“There was one quarrel I know of. With Dr. Jack Morrow.”

“Dr. Morrow? But he died before Gary.”

“Yes, and before he died, Dr. Morrow was acting strange and asked me to hold a copy of a file for him. But he was murdered before he gave it to me.” Annamarie pulled her hand away from Molly’s grasp. “Mrs. Lasch, I don’t know whether you did or didn’t kill your husband, but if you didn’t, then you’d better be very careful how you go around asking questions.”

Annamarie almost crashed into the waitress, who was returning to offer refills. Instead, Molly asked for the check and hastily paid it, hating the lively curiosity in the woman’s eyes. Then she quickly grabbed her coat, anxious to catch up with Annamarie. Boring Stepford wife, she thought bitterly as she hurried from the diner.

As she drove back to Greenwich, Molly mentally reviewed the short talk with Annamarie Scalli. She knows something she’s not telling me, Molly thought. It’s almost as if she were afraid. But of what…?

That night, Molly stared in shock at the breaking story on the CBS eleven o’clock news, of the just-discovered body of an unidentified woman who had been stabbed to death in her car in the parking lot of the Sea Lamp Diner in Rowayton.

35

Assistant State Attorney Tom Serrazzano had not been the one who prosecuted Molly Carpenter Lasch, but he’d always wished he’d had the chance. It was obvious to him that she’d been guilty of murder, and that because of who she was, she’d been given the sweetheart deal of all sweetheart deals-only five and a half years served for taking her husband’s life.

Tom had been in the office when Molly had been prosecuted for Gary Lasch’s death. He had been appalled when the trial prosecutor had allowed a plea to the manslaughter charge. He believed that any prosecutor worth his salt would have continued the trial and gone for the murder conviction.

It particularly bugged him when the perpetrators had money and connections, like Molly Carpenter Lasch.

In his late forties, Tom’s entire legal career had been spent in law enforcement. After clerking for a judge, he had joined the state attorney’s office and, over a period of time, had earned the reputation of being a tough prosecutor.

On Monday morning the stabbing of a young woman, first identified as Annamarie Sangelo, from Yonkers, took on new meaning when the investigation revealed that her real name was Annamarie Scalli, the “other woman” in the Dr. Gary Lasch murder case.

The statement given by the waitress from the Sea Lamp Diner, describing the woman Scalli had met there, sealed it for Serrazzano. He saw it already as an open-and-shut case.

“Only this time she won’t plea-bargain,” he said grimly to the detectives working on the case.

36

It’s terribly important that I’m absolutely accurate in what I tell them, Molly said to herself over and over through the night.

Annamarie left the diner before me. I paid the check. When I was walking from the table to the door, it felt as though my head was spinning. All I could hear was Annamarie’s voice, saying that Gary was relieved I’d lost my baby, that he thought of me as a boring Stepford wife. I suddenly felt as if I were suffocating.

There were only a few cars in the lot when I got to the diner. One of them was a Jeep. I noticed it was still there when I left. A car was pulling away as I came out. I thought it was Annamarie, and I called to her. I remember that I wanted to ask her something. But what? What could I have wanted to ask her?

The waitress will describe me. They’ll know who I am. They’ll ask questions. I’ve got to call Philip and explain to him what happened.

Philip thinks I killed Gary.

Did I?

Dear God, I know I didn’t hurt Annamarie Scalli, Molly thought. Will they think that? No! Not again! I can’t go through that again.

Fran. Fran will help me. She’s starting to believe that I didn’t kill Gary. I know she’ll help me.

The news at 7 A.M. identified the victim of the stabbing in Rowayton as Annamarie Sangelo, an employee of the Visiting Nurse Service, from Yonkers. They don’t know who she is yet, Molly thought. But they’ll work it out soon.

She made herself wait until eight o’clock to call Fran, then cringed at the distress and disbelief in Fran’s voice when she said, “Molly, are you telling me you met Annamarie Scalli last night, and now she’s been murdered?”

“Yes.”

“Have you called Philip Matthews?”

“Not yet. My God, he told me not to see her.”

Fran quickly flashed on the trial transcript she had read, including the devastating testimony Calvin Whitehall had given. “Molly, I’ll call Matthews right away.” She paused, then continued with a new urgency in her voice. “Listen to me. Don’t answer the phone. Don’t answer the door. Don’t talk to anyone, even Jenna, until Philip Matthews is with you. Swear that you won’t.”

“Fran, do you think I killed Annamarie?”

“No, Molly, I don’t, but other people will think you did it. Now sit tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

· · ·

An hour later Fran was turning into Molly’s driveway. Molly had been watching for her and opened the door before she could knock.

She looks as though she’s in shock, Fran thought. Good God, is it possible that she really is guilty of two murders? Molly’s complexion was ashen, as white as the chenille robe that seemed much too large for her slender frame.

“Fran, I can’t go through this again. I’d rather kill myself,” she whispered.

“Don’t even think like that,” Fran said, taking both her hands in her own. She felt how trembling and cold they were. “Philip Matthews was in the office when I called. He’s on the way. Molly, go upstairs, take a hot shower and get dressed. I heard on the car radio that Annamarie has been identified. There’s no question that the police will be looking to talk to you. I don’t want them to see you looking like this.”

Molly nodded and, like an obedient child, turned and started up the stairs.

Fran took off her coat and looked apprehensively out the window. She knew that as soon as the news was out that Molly had met Annamarie Scalli at the diner, the media would arrive like a pack of wolves.

Here comes the first one, she thought as a small red car turned in off the street. Fran was grateful when she saw Edna Barry behind the wheel. She hurried to the kitchen to meet her and noticed there was no sign that Molly had even made coffee. Ignoring the instant hostility that came over Barry’s face when she let herself in, Fran said, “Mrs. Barry, would you please put on a pot of coffee right away and fix whatever Molly usually has for breakfast.”

“Is anything wrong with-?”

The chimes of the front doorbell cut short the question.

“I’ll get it,” Fran said. Please, God, let it be Philip Matthews, she prayed.

She was relieved to find that it was Philip, although his worried expression told her even more forcibly than she already felt that there might easily be a rush to judgment.

He did not mince words: “Ms. Simmons, I appreciate your calling me, and I appreciate that you warned Molly not to talk to anyone until I got here. Nevertheless, this situation has to be grist for the mill for you and your program. I must warn you that I will not tolerate your questioning Molly or even being around when I talk to her.”

He looks just the way he did when he tried to stop Molly from talking to the press outside the prison last week, Fran thought. He may believe that she killed Gary Lasch, but he’s still the kind of lawyer Molly needs. He’ll slay dragons for her if he has to.