Morning, Noon & Night

by Sidney Sheldon

  “Yes.”

  “Someone stole it!”

  Julia shook her head. “No,” she said slowly.

  “What do you mean?”

  She turned to look at Sally. “They must have repossessed it. I’m three payments behind.”

  “Wonderful,” Sally said tonelessly. “That’s just wonderful.”

  Sally was unable to get her roommate’s situation out of her mind. It’s like a fairy tale, Sally thought. A princess who doesn’t know she’s a princess. Only in this case, she knows it, but she’s too proud to do anything about it. It’s not fair! The family has all that money, and she has nothing. Well, if she won’t do something about it, I damn well will. She’ll thank me for it.

  That evening, after Julia went out, Sally examined the box of clippings again. She took out a recent newspaper article mentioning that the Stanford heirs had gone back to Rose Hill for the funeral services.

  If the princess won’t go to them, Sally thought, they’re going to come to the princess.

  She sat down and began to write a letter. It was addressed to Judge Tyler Stanford.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Tyler Stanford signed the commitment papers putting Margo Posner in Reed Mental Health Facility. Three psychiatrists were required to agree to the commitment, but Tyler knew that that would be easy for him to handle.

  He reviewed everything he had done from the very beginning, and decided that there had been no flaws in his game plan. Dmitri had disappeared in Australia, and Margo Posner had been disposed of. That left Hal Baker, but he would be no problem. Everyone had an Achilles’ heel, and his was his stupid family. No, Baker will never talk because he couldn’t bear the thought of spending his life in prison, away from his dear ones.

  Everything was perfect.

  The minute the will is probated, I’ll return to Chicago and pick up Lee. Maybe we’ll even buy a house in St.-Tropez. He began to get aroused at the thought. We’ll sail around the world in my yacht. I’ve always wanted to see Venice…and Positano…and Capri…. We’ll go on safari in Kenya, and see the Taj Mahal together in the moonlight. And who do I owe all this to? To Daddy. Dear old Daddy. “You’re a queer, Tyler, and you’ll always be a queer. I don’t know how the hell anything like you came from my loins….”

  Well, who has the last laugh now, Father?

  Tyler went downstairs to join his brother and sister for lunch. He was hungry again.

  “It’s really a pity that Julia had to leave so quickly,” Kendall said. “I would have liked to have gotten to know her better.”

  “I’m sure she plans to return as soon as she can,” Marc said.

  That’s certainly true, Tyler thought. He would make sure she never got out.

  The talk turned to the future.

  Peggy said, shyly, “Woody is going to buy a group of polo ponies.”

  “It’s not a group!” Woody snapped. “It’s a string. A string of polo ponies.”

  “I’m sorry, darling. I just—”

  “Forget it!”

  Tyler said to Kendall, “What are your plans?”

  “…we are counting on your further support…We would appreciate it if you would deposit 1 million U.S. dollars…within the next ten days.”

  “Kendall?”

  “Oh. I’m going to…to expand the business. I’ll open shops in London and in Paris.”

  “That sounds exciting,” Peggy said.

  “I have a show in New York in two weeks. I have to run down there and get it ready.”

  Kendall looked over at Tyler. “What are you going to do with your share of the estate?”

  Tyler said piously, “Charity, mostly. There are so many worthy organizations that need help.”

  He was only half listening to the conversation at the table. He looked around the table at his brother and sister. If it weren’t for me, you’d be getting nothing. Nothing!

  He turned to look at Woody. His brother had become a dope addict, throwing his life away. Money won’t help him, Tyler thought. It will only buy him more dope. He wondered where Woody was getting the stuff.

  Tyler turned to his sister. Kendall was bright and successful, and she had made the most of her talents.

  Marc was seated next to her, telling an amusing anecdote to Peggy. He’s attractive and charming. Too bad he’s married.

  And then there was Peggy. He thought of her as Poor-peggy. Why she put up with Woody was beyond him. She must love him very much. She certainly hasn’t gotten anything out of her marriage.

  He wondered what the expressions on their faces would be if he stood up and said, “I control Stanford Enterprises. I had our father murdered, his body dug up, and I hired someone to impersonate our half sister.” He smiled at the thought. It was difficult holding a secret as delicious as the one he had.

  After lunch, Tyler went to his room to telephone Lee again. There was no answer. He’s out with someone, Tyler thought, despairingly. He doesn’t believe me about the yacht. Well, I’ll prove it to him! When is that damn will going to be probated? I’ll have to call Fitzgerald, or that young lawyer, Steve Sloane.

  There was a knock at the door. Clark stood there. “Excuse me, Judge Stanford. A letter arrived for you.”

  Probably from Keith Percy, congratulating me. “Thank you, Clark.” He took the envelope. It had a Kansas City return address. He stared at it a moment, puzzled, then opened it and began to read the letter.

  Dear Judge Stanford:

  I think you should know that you have a half sister named Julia. She is the daughter of Rosemary Nelson and your father. She lives here in Kansas City. Her address is 1425 Metcalf Avenue, Apartment 3B, Kansas City, Kansas.

  I’m sure Julia would be most happy to hear from you.

  Sincerely,

  A Friend

  Tyler stared at the letter disbelievingly, and he felt a cold chill. “No!” he cried aloud. “No!” I won’t have it! Not now! Maybe she’s a fake. But he had a terrible feeling that this Julia was genuine. And now the bitch is coming forward to claim her share of the estate! My share. Tyler corrected himself. It doesn’t belong to her. I can’t let her come here. It would ruin everything. I would have to explain the other Julia, and…He shuddered. “No!” I have to have her taken care of. Fast.

  He reached for the telephone and dialed Hal Baker’s number.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The dermatologist shook his head. “I’ve seen cases similar to yours, but never one this bad.”

  Hal Baker scratched his hand and nodded.

  “You see, Mr. Baker, we were confronted with three possibilities. Your itching could have been caused by a fungus, an allergy, or it could be neurodermatitis. The skin scraping I took from your hand and put under the microscope showed me that it wasn’t a fungus. And you said you didn’t handle chemicals on the job…”

  “That’s right.”

  “So, we’ve narrowed it down. What you have is lichen simplex chronicus, or localized neurodermatitis.”

  “That sounds awful. Is there something you can do about it?”

  “Fortunately, there is.” The doctor took a tube from a cabinet in a corner of the office and opened it. “Is your hand itching now?”

  Hal Baker scratched again. “Yes. It feels like it’s on fire.”

  “I want you to rub some of this cream on your hand.” Hal Baker squeezed out some of the cream and began to rub it into his hand. It was like a miracle. “The itching has stopped!” Baker said. “Good. Use that, and you won’t have any more problems.” “Thank you, Doctor. I can’t tell you what a relief this is.” “I’ll give you a prescription. You can take the tube with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Driving home, Hal Baker was singing aloud. It was the first time since he had met Judge Tyler Stanford that his hand had not itched. It was a wonderful feeling of freedom. Still whistling, he pulled into the garage and walked into the kitchen. Helen was waiting for him.

  “You had a telephone call,” she said.
“A Mr. Jones. He said it was urgent.”

  His hand began itching.

  He had hurt some people, but he had done it for the love of his kids. He had committed some crimes, but it was for the family. Hal Baker did not believe he really had been at fault. This was different. This was a cold-blooded murder.

  When he had returned the phone call, he had protested. “I can’t do that, Judge. You’ll have to find someone else.”

  There had been a silence. And then, “How’s the family?”

  The flight to Kansas City was uneventful. Judge Stanford had given him detailed instructions. “Her name is Julia Stanford. You have her address and apartment number. She won’t be expecting you. All you have to do is go there and handle her.”

  He took a taxi from the Kansas City Downtown Airport to downtown Kansas City.

  “Beautiful day,” the taxi driver said.

  “Yep.”

  “Where did you come in from?”

  “New York. I live here.”

  “Nice place to live.”

  “Sure is. I have a little repair work to do around the house. Would you drop me off at a hardware store?”

  “Right.”

  Five minutes later, Hal Baker was saying to a clerk in the store, “I need a hunting knife.”

  “We have just the thing, sir. Would you come this way, please?”

  The knife was a thing of beauty, about six inches long, with a sharp pointed end and serrated edges.

  “Will this do?”

  “I’m sure it will,” Hal Baker said.

  “Will that be cash or charge?”

  “Cash.”

  His next stop was at a stationery store.

  Hal Baker studied the apartment building at 1425 Metcalf Avenue for five minutes, examining exits and entrances. He left and returned at eight P.M., when it began to get dark. He wanted to make sure that if Julia Stanford had a job, she would be home from work. He had noted that the apartment building had no doorman. There was an elevator, but he took the stairs. It was not smart to be in small enclosed places. They were traps. He reached the third floor. Apartment 3B was down the hall on the left. The knife was taped to the inside pocket of his jacket. He rang the doorbell. A moment later, the door opened, and he found himself facing an attractive woman.

  “Hello.” She had a nice smile. “Can I help you?”

  She was younger than he had expected, and he wondered fleetingly why Judge Stanford wanted her killed. Well, that’s none of my business. He took out a card and handed it to her.

  “I’m with the A. C. Nielsen Company,” he said smoothly. “We don’t have any of the Nielsen family in this area, and we’re looking for people who might be interested.”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks.” She started to close the door.

  “We pay one hundred dollars a week.”

  The door stayed half open.

  “A hundred dollars a week?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The door was wide open now.

  “All you have to do is record the names of the programs you watch. We’ll give you a contract for one year.”

  Five thousand dollars! “Come in,” she said.

  He walked into the apartment.

  “Sit down, Mr.—”

  “Allen. Jim Allen.”

  “Mr. Allen. How did you happen to select me?”

  “Our company does random checking. We have to make sure that none of the people is involved in television in any way, so we can keep our survey accurate. You don’t have any connection with any television production programs or networks, do you?”

  She laughed. “Gosh, no. What would I have to do exactly?”

  “It’s really very simple. We’ll give you a chart with all the television programs listed on it, and all you have to do is make a check mark every time you watch a program. That way our computer can figure out how many viewers each program has. The Nielsen family is scattered around the United States, so we get a clear picture of which shows are popular in which areas and with whom. Would you be interested?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He took out some printed forms and a pen. “How many hours a day do you watch television?”

  “Not very many. I work all day.”

  “But you do watch some television?”

  “Oh, certainly. I watch the news at night, and sometimes an old movie. I like Larry King.”

  He made a note. “Do you watch much educational television?”

  “I watch PBS on Sundays.”

  “By the way, do you live alone here?”

  “I have a roommate, but she’s not here.”

  So they were alone.

  His hand began to itch. He started to reach into his inside pocket to untape the knife. He heard footsteps in the hall outside. He stopped.

  “Did you say I get five thousand dollars a year just for doing this?”

  “That’s right. Oh, I forgot to mention. We also give you a new color TV set.”

  “That’s fantastic!”

  The footsteps were gone. He reached inside his pocket again and felt the handle of the knife. “Could I have a glass of water, please? It’s been a long day.”

  “Certainly.” He watched her get up and go over to the small bar in the corner. He slipped the knife out of its sheath and moved up behind her.

  She was saying, “My roommate watches PBS more than I do.”

  He lifted the knife, ready to strike.

  “But Julia’s more intellectual than I am.”

  Baker’s hand froze in midair. “Julia?”

  “My roommate. Or she was. She’s gone. I found a note when I got home saying she had left and didn’t know when she’d be…” She turned around, holding the glass of water, and saw the upraised knife in his hand. “What…?”

  She screamed.

  Hal Baker turned and fled.

  Hal Baker telephoned Tyler Stanford. “I’m in Kansas City, but the girl is gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “Her roommate says she left.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I have a feeling she’s headed for Boston. I want you to get up here right away.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tyler Stanford slammed down the receiver and began to pace. Everything had been going so perfectly! The girl had to be found and disposed of. She was a loose cannon. Even after he received control of the estate, Tyler knew he would not rest easy as long as she was alive. I’ve got to find her, Tyler thought. I’ve got to! But where?

  Clark came into the room. He looked puzzled. “Excuse me, Judge Stanford. There is a Miss Julia Stanford here to see you.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It was because of Kendall that Julia decided to go to Boston. Returning from lunch one day, Julia passed an exclusive dress shop, and in the window was an original design by Kendall. Julia looked at it for a long time. That’s my sister, Julia thought. I can’t blame her for what happened to my mother. And I can’t blame my brothers. And suddenly she was filled with an overpowering desire to see them, to meet them, to talk to them, to have a family at last.

  When Julia returned to the office, she told Max Tolkin that she would be gone for a few days. Embarrassed, she said, “I wonder if I could have an advance on my salary?”

  Tolkin smiled. “Sure. You have a vacation coming. Here. Have a good time.”

  Will I have a good time? Julia wondered. Or am I making a terrible mistake?

  When Julia returned home, Sally had not arrived yet. I can’t wait for her, Julia decided. If I don’t go now, I’ll never go. She packed her suitcase and left a note.

  On the way to the bus terminal, Julia had second thoughts. What am I doing? Why did I make this sudden decision? Then she thought wryly, Sudden? It’s taken me fourteen years! She was filled with an enormous sense of excitement. What was her family going to be like? She knew that one of her brothers was a judge, the other was a famous polo player, and her sister was a famous designer. It’s a family o
f achievers, Julia thought, and who am I? I hope they don’t look down on me. Merely thinking about what lay ahead made Julia’s heart skip a beat. She boarded a Greyhound bus and was on her way.

  When the bus arrived at South Station in Boston, Julia found a taxi.

  “Where to, lady?” the driver asked.

  And Julia completely lost her nerve. She had intended to say, “Rose Hill.” Instead, she said, “I don’t know.”

  The taxi driver turned around to look at her. “Gee, I don’t know, either.”

  “Could you just drive around? I’ve never been to Boston before.”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  They drove west along Summer Street until they reached the Boston Common.

  The driver said, “This is the oldest public park in the United States. They used to use it for hangings.”

  And Julia could hear her mother’s voice. “I used to take the children to the Common in the winter to ice-skate. Woody was a natural athlete. I wish you could have met him, Julia. He was such a handsome boy. I always thought he was going to be the successful one in the family.” It was as though her mother were with her, sharing this moment.

  They had reached Charles Street, the entrance to the Public Garden. The driver said, “See those bronze ducklings? Believe it or not, they’ve all got names.”

  “We used to have picnics in the Public Garden. There are cute bronze ducklings at the entrance. They’re named Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack.” Julia had thought that was so funny that she had made her mother repeat the names over and over again.

  Julia looked at the meter. The drive was getting expensive. “Could you recommend an inexpensive hotel?”

  “Sure. How about the Copley Square Hotel?”

  “Would you take me there, please?”

  “Right.”

  Five minutes later, they pulled up in front of the hotel.

  “Enjoy Boston, lady.”

  “Thank you.” Am I going to enjoy it, or will it be a disaster? Julia paid the driver and went into the hotel. She approached the young clerk behind the desk.