Shadows on the Ivy (14 page)

“What?” All heads turned toward Maria.

“Are you sure, Maria?” said Maggie. “If Tiffany were blackmailing someone, that could give him a motive for murder!” At least Tiffany’s murder…no one was thinking about Sarah now. Maggie had planned to stop at the hospital before her first class. She glanced at her watch. She could still do that; her first class wasn’t until ten. This was a critical conversation.

“I don’t know for sure, you understand,” Maria said quickly. “Tony’s father, Eric, is a photographer. A few weeks ago Tiffany asked me for his telephone number. She said she needed some pictures taken. At first I thought she meant photographs of Tyler—studio baby photos—but she laughed and said that the photos she had in mind couldn’t be taken in a studio. Then she asked if Eric had a long telephoto lens, or one of those miniature cameras like spies use. I told her I didn’t know, but I didn’t think it would be good for her to call Eric. I’ve had trouble with him. He wasn’t supporting Tony, and I didn’t want him having any connections to this house, or excuses to come here.” Maria hesitated, and her eyes got a little damp. “I still love him. But he’s got a real temper. And a new girlfriend.”

Kendall reached over and gave Maria a brief hug.

Maggie suspected conversations about Maria’s ex-boyfriend were frequent. And she was the one who’d hidden a gun in her room. How hot was Eric’s temper? Did Maria have problems that were in any way related to those of Tiffany and Sarah? Could Eric have anything to do with Sarah’s illness or Tiffany’s death?

“Just because she wanted to find a photographer doesn’t mean she was going to blackmail someone!” said Kayla.

“Maybe not,” replied Maria. “But she wanted those pictures bad. She said if I didn’t give her Eric’s number, then she’d find someone else herself. She said, ‘Soon I’ll have some real money,’ if she could get someone to help her.”

They were all quiet.

“Do any of you know if Tiffany found a photographer?” Maggie asked.

Silence.

“When the police were searching here yesterday, did they take anything from Tiffany’s room?” Maggie tried to think of what evidence might have been at Whitcomb House.

“I was the only one here when they searched,” said Kayla. “Except for Maria’s gun, and the papers they took from Sarah’s room, I don’t think they took anything.” Maria gave her an aggravated look. “But they might have. I couldn’t watch every minute. They made me stay downstairs while they searched our rooms.”

“And totally messed them up,” groused Heather. “My drawers look as though they pawed through every piece of my underwear!”

“At least it wasn’t sexist, Heather. My underwear drawer was the same way,” said Kendall. “They were doing their job. But I don’t know what they could’ve found. No drugs hidden in the diaper bags, and no dirty pictures that I know of!”

“Unless Tiffany had some incriminating photographs,” Maggie said.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have left them around, would she? At least I hope not, if they were pictures designed to embarrass a husband,” Heather said. “I wouldn’t want Mikey to see anything like that!”

“She’d have put them in a safe-deposit box, maybe,” agreed Maria. “Someplace locked and secure. Someplace no one could get them.”

“Maria, you should tell the police what you’ve told us,” Maggie said. “It may be important. I need to go and see Sarah, and then get to class.”

“I’ll tell them,” said Maria. “At first I thought it was awful, and embarrassing, and maybe I was dreaming the whole thing, but with all we’ve been talking about, I do think the police need to know. I want them to catch whoever hurt Tiffany. No matter what she was doing, she didn’t deserve to be beat up, or to die.”

“And then there’s Sarah,” said Kayla. “Although Sarah wasn’t like Tiffany. I can’t see the connection between them, but both of them being poisoned is just too weird. It can’t be chance.”

Maggie stood up. “Just be sure to tell the police everything you’ve told me. They need all the help we can give them.” She hesitated. “And Tyler? Tiffany’s parents are in South Jersey, right?”

Kayla nodded. “We gave the police their names and number. Tiffany had the information on her bulletin board, in case of an emergency. The police said they’d notify them, and I guess they’ll come and get Tyler. For now we’ll watch out for him.”

A little boy with no father in his life who had just lost his mother.

And Aura was still here. A little girl who had no father, a mother who was very ill, and a secret grandmother who wanted custody of her. And me, thought Maggie. Aura doesn’t know it, but she has me.

Maggie got up to go.

“Wait!” Kayla said. “I have something for you.” She went into her room and was back in a moment, holding a piece of paper. “Professor Summer, if you’re going to see Sarah, would you give her this? Aura drew it for her.”

The crayoned drawing was of a tall person with arms, but no legs, standing next to a small person. Both figures had red hair. And a big red heart was in the sky, with rays like the sun, above them. Maggie’s eyes filled. “I’ll make sure Sarah gets it, Kayla. Thank you.”

Her old blue van felt like home, crammed with antique prints, as she headed for the hospital to check on Sarah.

Two other people were in the intensive care waiting room: a balding short man in his midforties wearing a bright yellow shirt and reading a rumpled copy of
The Star-Ledger,
and an elderly man with a walker. No Dorothy. Maggie checked in at the nurses’ station with the same dark-haired nurse who’d been working Monday morning.

“Sarah Anderson?” She looked down at a sheet of paper in front of her. “Yes, Professor Summer, your name is here; you may see her. Her condition hasn’t changed. Dr. Stevens saw her an hour ago, but none of the critical measures have varied much since yesterday. He said he’d be back later.”

“Has Mrs. Whitcomb been in this morning?”

“No. Not yet.” The nurse leaned toward Maggie and lowered her voice. “There is a man here to see Sarah Anderson, though. He arrived after Dr. Stevens left, and I wouldn’t let him in, because he isn’t on the approved list. Dr. Stevens told us she had no relatives, and only you and Mrs. Whitcomb were approved visitors. That it could be dangerous to let anyone else in to see her. The man said he’d wait to see the doctor; he’d stay all day if he needed to, but he had a right to see Sarah.” The nurse lowered her voice even further. “He said he’s her father.”

“But her father is dead,” Maggie blurted without thinking. Assuming Dorothy’s story was correct. And why would Dorothy lie about giving up a child for adoption? If she hadn’t lied, then Sarah’s father died in an accident before she was born.

The nurse nodded. “Dr. Stevens said the only living relative she had was her little girl.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t think it’s safe for Sarah to be here without protection. What if he’s the one who tried to poison her?”

“I don’t remember seeing him at the Whitcombs’ party, and that’s where it happened.” Maggie kept her voice low, too.

If he was trying to kill Sarah, why would he ask to see her and then wait in the waiting room? Wouldn’t he find a way to sneak into her room? And yet—who was he?

“I called Dr. Stevens to ask what we should do about him, but the doctor hasn’t checked back yet. He’s on an emergency case.”

“Is the man who’s waiting for Sarah the one with the walker?” That would make the possibility of his attacking Sarah considerably less likely. Assuming he really needed the walker.

“No! That’s Mr. Chambers. His wife’s in the room next to Sarah’s. It’s that other man; the one wearing the yellow shirt. He said he’d driven all the way from Princeton to see her.”

Maggie started. Princeton! The town Sarah wouldn’t even drive through. Where Tiffany’s lawyer practiced. The lawyer she had recommended to Sarah. Could this man be her lawyer? Maybe Sarah had contacted someone without telling Tiffany. But certainly a lawyer would announce himself as her lawyer. Not as her father. Or—could this be the person Sarah had never wanted to see again? If so, how long had he been in the area? And why would he say he was Sarah’s father? Unless that was just a ploy: declare himself a relative so he could gain access to her room.

Maggie suddenly felt a chill. “Sarah should be protected by the police.” The door to Sarah’s room was only feet from the nurses’ station. But the nurses had other patients. Anyone could walk into the room where Sarah was lying, immobile and vulnerable.

“This is Somerset County, New Jersey, not New York City. The police don’t have a guard here. They do call every few hours to see how she is. I think they’re hoping she’s going to open her eyes and tell them all about the person who poisoned her. You’re right—they should have someone here.”

“I don’t know who he is or why he’s here. But you were right not to let him bother Sarah.” Maggie hesitated. “I think I’ll go in to see her for a moment now.”

Sarah, and the room she was in, and the monitors she was connected to, hadn’t changed since yesterday. Maggie touched her hand. “Sarah, Aura misses you. So does everyone at Whitcomb House, and at the college.” Maggie didn’t mention that Sarah’s roommate was now dead, and that both Whitcomb House and, she assumed, the Whitcombs’ home were sites of police investigations. Or that a strange man was in the waiting room asking to see her.

She tacked the picture Aura had drawn up on a small bulletin board that Sarah would be able to see when—if—she woke up.

“Aura drew this for you. She wanted you to look at it and know she loves you. She wants you to get well and come home.” Maggie wiped away a tear. “Come back to all of us, Sarah.” Maggie squeezed Sarah’s hand one more time. She waited another moment, hoping against hope that Sarah would open her eyes and blink and tell her what to do. Tell her about the man in the waiting room; tell her what to do for Aura.

When Maggie walked past the nurses’ station on her way out, the nurse had vanished; probably caring for another patient. That’s why Sarah should have police protection, thought Maggie. Anyone could get into her room. And in the meantime someone should talk to that man in the yellow shirt. But there was no one else; that someone had to be Maggie.

“Excuse me,” she said to him politely. “The nurse mentioned that you were here to see Sarah Anderson. I’m her college adviser.” Maggie held out her hand in greeting.

The man looked at Maggie’s outstretched hand for a moment and then took it. “So you know my Sarah.” His hands were rough, but his grip was weaker than she expected.

“Yes. She’s a very special young woman.” She sat down next to him, prepared to play as dumb as necessary to find out more. “I’ve only known her since August, though. Have you known her long?”

“Yes.” He turned back to his newspaper.

Clearly he had no desire to chat. Perhaps the direct approach would work better. “How do you know her?”

The man looked at her. “Not that it’s any of your business, lady. But I’m Sarah’s father.”

“Her father? That’s strange. I was sure she’d told me her father was dead.” Then Maggie realized there was another possibility. “Or—maybe you’re Sarah’s adoptive father—Mr. Anderson?” The Andersons had relinquished custody of Sarah, but Mr. Anderson had been her father during the years she’d lived with them.

“No. I’m not Mr. Anderson. Not that it makes any difference to you.” The man cracked his knuckles. They were red and callused. Clearly he worked with his hands. “I’m Sarah’s foster father. Haven’t seen her since she ran away four or five years ago. The wife saw in the paper how Sarah’d been hurt and was in the hospital. Figured as how we ought to get reacquainted; she might decide she needs her family after all.”

“How—kind—of you,” said Maggie. Four or five years ago. Aura was four now. Had Sarah been pregnant when she had left this man’s family? Could he possibly be Aura’s father? That would explain why Sarah had left her foster family so suddenly. “Then you haven’t been in touch with her in all those years?”

“Didn’t know where she was. She just dropped out of sight. She was old enough to do that, you know. Legally. There wasn’t nothing we could do about it. If she didn’t want us, that was her choice. But the wife’s been worried, you know. All these years. We’ve had lots of foster kids, but most of ’em stay in touch. At least a Christmas card or something. And then we saw the story in
The Star-Ledger.
Thought maybe she would’ve been home by now—papers will say anything to sell copies—but I called the place the article said she lived, and they said she was here.”

A man had called Sarah at Whitcomb House, Maggie thought.

“My wife would’ve come too, except for the arthritis. It’s getting pretty bad now, and car trips wear her out. I had to take a day off from work to come here, and these people won’t even let me in to see the girl.”

“She’s very sick,” said Maggie.

“So it said in the paper. It also said she had a daughter. I don’t suppose you’d know about how old the little girl’d be?”