his own nose powdered while Lou Lou dusted away the shine on Mary Lisa’s nose. A couple of minutes later, they picked up the scene again.
Sunday looks astonished. “You saw Mom? Goodness, that must have been an adventure. I don’t see any wounds. Was there lots of blood?”
He laughs. “Not really. It seems to me that your mother has mellowed a bit over the years.”
“Surely you jest. It proves you don’t know any of us. It’s been too long, far too long.”
He says slowly, thoughtfully, “Is she really the monster you’ve painted, Sunday?”
She looks at him. “I’m still wondering if you’re the monster she’s painted. The monster my grandfather painted as well.”
“Does the old fraud still have his brain?”
“Oh yes. He can still shoot down anything that walks on two legs.”
“I want to see you this evening, Sunday. Perhaps we can meet for dinner. You can select the restaurant.”
She stares at him a moment, studies his face, then slowly nods. “All right,” she says. “Dino’s, at seven o’clock.”
MARY Lisa was glad to see the end of an incredibly difficult day on the set, ruled by Murphy’s Law. The dialogue of a scene between her half sister, Susan, and Susan’s husband, Damian, had misfired so badly the actors were making gagging noises, and then to make matters worse, Betsy Monroe, her TV mom, had her hair dyed and it turned a virulent Halloween orange. Out of sheer frustration, Mary Lisa had eaten a bacon cheeseburger for lunch with Lou Lou staring at her, disbelieving, while Jack, grinning, offered her catsup. She felt the curse of guilt until she promised herself she’d drink a diet soda for dinner, nothing else, or she’d roas
t in hell.
But Jack seemed to have enjoyed the day. He was treated royally on the set of Born to Be Wild, since he was guarding the Golden Goose and the studio didn’t have to pay for it. He rarely left her side, eyes always on alert, watching her and those around her hour after hour, absorbing the bustling activity, the turnarounds sometimes frenetic enough to stress out a doped-up elephant. He thought the acting was decent, and sometimes very good, and he especially enjoyed watching Mary Lisa, particularly when Sunday Cavendish put her outstanding cleavage on display.
Mary Lisa was happy as a clam when she was finally able to put her Mustang in park, turn off the ignition, and forget all about it. They were home, tucked away in the Colony, together and alone. What she had in mind at that moment was to haul Jack into her house, lock the door, take him down to the floor, and kiss every gorgeous inch of him. And so she said, “Listen up, Chief. You’re mine as soon as I can get your splendid self on the other side of that door.”
He immediately launched himself out of the Mustang and stood against her front door, his arms crossed over his chest, his foot tapping, those aviator glasses of his hiding his eyes, his windblown dark hair falling over his forehead, the whole package making him look like a Top Gun.
Mary Lisa, eyes on him, lust heating up her innards, managed to get out of the car, but that was as far as she got. Six-year-old Alice Neuerberg, with her beautiful board-straight dark hair that had never been cut, was on her, dancing and prancing all around her, showing off her new black patent leather shoes.
Murphy’s Law had followed her home.
Alice’s shoes were for her grandmother’s wedding, she told Mary Lisa, and her mom had paid sixty-nine dollars for them and told her she needed to stop growing. She never once stopped talking, showed her shoes to Mary Lisa from every angle, until she saw another neighbor two doors down drive into her driveway, and skipped off to nab a new audience.
Jack was sitting on her front porch by this time, his long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, grinning toward her. He’d taken off his sunglasses. He looked tired, she thought, maybe a hint of strain around his beautiful eyes from worry, but mostly, he looked happy to be right where he was. Well, she felt all of those things too.
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