The Guest List (24 page)

“Oh, it’s coming,” Abby said coolly. “The research is very time-consuming but fun. Now I just have to put everything in order.”

“I’ve always wanted to write a book. Maybe one of these days I’ll get around to it. It must be a little like having a child. First you conceive it, then you give birth to it, then you nurture it until it’s grown and ready to go out on its own.”

Abby thought a moment about Carol’s analogy. “Yes, I suppose it is. For some strange reason I’m closer to this book than the other two. And you know what’s funny? I don’t even know how the book will end yet, if the killer gets caught or gets away with it.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t help herself.
So much for brisk and professional,
she thought wryly.

“How are things going between you and Mallory?”

The inevitable question, Abby thought. It deserved a better than a “good” answer. “Mallory has been a fantastic help to me. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She amazes me the way she thinks. She has one of those analytical minds and digs up the most interesting research tidbits. This book is set in Edison, you know, right in our old neighborhood. While Mallory
was digging up stuff for background information, she found the newspaper article covering our parents’ death. She says that the coroner should have done an autopsy on Mama and not just assumed that Mama died of the same thing Aunt Emma did.”

“It’s wonderful she’s so helpful,” Carol said with a noticeable bite to her voice. Then there was utter silence on her end of the wire. “What did you just say?”

“I said the coroner should have done an autopsy on Mama rather than assume she died of the same heart condition Aunt Emma died from.”

More silence. “Really? I didn’t know that. But then I don’t know much about that type of thing. I would suggest, though, that you take everything Mallory says with a grain of salt. She used to take great pleasure in stirring up trouble and making mountains out of molehills. I don’t wish to speak ill of her, but that
was
the reason we had to put her in Argone. She stirred up so much trouble we were afraid she would destroy us.”

“Carol, in your letter to Mallory, you told her you had wronged her by not giving her a second chance. I hesitate to point this out, but you’re still not giving her that second chance,” Abby said boldly. She looked at her left hand to see. she’d clenched it into a tight fist, the knuckles white.

Abby listened to Carol’s quick intake of breath and knew that for the first time in her life she had the upper hand. She felt dizzy with the knowledge.

“I’m sorry, honey. You’re right. It’s just that … How can I begin to explain the awful things she did, the tales she carried to her teacher about Donovan and me? I can’t put that behind me, and as much as I want to, I can’t believe she’s changed
that
much.”

“She has, Carol. Do you think I’d let her continue to live here if I didn’t know that to be a fact? You know, you and Donovan aren’t the only ones she hurt. Don’t you think I
suffered from her abuse when I was little? Trust me, I did. But unlike you, I forgave her, and I’ve given her a second chance.”

“You’ve always had a big heart, honey. Even when you were little. I wish to God I could be more like you, more forgiving. Maybe you could help me see what you see in Mallory. Maybe you could be the liaison between her and me. I love you so much. I’ll do anything you want. Anything at all. Just ask.”

Abby swallowed. “All right, Carol. Everybody deserves a second chance. All I ask is that you keep an open mind about Mallory and give her a chance to prove herself.”

“You have my word, honey.”

“A woman is only as good as her word, Carol.”

“You’re absolutely right. Thank you, Abby. See you soon.”

Abby slammed the phone down. “Damn, damn, double damn!” So much for not veering from the subject! What had gotten into her, blurting out all that stuff about the newspaper article and the coroner? It had been on her mind ever since Mallory had mentioned it. And she was right. None of this would be happening
if
a proper investigation had been done. Maybe Mallory was right. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all to talk to Connor’s parents—better yet, his brother. An autopsy would tell her the truth of how Connor died. Without it, she would always have doubts.

She told herself she would think about it and discuss it at length with Mallory. Mallory would know all the right questions to ask.

For the moment, she needed to sit and think about what she’d said to Carol. She might have added fuel to the fire because, of course, Carol would tell Donovan. The more worried he was, the more likely he would be to make a mistake and say something he shouldn’t … something that would either tie him to three murders or absolve him.

What would Mallory say? That she’d blown it? Or would she think she’d done something pretty tricky?

Mallory rolled over and looked at the bedside clock: 2:47 A.M. She hadn’t slept a wink even though she’d gone to bed an hour later than her usual 11:30 bedtime. She and Abby had talked and talked. Tired as she was, she had to laugh when she thought about what Abby had said to Carol. Damn Abby for not waiting until she got home.

The problem was, Mallory realized, she couldn’t stop
thinking. Maybe I need some warm milk with a generous jigger of brandy in it. Maybe a sleeping pill is the answer. God knows I have enough of those,
she thought as she got out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen. She stared out the kitchen window into the darkness while the milk warmed. How easy would it be to scale an electrified fence? Her eye went to the alarm pad on the kitchen wall by the back door. Two red dots glowed. That meant the system was armed and woe to anyone who tried to enter without knowing the proper code. Abby had changed the code four times in the past few weeks. She’d even gone so far as to call a local security company to change the microchip so that Donovan’s master key wouldn’t work. It didn’t matter. Abby still didn’t feel safe, and neither did she. Even with her gun under her pillow.

Mallory gulped at the warm milk and brandy that was more brandy than milk. She all but jumped out of her skin when a hoot owl let loose with a loud hoot-hoot-hoot outside the window. She literally ran back to her bedroom, dived into bed, and pulled up the covers, her heart beating faster than a triphammer until she realized she had neither closed nor locked her door. She barreled out of bed and ran to the door to lock it, her gaze swiveling to the long casement windows with their vertical blinds and heavy drapes. Closed tight. She even pinned them in the middle where they met before she got into bed. And she thought Abby was paranoid. Her hand went to the gun under her pillow. So cold. So hard. So deadly. So comforting.

Mallory plumped up the pillows before she pressed the remote control for the small television/alarm/radio that Abby had given her. The
Brady Bunch
sprang into view. Mallory snorted. That bunch wouldn’t know a problem if it smacked them in the face. What else could one expect at this hour? It was either the Shopping Channel or the
Brady Bunch.
She lowered the volume and settled back into her nest of pillows to let the brandy calm her body.

Ten minutes later she drifted into a restless sleep.

Even in sleep Mallory knew she was dreaming when she was suddenly back in New Jersey and in the bedroom she’d shared with Abby when they were children. She knew she was dreaming because an eternity had passed since she was a sixyear-old child. She hated the dream that had plagued her for years, a dream Constance Oldmeyer had tried to put into perspective for her.

Outside the wind and rain lashed against the house. She wanted to climb into bed with Abby but knew her mother would be in shortly so she didn’t dare. She had to stay up to see what was going to happen. She’d seen
him
cross the yard when lightning ripped across the sky. He was coming.
Again.
He always came after Daddy went to the bowling alley. If she kept the secret, there would be a new Barbie outfit on her bed and a coloring book for Abby when she got home from school tomorrow. A secret Mama trusted her to keep. Abby couldn’t know and Daddy couldn’t know. She felt like crying, but then her mother wouldn’t trust her anymore, and there would be no more Barbie outfits.

She counted on her fingers. Four times for both hands before her mother tiptoed into the room. How good she smelled. How pretty she was. “Time to go to sleep,” she whispered over the rolling thunder outside the windows. “Give Mama a big kiss and hug. Remember now, stay in here and don’t come out until tomorrow morning. I want your promise, Mallory.”

“Is
he
here?”

“Shhhh, or you’ll wake up Abby. Abby can’t keep a secret. You’re the only one who can keep a secret. You didn’t promise.”

“I promise. I’m afraid.”

Harriet’s voice took on an edge. “Thunder is just noise. It can’t come into the room. If you don’t obey me, Mallory, there will be no more presents on your bed after school. Now give me a kiss and get under the covers.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss Abby, Mama?”

“Abby is asleep. I don’t want to wake her up.”

“He
likes Abby.
He
doesn’t like me.”

“He loves you. We’ll talk about this another time, Mallory. I want you to go to sleep right now. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“That’s my good girl.”

The moment the door closed, she was out of bed. Her whole body shook with fear when a violent gust of wind slammed against the window. Thunder pounded the heavens as she slipped into her robe and slippers. She wanted to climb into bed with Abby so bad but she couldn’t. Not tonight. She couldn’t
ever
get into bed with Abby on the nights
he
came to the house.

Cautiously, she cracked the bedroom door and listened. The television was off. She looked down the hall. A small lamp by the front door was on. Otherwise, the house was dark. It continued to rain and thunder as she crept down the hall to her mother’s bedroom door.

Quiet as a mouse, she dropped to the floor to sit Indian fashion, her ear pressed to the door. She listened intently, tears rolling down her cheeks.

A long time later, she heard the words that sent her running back to her bedroom. More time passed before her mother opened the door and peeped inside. Now it would be all right to climb into bed with Abby. But first, she ran to her little desk and rummaged until she found a new box of Crayolas with sharp points. Tomorrow when the coloring book appeared on
Abby’s bed she would add the Crayolas so Abby didn’t have to use the old stubby ones she kept in a coffee can.

She curled next to Abby, her hand reaching out to touch her sister’s ugly birthmark. “Mama makes me hate you, Abby. But I don’t hate you. I hate
him.
That’s
our
secret.”

Mallory woke, her body drenched in sweat. If she had a fairy godmother who would grant her any wish in the world, it would be that she could crawl into bed with Abby right that minute.

So much for sleep.

Mallory headed for the shower.

Tomorrow—today really—will be better.
At least she hoped it would.

Abby spent the morning in the backyard brushing and playing with the dogs. Beemer liked to play fetch. Harry loved chasing Beemer when he ran after the ball. Woody liked to referee. And Olivia liked to congratulate Beemer with licks when he brought the ball back to Abby. The remaining three dogs were in the house with Mallory. They were more the lapdog variety and preferred lounging around while Mallory cuddled and coddled them.

Playing with the dogs was therapeutic for Abby. Lately, she’d sought out their company more and more. It seemed to her when she was around them, she was able to shift into neutral, to relax and think more clearly. These last few weeks had been particularly stressful. It seemed like every time she turned around, Mallory was coming up with some new theory. But as with all her other theories, she still lacked the hard proof needed to make them conclusive.

Mallory didn’t mind the endless waiting and the wondering, but Abby did. She minded a lot, and she wanted the whole
thing over and done with so she could get on with her life. But nothing was happening. She had to wonder if anything would ever happen.

“What I need to do,” she said to Olivia, whose big, brown eyes were full of understanding, “is to call Connor’s brother.” Olivia made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a grumble. “I know just how you feel,” Abby said as she struggled to her feet. “Let’s go, guys. Time to go inside. Treats for everyone,” she called out to the stragglers. The word
treat
spurred the dogs.

Thirty minutes later, with time on her hands, Abby walked in the back door of Steve’s clinic. He was on the phone with a client as he motioned her to come closer. The minute he hung up the phone, he put an arm around her shoulders. “What’s the matter? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

“I am down. I’m tired of theories and speculation. I want answers, and I want them now!”

“Hey!” he said, taking her into his arms. “What happened to bring all this on?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, her cheek against his chest. “I’m just tired and frustrated and … Oh, hell. The problem is that I don’t want to believe Donovan killed my parents and Connor.” She put her arms around Steve’s waist and clung to him. “It’s important to Mallory that I believe in her one hundred percent, but I can’t, Steve. I think she’s going out of her way to make things seem worse than they are because … because I think she wants to get even with Donovan for sending her to Argone.”

Steve squeezed her shoulders. “You could be right. Has Mallory heard from Dr. Oldmeyer yet?”

“No. And it’s past the time when she said she would call, too.”

“Hmm. It seems like everything depends on hearing from her and on the dedication ceremonies. I guess you’ll just have
to be patient. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true. This is one of those times.”

“No, there
is
something I can do,” Abby said, tilting her head back so she could see his face more clearly. “First, I can tell Mallory to call Dr. Oldmeyer. Second, I can call Connor’s brother, tell him the situation, and ask if he’ll order an autopsy. If he agrees to it, then we’re on our way to solving part of this mystery anyway.”

“And if he doesn’t agree?”

“We’re right back where we started.”

“Then I say call him. Get it over with.”

Abby looked down at the floor. “Did I tell you that Connor was the first guy who looked beyond my birthmark? He gave me a confidence I never had before. He was kind and gentle, like you, Steve,” she said, smiling up at him. “He had so many hopes and dreams. We all do, but his hopes and dreams seemed more passionate somehow.” Steve squeezed her gently. “You know what’s funny? Connor liked practically everyone, but he didn’t like Carol and Donovan. Especially Carol. He said there was something not quite right about her, but he never could decide what it was.”

“Very perceptive of him,” Steve said. “If he’d seen her last Christmas, breaking into your house, he would have known.”

Abby hugged him. “I knew I’d feel better if I talked to you. You always make me feel better.”
In more ways than one,
she thought, loving the way he felt in her arms.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Yeah, well, if you don’t stop hugging me and making
me
feel better, it could prove embarrassing.”

Abby looked around the empty clinic. “So who’s going to know?” she teased. “Everybody’s gone.”

“That’s what you think,” Steve said, turning her around to face the cages full of curious dogs and cats.

“Oh! You’re right. Okay, later,” she said backing away.

Steve picked up a file from the Formica countertop and started thumbing through it.

“I talked to Carol yesterday,” Abby said, knowing Steve wasn’t so thoroughly absorbed he couldn’t listen. “She called to say the dedication ceremonies would be at one o’clock but that we’re all going to have lunch first in the Village Restaurant at eleven-thirty. I wish the conversation had ended there, but she wanted to talk, to tell me that she’d decorated all the models herself and how much fun she had doing it.”

Steve looked up from his papers. “What was wrong with that?”

“Nothing. It’s just that when she was talking, I realized I didn’t really care that she’d decorated the models or was having fun. I didn’t care about anything she had to say. I don’t under-stand how that can be. She was like a mother to me. I loved her.”

Steve tucked his file folder under his arm. “From what I’ve heard you say and from what I’ve seen, she drove you away with the way she smothered you. I imagine your feelings are just buried. Give yourself time. They may resurface one of these days.”

“She’s
still
smothering me,” Abby said. “She just doesn’t realize it. In one breath she says how lucky I am to have Mallory back in my life and in the next, she cautions me about her. If you want to know what I think, I think it eats at her that I’ve forgiven Mallory and that we’re together. She probably never thought that would happen in a million years.” Abby picked up a small glass jar from the countertop and peered inside. “What’s this white thing in here?”

Steve took the jar out of her hands. “It’s a tapeworm from Mrs. Clark’s cat.”

Abby made a sour face as she rushed to the sink to wash her hands.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said as she dried her hands. “I’m tired of all this tension. I want to have a party! And not just a
wine and beer and cheese and crackers party either. A big, posh party, with champagne and caviar and a guest list that will make your eyes pop out.” She sat down on the stool in front of the counter. “I’d like for it to celebrate the release of
Proof Positive,
but it’s not scheduled to come out until next fall. I
could
just have a party to celebrate finishing it. Or maybe I could have a theme party. A murder-mystery party. They have these games where everyone participates. It could be a lot of fun. What do you think?”

While she’d been talking, Steve took a beautiful long-haired white cat out of its cage and set him on the examination table. “I wouldn’t tell Mallory you’re thinking about having a murder-mystery party, or she’ll figure out a way to use it to expose Donovan.”

Abby laughed. He was right. That was exactly what Mallory would do.

“What’s the cat’s name?”

“Snowball. He’s been urinating all over his owner’s house. She was thinking about making him an outside cat, but I asked her to let me do a test first. Oftentimes a urinary tract infection will cause a cat to forget to use its litter box.”

“What’s wrong with putting him outside?”

“Well, in Snowball’s case, the problem is that he’s solid white. That makes him vulnerable to things most other cats don’t have to deal with. During the summer, those cute little pink ears and nose of his would get sunburned—that is if he survived through the summer and didn’t get eaten by a predator on some moonlit night. With all that white fur, he’d be like a beacon.”

“Ah. Poor kitty. I had no idea,” Abby said. “Well, I guess I better get home. If you don’t see much of me for the next few days, it’s because I’m working on the book. It’s almost finished.”

“How can you have an ending until you decide who the murderer is?”

“I thought I told you. I had to go ahead and assume I knew who the killer was so I could finish plotting the book. The way things are going, it could be months before I know the truth, if indeed I ever know. Publishing waits for no man … or woman.”

“So—Who is it?”

“Who’s what?”

“The murderer?”

“Oh! Donovan, of course. Aka Joe Mooney. That’s the character’s name.” She swiveled the seat around in a circle. “I’ll be so glad to be done with it. It’s bringing up old memories about Mallory and Mama that I would just as soon forget.”

“Just out of curiosity, are you going to tell your editor about Mallory or are you going to continue the charade?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her is my philosophy. Don’t look so skeptical, Steve. If it does come up, I’ll just say we’re a writing team, which on this book we are, sort of. Once she meets me, she’ll know why I did what we did.” She swiveled around again.

“Stop that. You’re making me dizzy.”

Abby jumped down off the stool and walked over to him. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Before he could answer, she planted a big kiss on his mouth. “Bye. Have a nice day. Oh, and … when this book is finished and everything that goes with it, let’s go away for a little while, just you and me.”

“I think I might be able to get a few days.”

“By the way, what are you getting me for Christmas?”

“None of your business. Get out of here!”

On the ride back to her own house, Abby smiled all the way. Mallory was sitting at the kitchen table when she opened the door. “You look upset. Is something wrong?”

“This is the third time I’ve tried calling Constance at home and at Argone. No one answers at home, and the receptionist at Argone says she’s out of the office and that she has no idea when she’ll be back.”

A flicker of apprehension ran down Abby’s spine. “I didn’t realize you’d tried before. You don’t think she would avoid your call, do you?”

Mallory shook her head. “No. She would never do that. I’m starting to get a little worried because this isn’t like her.”

Abby sat down across from her sister. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, hoping to get Mallory’s mind off Constance. “I can’t stand all this waiting and wondering, so I’m going to call Connor’s brother. But first, you and I are going to make a list of things I should say. Okay?”

Mallory reached for a pen and pad. “Number one,” she said, “make nice, talk about the weather, how he’s doing, his parents, etc. Number two. Lead in gradually, apologetically, and …”

Abby listened to Mallory’s suggestions, then added a few thoughts of her own. “What if he says no?”

“Then he says no. You’ll be polite and ask him to please think about it. Believe me he
will
think about it. He won’t be able to help himself. You said he was very close to Connor. He’ll want to know the truth. Maybe he won’t call back today, maybe not even tomorrow, but he will call back eventually. Trust me.”

“You keep saying that. What if it’s a flat-out no and it stays no?”

“It won’t.”

Abby thumbed through her address book until she came to the phone number. “Give me that list,” she said, when the phone started to ring.

“Hello, Dennis. It’s Abby. Abby Mitchell. Yes, I’m fine and you?” She asked about his parents and the weather and his plans for Christmas. The fact that he sounded just like Connor unnerved her a little, but she forged ahead, the list guiding her. “Listen, Dennis, I have something I need to talk to you about. I’m so sorry to have to burden you with this, especially at this time of year and all, but I have good reason to believe Connor didn’t die a natural death but … was murdered. Please, before you say anything let me explain.” She told him everything in
great detail, starting with the death of her parents seventeen years earlier. He expressed disbelief, dismay, confusion, but he never said he thought she was crazy. “I have all kinds of evidence but no proof,” she explained, “which is why I’m calling. Would your parents consider exhuming Connor’s body so an autopsy could be performed?” Abby listened to the sputtering on the other end of the line. She waited until he finished. “I know how it sounds, and believe me this isn’t something I want to do, but …” Mallory pointed to a sentence on the list. “But I can’t get on with my life until I know the truth. Connor would want this, too, Dennis. I know he would.” She took a deep breath and glanced up at Mallory. “Yes, I know it would upset your parents. Maybe since you have their power of attorney, you could do it without telling them. Of course, I understand. Will you at least think about it? You have my number, don’t you? I could come to Oregon, Dennis, if that would help.” Her face drained of color as she looked at Mallory. “I’ll wait for your call, Dennis.” She stared at the phone a long time after Dennis had hung up.

“That was tough, sis. I’m sorry. Was he the least little bit receptive?”

“Toward the end,” she said, looking away, her face pained. “He said he’d call me back in a day or two, after he’d had time to think about it.”

Mallory watched as her sister got up stiffly to fix herself a cup of coffee. Abby didn’t say another word as she picked up the cup to take with her to her office, leaving Mallory alone in the kitchen, staring at her retreating back.

Abby felt like her head was going to blow off her shoulders when she finally turned off her computer at five o’clock. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, hoping to ease the tension between her shoulder blades. She debated answering the phone when it rang, the first call she’d had all day. She
grabbed for the phone. Maybe it was Dennis calling back.
Please, please, please let this be Dennis and please, please, please let him say yes,
she prayed.

“Hello?”

“Abby, this is Fran.”

It was her editor. Abby sat up straighter in her chair. “Hi, Fran. How are you?” she asked, wondering why she was calling this late in the day. She never called just to chat. Their relationship was strictly business.