The Test (27 page)

Dan shook his head. “When I talked to Carl Schiller—as executor of the estate—he said to tell you to leave.”

Bach played at very low volume in the background as Welton hesitated, shifting his weight from side to side.

Dan said, “I will wait here until you pack your belongings.”

With that, Dan Parnell pronounced his own death sentence. In Welton's mind, Dan had previously been beneath contempt. Now, he had become another enemy who needed to be eliminated. With a sneer of disgust, Welton stomped off to collect his clothes.

“Dan,” Welton tried once again as he carried out his last load to the Parnell Mercedes in the driveway, “how can I convince Schiller and your brother to launch a search for Ashley? She's alive. Doesn't finding her ring prove it? How else could it have gotten there, so close to the surface? Just think about it, and do the right thing.”

All Dan said was, “There'll be a memorial service next month—we'll let you know the details.”

“Fuck you. Fuck the Parnell family,” Conrad said as he drove off in the Parnell Mercedes.

O
CTOBER
2001

“I'll finish the laundry, Sandra,” Ashley shouted up from the basement. “You run along to the gallery. Then I'll take the boys to the library.”

“I still can't believe you have them reading books,” the other woman said on the way out. “Hey, Marcy, when you're out, will you pick up some laundry detergent?”

Two kids generate a ton of dirty clothes, Ashley thought, as she checked the time—five o'clock—plenty of time to put this load away and get to downtown Santa Fe before the library closed. She was feeling safe in New Mexico, safe enough to hang out in the library to check the
Philadelphia Inquirer
for mentions of her family.

She was living with a family in Santa Fe—Sandra Becker, a single mom, and her two children. Sandra was an art dealer with her own gallery in the heart of Santa Fe's art district. She and her former husband had been co-owners, but Sandra had bought him out after a nasty divorce. On the train leaving New Jersey, Ashley had decided to head for New Mexico to be near her dear friend Ruthie who was doing a pediatric residency at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque. Ashley had vowed not to contact Ruthie, but she felt heartened just knowing that she'd be close by.

Arriving in Santa Fe on a Friday night, her money running low, she'd stayed in a hotel near the train station, and first thing the next morning she examined the want ads for a job. She tried to be realistic. She was an unlicensed physician, not having finished the year of post-graduate training necessary to practice medicine. Even if she had, any attempt to apply for a license would trigger an investigation. Her current goal was to stay out of Conrad's reach until the inheritance was settled. That was
only three months away now. As much as she missed her family, especially Rory, she knew that Conrad would find her, and use his horrifying manipulative skills to get what he wanted, her inheritance. Was he insane? A cold-blooded murderer? She didn't know, but she could not take a chance with her life and the growing life of her baby.

She had circled several possibilities, and started making calls. The first was a nanny for a lady doctor—no good, she wanted three references. The second, a companion for an elderly man. Again, references were needed, and the man's son was a lawyer. The third, had led her to Sandra Becker, who made no mention of needing references. Ashley had liked Sandra immediately and she felt a welcome bond as they fell into easy, comfortable conversation. Her new boss was maybe ten years older than Ashley, very pretty, with blue eyes, curly black hair, and tons of energy. She had two little boys, age four and seven, for whom Ashley would be a combination nanny and housekeeper. She'd have Saturdays off when Sandra's mom was free to watch the kids.

The Beckers lived in a four-bedroom house on the edge of town. Ashley was given the master suite as her apartment, bathroom, closet, sitting area, and bedroom. She would have the use of Sandra's Taurus during the day for errands, and Sandra would take the van. Ashley had identified herself as Marcy Powers and no proof of identity was requested. How soon could she start?

“Naturally, I'd like to see your home and meet the children.” Ashley struggled not to sound overly anxious, but she'd wanted to shout,
Now, I can start now
.

Sandra had locked up the art gallery, and they drove to her house, an adobe-style, on a cul-de-sac in a pleasant looking neighborhood.

“Bart, Justin, meet Miss Powers,” Sandra ushered two redheads into the cluttered kitchen. “Sorry, didn't have time to put the breakfast things away.”

The little one, Justin, held up his hand for a high five and waited for Ashley's response. She brought up her palm to slap against his. The older one trailed behind, engrossed in a handheld videogame. Ashley stuck out her hand, and he took it with a shy smile.

“It is ‘Miss,' isn't it?” Sandra asked as they walked into the littered living room. “You can see why I need you.” Sandra gestured to the floor
cluttered with toys. Ashley noticed how hassled she seemed and realized how lucky her mother had been to have the Mendozas. But before Paul, Vivian, too, had been a single mom back when Rory was a little kid.

“Yes, Miss,” she said.

“Now, tell me,” Sandra asked when Ashley had settled into a chair in the living room. “Why are you looking for a nanny job?”

“Mrs. Becker, I'll be honest with you. I'm pregnant. It was a mistake. My family feels I've dishonored them. So I can't go back to them. But I'll be an excellent nanny. I'm a hard worker. And dependable.”

“What about after the baby?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, let's worry about that later. I'm offering you the job for now. It doesn't pay much, but you'll have a home, food, a car to use.”

“What is the salary?” Ashley asked, wondering how she would judge it. Before September eleven she'd never really cared what anything cost. Since then she'd survived on the $680 she had in her wallet that morning, $500 worth of traveler's checks she'd cashed as she left the Waldorf, and the money from Aunt Bea. As for the rest of her money, in a bank somewhere, it was useless. She couldn't get at it without leaving a financial trail.

“One hundred twenty dollars a week. Of course that assumes six days and all the housework.”

“Okay, Mrs. Becker,” Ashley held out her hand. “When can I start?”

“Call me Sandra. As far as I'm concerned, you can move your things in tonight.”

That had been four weeks earlier.

Now with the two boys in tow, she headed for the library. She sent Bart to the children's room and kept Justin at her side. She logged onto the computer, going straight to the
Philadelphia Inquirer
site. She searched for any Parnell reference. What she found made her heart stop. On the front page of the local section, she read that her own memorial service was scheduled in two weeks. Hands shaking, she turned off the computer. Should she call someone in the family to stop the public mourning?. She slumped back into the chair, trying to envision the service at
Saints Peter and Paul. Who would say what? Would Conrad have a role? She felt sure that he would insist, but would Frank allow him to speak? Or maybe now that she was dead, nobody cared. She wondered who knew that she was pregnant? Did Conrad know? She willed that he did not. Protecting her child from him was now her life. Staying
dead
was the surest way to do that.

During her previous trips to the library, Ashley had checked out books on hypnosis. She had learned how effortlessly Conrad, with his expertise, had manipulated her, systematically isolating her from her family and friends. And she could not stop thinking about Crissy. He must have controlled her, too. Then he'd killed her, or had her killed. When she heard or read about the attacks on September eleven she relived the explosion of that car, so close to her that day, and imagined her body, like Crissy's, blown into a million pieces.

Ashley had also checked online for medical articles about pregnancy and bone marrow donation. Rory's leukemia haunted her. In running away from Conrad, she had abandoned the sister who'd been like a second mother to her. But she was sure that Rory was still alive. If not, there would have been a story in the
Philadelphia Inquirer
. That is, unless Frank had successfully excised Rory from the Parnell public relations circuit.

Based on the medical literature, Ashley had formulated a tentative plan. After she reached her second trimester, when procedures were less risky to the fetus, she would approach Ruthie for help in arranging an anonymous marrow donation. She wasn't sure about the medical and legal implications, but she was determined to try. Nonetheless, the tiny weight of the baby would not allow her to jeopardize that life.

“Marcy, can I get a book?” Justin tugged at her jeans.

“I have one for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a Dr. Seuss, about red dogs and blue dogs, Justin's favorite. Then bending down, she tied his shoes.

“Marcy, why are your hands shaking like that?” he asked. Then, “I have to pee.”

Ashley took Justin's hand and headed to the children's reading room to collect Bart. As the Becker kids trotted into the bathroom, Ashley pictured little Ricky and Tyler, all of the Stevens kids, without a mother—unless she did something before it was too late.

N
OVEMBER
2001

Ashley's memorial service took place at the same time as thousands of others around the country. Cardinal Sean officiated at the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul, his third service in less than a year for a family member. After the services Frank, Dan, and Gina assembled at Devon where they were to meet with Jack Preston, private investigator.

Since Meredith's death, Frank had returned to his office in the Russell Building in Washington. The problems of terrorism and anthrax consumed his days, and his nights were haunted by his impossible loss. Functional, but not at the top of his game, he knew he was no longer presidential material.

The Parnell extended family had settled back into a sad, but steady routine, only to be disrupted by a visit from Welton to Frank's Philadelphia office. Welton, still insisting that Ashley was alive, had hired his own private investigator to find her. The man claimed that he had located a witness who'd identified Ashley on a train headed for Chicago six weeks earlier.

“I keep telling you that I know, I feel, she's alive,” Welton kept repeating with aggression and passion. “They found her ring in the surface rubble. Now you tell me, if she was buried at Ground Zero, wouldn't she
and
the ring be
under
the mess? Ashley's suffering posttraumatic shock, I tell you. And now, that she's been seen alive, you Parnells have to admit you're wrong.”

Frank had been skeptical, but he had asked Matt to call in Jack Preston, the private investigator whom Carl Schiller had tapped for the original Welton investigation, the same one who'd dug up the information
about the Welton/Moore marriage, Welton's estranged brother, and the shady rumors about Welton's past.

Now as Frank waited with Dan and Gina and Matt and Carrie for Preston to arrive, he remembered that just before getting into the limo on that dreadful day, Meredith had urged him to dig deeper into Welton's background.

“I have everything set up in the library,” Mrs. M. announced. “Peter has a fire going there since you Floridians aren't used to this chilly weather.”

“Guess I can take this off then.” Dan slipped out of his coat. “I had to buy it in the airport. I'm always forgettin' how blasted cold it gets up here.”

On the way into the library, Gina lingered to admire the artwork hanging in the hall. Frank overheard Carrie reminding her mother of being dragged to museums as a little girl to study the American Impressionists. Frank made a mental note to ship the entire collection to Gina. He'd been thinking about moving into the Devon home. If he did, he'd replace the Impressionists with Meredith's collection of modern art.

“Seems weird to be back in our childhood house,” Dan said.

“Yeah, lots of memories.” But for Frank, none of his mother. He'd been four when she died and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't conjure up a single memory. He vowed not to let Meredith's memory slip away from Elise.

“How's Elise?” Carrie asked as if reading his thoughts.

“Good. But with Ashley gone, I'm thinking about making a change and moving here. Meredith wanted Elise around horses and all, but the truth is that Elise doesn't share Meredith's passion,” Frank said. “Elise would rather be with other children. There are kids in this neighborhood.”

“You can always enroll her in a riding academy,” Dan suggested.

“I'll keep the horses in Bucks County so she can ride on weekends. I'm doing my best, but I've never been worth a damn as a father.”

“Don't be so tough on yourself,” Dan said.

And Frank replied, sounding sad, but sincere, “Elise is my life now.”

The resulting silence was interrupted by the door chimes.

“Must be that private investigator,” Dan said, and trying to lighten the mood, “
Spencer for Hire
. I love that Robert Parker. Matter of fact, Jack Preston's picture reminds me of Hawk. Shaved head, two hundred and fifty pounds and all muscle. Ex-FBI. Has a law degree.”

Mrs. M. returned with a hunk of a man who did look like Hawk. Introductions followed as Mrs. M. served coffee and cakes.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Preston bowed dramatically to Gina and Carrie. His voice was booming yet articulate. “I'm happy to be back on the Conrad Welton case because I believe that doctor's a very bad actor. As for Miss Ashley Parnell, excuse me, Dr. Parnell, let me say first off, that I do not know whether she is alive. But what I have found out is that Welton hired a P.I. to look for her. He tracked down a witness who claimed to have seen Ashley on that train headed for Chicago.”