Stillwatch (39 page)

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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

BOOK: Stillwatch
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managed to flip over onto her back, brace her hands under her anduse them to propel herself forward. The heavy terry-cloth robehampered her. Her bare feet slid helplessly over the carpet.At the threshold of the living room, she stopped. If she couldmanage to close the door, she’d keep the fire from spreading, at leastfor a few minutes. She dragged herself over the doorsill. The metalplate broke the skin on her hands. Squirming around the door, shepropped herself against the wall, wedged her shoulder behind thedoor and leaned backward until she heard the latch click. The hallwaywas already filling with smoke. She couldn’t tell any longer whichway she was going. If she made a mistake and wandered into thelibrary, she wouldn’t have a chance.Using the baseboard for guidance, she inched her way toward thefront door.

 

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Lila tried once again to reach Pat. This time she asked the operator tocheck the number. The phone was in working order.She could not wait any longer. Something was terribly wrong.She dialed the police. She could ask them to check Pat’s house, tellthem she thought she had seen the prowler. But when the desk sergeantanswered, she could not speak. Her throat closed as though she waschoking. Her nostrils filled with the smell of acrid smoke. Pain shotthrough her wrists and ankles. Her body suffused with heat. Thesergeant repeated his name impatiently. At last Lila found her voice.“Three thousand N Street,” she shrieked. “Patricia Traymore isdying! Patricia Traymore is dying!”

 

Sam drove at a frenzied pace, running red lights, hoping to pickup a police escort. Beside him Abigail sat, her clenched hands pressingagainst her lips.“Abigail, I want the truth. What happened the night Dean andRenée Adams died?”“Billy had promised he’d get a divorce. . . . That day he called meand said he couldn’t do it. . . . That he had to make a go of his marriage. . . That he couldn’t leave Kerry. I thought Renée was in Boston. Iwent there to plead with him. Renée went wild when she saw me.She had found out about us. Billy kept a gun in the desk. She turnedit on herself. . . . He tried to get it from her . . . the gun went off. . . .Sam, it was a nightmare. He died before my eyes”“Then who killed
her?
” Sam demanded. “Who?”“She killed herself,” Abigail sobbed. “Toby knew there’d betrouble. He was watching from the patio. He dragged me out to thecar. Sam, I was in shock. I didn’t know what was happening. The lastI saw was Renée standing there, holding the gun. Toby had to go

 

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back for my purse. Sam, I heard that second shot before he went backinto the house. I swear it. He didn’t tell me about Kerry until the nextday. He said she must have come down right after we left, that Renéemust have shoved her against the fireplace to get her out of the way.But he didn’t realize she’d been seriously injured.”“Pat remembers tripping over her mother ’s body.”“No. That’s impossible. She can’t have.”The tires screeched as they turned onto Wisconsin Avenue.“You’ve always believed Toby,” he accused her, “because you
wanted
to believe him. It was better for you that way. Did you believethe plane crash was an accident, Abigail—a fortunate accident? Didyou believe Toby when you alibied for him for the campaign funds?”“Yes . . . yes. . . .”The streets were packed with pedestrians. Wildly he honked thehorn. The dinner crowd was drifting into the restaurants. He racedthe car down M Street, across 31st Street to the corner of N and flooredthe brake pedal. They were both thrown forward.“Oh, my God,” Abigail whispered.An elderly woman, screaming for help, was banging her fistsagainst the front door of Pat’s house. A police car, its siren wailing,was racing down the block.The house was in flames.

 

Toby hurried through the yard toward the fence. It was all overnow. No more loose ends. No pilot’s widow to stir up trouble forAbigail. No Kerry Adams to remember what happened in the livingroom that night.He’d have to hurry. Pretty soon Abby would be looking for him.She was due at the White House in an hour.
Someone was yelling forhelp. Someone must have spotted smoke.
He heard the police sirenand he began to run.He’d just reached the fence when a car roared past, spun aroundthe corner and screeched to a stop. Car doors slammed and he hearda man shouting Pat Traymore’s name. Sam Kingsley! He had to getout of here. The whole back of the house was starting to go. Someonewould see him.“Not the front door, Sam, back here, back here.” Toby dropped

 

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from the fence. Abby. It was Abby. She was running along the side ofthe house, heading for the patio. He ran to her, overtook her. “Abby,for Christ sake, stay away from there.”She looked at him wildeyed. The smell of smoke permeated thenight air. A side window blew out and flames whooshed across thelawn.“Toby, is Kerry in there?” Abby grabbed his lapels.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Toby, you were seen near the Graney woman’s house last night.”“Abby, shut up! Last night I had dinner with my Steakburger friend.You saw me come in at ten-thirty.”“No I didn’t.”“Yes, you did, Senator!”“Then it’s true. . . . What Sam told me . . .”“Abby, don’t pull that shit on me. I take care of you. You take careof me. It’s always been like that, and you know it.”A second police car, its dome light blinking, sped past. “Abby,I’ve got to get out of here.” There was no fear in his voice.“Is Kerry in there?”“I didn’t start the fire. I didn’t do a thing to her.”“Is she in there?”“Yes.”“You oaf! You stupid, homicidal oaf! Get her
out
of there!” Shepounded on his chest. “You heard me. Get her out of there.” Flamesshot through the roof. “Do as I say,” she shouted.For several seconds they stared at each other. Then Toby shrugged,giving in, and ran clumsily along the snow-covered side lawn, throughthe garden and onto the patio. The sound of fire engines wailed downthe street as he kicked in the patio doors.The heat inside was withering. Pulling off his coat, Toby wrappedit around his head and shoulders. She had been on the couch,somewhere to the right of the doors. It’s because she’s Billy’s girl, hethought. It’s all over for you, Abby. We can’t pull this one off now. . . .He was at the couch, running his hands along it. He couldn’t see.She wasn’t there.He tried to feel the floor around the couch. A crackling sound

 

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exploded overhead. He had to get out of here—the whole place wasgoing to cave in.He stumbled toward the doors, guided only by the cold draft. Piecesof plaster fell on him and he lost his balance and fell. His hand touchedhuman flesh. A face, but not a woman’s face. It was the crazy.Toby pulled himself up, felt himself shaking, felt the room shaking.A moment later the ceiling collapsed.With his last breath he whispered, “Abby!” But he knew shecouldn’t help him this time. . . .

 

In a pushing, crawling motion, Pat moved inch by inch along thehallway. The tightly knotted rope had cut off the circulation in herright leg. She had to drag her legs, use only her fingers and palms topropel herself. The floorboards were becoming unbearably hot. Theacrid smoke stung her eyes and skin. She couldn’t feel the baseboardany longer. She was disoriented. It was hopeless. She was choking.She was going to burn to death.Then it began . . . the pounding . . . the voice . . . Lila’s voiceshouting for help. . . . Pat twisted her body, tried to move toward thesound. A roar from the back of the house shook the floor. The wholehouse was collapsing. She felt herself losing consciousness. . . . Shehad been meant to die in this house.As blackness overwhelmed her, she heard a cacophony ofhammering, splintering noises. They were trying to break the doordown. She was so near it. A rush of cold air. Funnels of flames andsmoke roaring toward the draft . . . Men’s angry voices shouting, “
It’stoo late. You can’t go in there.
” Lila’s screams: “
Help her, help her.
”Sam’s desperate, furious “
Let go of me.
”Sam . . . Sam . . . Footsteps running past her . . . Sam yelling hername. With the last of her strength, Pat lifted her legs and smashedthem against the wall.He turned. In the light of the flames, he saw her, scooped her up,and ran out of the house.

 

The street was crowded with fire engines and squad cars. Onlookershuddled together in shocked silence. Abigail stood statuelike as theambulance attendants worked over Pat. Sam was kneeling at the side

 

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of the stretcher, his hands caressing Pat’s arms, his face bleak withapprehension. A trembling, ashen-faced Lila was standing a few feetaway, her eyes riveted on Pat’s still body. Around them, hot sootydebris drifted from the wreckage of the house.“Her pulsebeat is getting stronger,” the attendant said.Pat stirred, tried to push aside the oxygen mask. “Sam . . .”“I’m here, darling.” He looked up as Abigail touched his shoulder.Her face was smudged with grimy smoke. The suit she had plannedto wear to the White House was soiled and wrinkled. “I’m glad Kerry’sall right, Sam. Take good care of her.”“I intend to.”“I’ll get a policeman to drive me to a phone. I don’t feel quite upto telling the President in person that I must resign from public life.Let me know what I need to do to help Eleanor Brown.”Slowly she began to walk to the nearest police car. Recognizingher, the onlookers broke into astonished comments and parted to opena path for her. Some of them began clapping. “Your program wasgreat, Senator,” someone yelled. “We love you.” “We’re rooting foryou to be Vice President,” another one shouted.As she stepped into the car, Abigail Jennings turned, and with atortured half-smile forced herself to acknowledge their greetings forthe last time.

 

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On December 29 at 9 P.M. the President strode into the East Room ofthe White House for the news conference he had summarily postponedtwo nights earlier. He walked to the lecturn where the microphoneshad been placed. “I wonder why we’re all here,” he remarked. Therewas a burst of laughter.The President expressed regret at the untimely resignation of theformer Vice President. Then he continued, “There are manyoutstanding legislators who would fill the role with great distinctionand could complete my second term in office if for any reason I wereunable to. However, the person I have chosen to be Vice President,with the hearty approval of the leaders of all branches of thegovernment and subject to confirmation by the Congress, is one whowill fill a unique place in the history of this country. Ladies andgentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you the first woman VicePresident of the United States, Senator Claire Lawrence of Ohio.”A roar of applause erupted as the White House audience jumpedto its feet.

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