I'll Be Seeing You (13 page)

There were bunches of local cable stations around that no one paid any attention to. He'd say he was from one of them. He'd be Bernie Heffernan, news reporter.

Just like Meghan.

The only problem was, he was going through his vacation and severance pay too fast. He had to keep money coming in. Fortunately he managed to pick up a fare to Kennedy Airport and one back into the city before it was time to go home.

At dinner his mother was sneezing. “Are you getting a cold, Mama?” he asked solicitously.

“I don't get colds. I just have allergies,” she snapped. “I think there's dust in this house.”

“Mama, you know there's no dust here. You're a good housekeeper.”

“Bernard, are you keeping the basement clean? I'm trusting you. I don't dare attempt those stairs after what happened.”

“Mama, it's fine.”

They watched the six o'clock news together and saw Meghan Collins interviewing the receptionist at the Manning Clinic.

Bernie leaned forward, drinking in Meghan's profile as she asked questions. His hands and forehead grew damp.

Then the remote selector was yanked from his hand. As the television clicked off, he felt a stinging slap on his face. “You're starting again, Bernard,” his mother
screamed. “You're watching that girl. I can tell. I can just tell! Don't you ever learn?”

When Meghan got to the hospital, she found her mother fully dressed. “Virginia brought me some clothes. I've got to get out of here,” Catherine Collins said firmly. “I can't just lie in this bed and think. It's too unsettling. At least at the inn I'll be busy.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“At first he objected, of course, but now he agrees, or at least he's willing to sign me out.” Her voice faltered. “Meggie, don't try to change my mind. It really is better if I'm home.”

Meghan hugged her fiercely. “Are you packed yet?”

“Down to the toothbrush. Meg, one more thing. Those investigators want to talk to you. When we get home, you have to call and set up an appointment with them.”

The phone was ringing when Meghan pushed open the front door of the house. She ran to get it. It was Dina Anderson. “Meghan. If you're still interested in being around when the baby is born, start making plans. The doctor is going to put me into Danbury Medical Center on Monday morning and induce labor.”

“I'll be there. Is it all right if I come up Sunday afternoon with a cameraman and take some pictures of you and Jonathan getting ready for the baby?”

“That will be fine.”

Catherine Collins went from room to room, turning on the lights. “It's so good to be home,” she murmured.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“That's the last thing in the world I want to do. I'm going to soak in a tub and get properly dressed and then we're going to have dinner at the inn.”
“Are you sure?” Meghan watched as her mother's chin went up and her mouth settled in a firm line.

“I'm very sure. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better, Meg. You'll see that when you talk to those investigators. But no one is going to think that we're hiding out.”

“I think Pop's exact words were, ‘Don't let the bastards get you.' I'd better call those people from the state attorney's office.”

John Dwyer was the assistant state attorney assigned to the Danbury courthouse. His jurisdiction included the town of New Milford.

At forty, Dwyer had been in the state attorney's office for fifteen years. During those years, he'd sent some upstanding citizens, pillars of the community, to prison for crimes ranging from fraud to murder. He'd also prosecuted three people who'd faked their deaths in an attempt to collect insurance.

Edwin Collins' supposed death in the Tappan Zee Bridge tragedy had generated much sympathetic coverage in the local media. The family was well known in the area, and the Drumdoe Inn was an institution.

The fact that Collins' car almost certainly had not gone over the side of the bridge and his role in the verification of Helene Petrovic's bogus credentials had changed a shocking suburban murder to a statewide scandal. Dwyer knew that the State Department of Health was sending medical investigators to the Manning Clinic to determine how much damage Petrovic might have done in the lab there.

Late Wednesday afternoon, Dwyer had a meeting in his office with the investigators from the New Milford police, Arlene Weiss and Bob Marron. They had managed to get Petrovic's file from the State Department in Washington.

Weiss reviewed the specifics of it for him. “Petrovic came to the United States twenty years ago, when she
was twenty-seven. Her sponsor ran a beauty salon on Broadway. Her visa application lists her education as high school graduate with some training at a cosmetology school in Bucharest.”

“No medical training?” Dwyer asked.

“None that she listed,” Weiss confirmed.

Bob Marron looked at his notes. “She went to work at her friend's salon, stayed there eleven years and in the last couple took secretarial courses at night.”

Dwyer nodded.

“Then she was offered a job as a secretary at the Dowling Assisted Reproduction Center in Trenton, New Jersey. That's when she bought the Lawrenceville house.

“Three years later, Collins placed her at the Manning Clinic as an embryologist.”

“What about Edwin Collins? Does his background check out?” Dwyer asked.

“Yes. He's a Harvard Business graduate. Never been in trouble. Senior partner in the firm. Got a gun permit about ten years ago after he was held up at a red light in Bridgeport.”

The intercom buzzed. “Miss Collins returning Mr. Marron's call.”

“That's Collins' daughter?” Dwyer asked.

“Yes.”

“Get her in here tomorrow.”

Marron took the phone and spoke to Meghan, then looked at the assistant state attorney. “Eight o'clock tomorrow morning all right? She's driving to Philadelphia on assignment and needs to come in early.”

Dwyer nodded.

After Marron confirmed the appointment with Meghan and replaced the receiver, Dwyer leaned back in his swivel chair. “Let's see what we have. Edwin Collins disappeared and is presumed dead. But now his wife receives flowers from him, which you tell me were charged to his credit card.”

“The order was phoned in to the florist. The credit card has never been canceled. On the other hand, until
this afternoon, it hasn't been used since January,” Weiss said.

“Wasn't it tagged after his disappearance to see if there was activity on the account?
^”

“Until the other day, Collins was presumed to have drowned. There was no reason to put an alert on his cards.”

Arlene Weiss was looking over her notes. “I want to ask Meghan Collins about something her mother said. That phone call that landed Mrs. Collins in the hospital, the one that she swears didn't sound like her husband . . .”

“What about it?”

“She thought she heard the caller say something like, ‘I'm in terrible trouble.' What did that mean?”

“We'll ask the daughter what she thinks when we talk to her tomorrow,” Dwyer said. “I know what I think. Is Edwin Collins still listed as missing-presumed-dead?”

Marron and Weiss nodded together. Assistant State Attorney Dwyer got up. “We probably should change that. Here's the way I see it. One, we've established Collins' connection to Petrovic. Two, he almost certainly did not die in the bridge accident. Three, he took all the cash value from his insurance policies a few weeks before he disappeared. Four, no trace of his car has been found, but a tall man in a dark sedan regularly visited the Petrovic woman. Five, the phone call, the use of the credit card, the flowers. I say it's enough. Put out an APB on Edwin Collins. Make it, ‘Wanted for questioning in the murder of Helene Petrovic.'”

J
ust before five o'clock, Victor Orsini received the call he was afraid might come. Larry Downes, president of Downes and Rosen, phoned to tell him that it would be better all around if he held off giving notice at Collins and Carter.

“For how long, Larry?” Victor asked quietly.

“I don't know,” Downes said evasively. “This fuss about the Petrovic woman will all die down eventually, but you have too much negative feedback attached to you for you to come here now. And if it turns out that Petrovic mixed up any of those embryos at the clinic, there'll be hell to pay, and you know it. You guys placed her there, and you'll be held responsible.”

Victor protested. “I'd just started when Helene Petrovic's application was submitted to the Manning Clinic. Larry, you let me down last winter.”

“I'm sorry, Victor. But the fact is, you were there six weeks before Petrovic began working at Manning. That means you were there when the investigation into her credentials should have been taking place. Collins and Carter is a small operation. Who's going to believe you weren't aware of what was going on?”

Orsini swallowed. When he spoke to the reporters he'd said that he'd never heard of Petrovic, that he'd barely been hired when she was okayed for Manning. They hadn't picked up that he'd obviously been in the office when her application was processed. He tried one more argument. “Larry, I've helped you people a lot this year.”

“Have you, Victor?”

“You placed candidates with three of our best accounts.”

“Perhaps our candidates for the jobs were stronger.”

“Who told you those corporations were looking to fill positions?”

“I'm sorry, Victor.”

Orsini stared at the receiver as the line went dead. Don't call us. We'll call you, he thought. He knew the job with Downes and Rosen probably would never be given to him now.

Milly poked her head into his office. “I'm on my way. Hasn't it been a terrible day, Mr. Orsini? All those reporters coming in and all those calls.” Her eyes were snapping with excitement.

Victor could just see her at her dinner table tonight, repeating with relish every detail of the day. “Is Mr. Carter back?”

“No. He phoned that he was going to stay with Mrs. Collins at the hospital and then go directly home. You know, I think he's getting sweet on her.”

Orsini did not answer.

“Well, good night, Mr. Orsini.”

“Good night, Milly.”

While her mother was dressing, Meghan slipped into the study and took the letters and obituary notice from the drawer in her father's desk. She hid them in her briefcase and prayed her mother would not notice the faint scratches on the desk where the file had slipped when she was breaking into the drawer. Meghan would have to tell her about the letters and the death notice eventually, but not yet. Maybe after she'd been to Philadelphia she might have some sort of explanation.

She went upstairs to her own bathroom to wash her face and hands and freshen her makeup. After hesitating a moment, she decided to call Mac. He had said he'd call her, and she didn't want him to think anything was
wrong. More wrong than it already is, she corrected herself.

Kyle answered. “Meg!” It was the Kyle she knew, delighted to hear her voice.

“Hi, pal. How's it going?”

“Great. But today was really bad.”

“Why?”

“Jake nearly got killed. I was throwing a ball to him. He's getting real good at catching it, but I threw too hard and it went in the street and he ran out and some guy almost hit him. I mean you should have seen the guy stop his car. Like just
stop.
That car
shook.”

“I'm glad Jake's okay, Kyle. Next time toss the ball to him in the backyard. You've got more room.”

“That's what Dad said. He's grabbing the phone, Meg. See you.”

Mac came on. “I was not grabbing it. I reached for it. Hi, Meg. You've gotten all the news from this end. How's it going?”

She told him that her mother was home. “I'm driving to Philadelphia tomorrow for the feature I'm trying to put together.”

“Will you also check out that address in Chestnut Hill?”

“Yes. Mother doesn't know about that or those letters.”

“She won't hear it from me. When will you get back?”

“Probably not before eight o'clock. It's nearly a four-hour drive to Philadelphia.”

“Meg.” Mac's voice became hesitant. “I know that you don't want me interfering, but I wish you'd let me help. I sense sometimes that you're avoiding me.”

“Don't be silly. We've always been good buddies.”

“I'm not sure we are anymore. Maybe I've missed something. What happened?”

What happened, Meghan thought, is that I can't think of that letter I wrote you nine years ago, begging you not to marry Ginger, without writhing in humiliation. What happened is that I'll never be anything more than your
little buddy and I've managed to separate myself from you. I can't risk going through Jeremy MacIntyre withdrawal again.