45

I did not find any mention in the file of the magazine Grace Carrington had been reading before her death, Nicholas Greco told Barbara Krause as he sat in her office.

“From what I understand, it had been thrown out,” Krause told him. “Grace had torn one page from it because she wanted to remember to order tickets to a one-woman show that had just opened on Broadway.”

“Yes, so I understand. I have met with the Hammonds, the couple who were at the dinner that night, and we talked about this.”

“We questioned them at the time,” Krause replied. “In their statements, they both confirmed that Grace had been drinking and that Peter arrived home and made a scene. The Hammonds left shortly after that. It’s just unfortunate that Philip Meredith did not tell us four years ago that Grace was involved with another man, even though she never told him who it was.”

To Greco it was obvious that Barbara Krause did not share his suspicion that Jeffrey Hammond had been the “other man” Grace had been planning to marry, and it was nothing that he intended to share with her. There was no need to drag Hammond into this. At least not now. His guess was that the man was in his own private hell if he believed that Peter Carrington had learned about the affair, and that knowledge might have contributed to his reason for killing his wife.

“Mrs. Hammond is absolutely positive that the magazine was on the coffee table when they left,” Greco told Krause. “I took the liberty of calling Mrs. Barr, the housekeeper, this morning. She distinctly remembers that she did not dispose of the magazine, and she says she and her husband went to their residence in the gatehouse before the Hammonds went home. In the morning, she was the one who found the body in the pool. She dialed 911 even before she woke Peter Carrington.”

“He would have had time to dispose of the magazine before the squad car got there, but what would be the point of doing that?” Krause asked. “It would be easy enough to get another copy of it. I don’t get the significance.”

Greco could see that the prosecutor was becoming irritated. He got to his feet immediately. “I must not detain you,” he said. “I simply wanted to be sure I had the facts straight.”

“Of course.” Krause stood up and reached out her hand. “Mr. Greco, you’ve pulled one rabbit out of the hat. I don’t mind telling you that we are following every possible lead to see if we can track down Grace Carrington’s lover. Even if we find him, his testimony won’t be enough to convict Carrington of her murder, but it certainly gives him a strong motive. The more we know about that situation, the better the chance we have of making Peter come clean, and negotiate a plea.”

This isn’t about who the lover was, Greco thought. It’s about the magazine. He had come to this office today for one reason only-to confirm the fact that the magazine had disappeared either just before or just after Grace Carrington had drowned.

46

It’s a time when Kay needs me most, yet she’s distancing herself from me, Maggie thought as she aimlessly puttered around the house. If only she’d listened to me and not married Peter Carrington in the first place. Thank God he’s in jail, where he can’t hurt her. It just made me sick to see the tape the cops made of him when he was outside the Althorps’ house, and especially the way he leaped up and attacked that police officer. I hope they put him away for the rest of his life.

It’s nine o’clock, Maggie thought. Kay’s an early-morning riser-I’ll give her a call. Yesterday when I phoned, the lawyers were there, but then she didn’t call me back later.

Heartsick at the distance growing between her and her granddaughter, Maggie dialed Kay’s cell phone. There was no answer. Maybe she’s with the lawyers again, she decided. I’ll try the house. This time Jane Barr answered. “Mrs. Carrington stayed in bed this morning,” she told Maggie. “I went upstairs to make sure she was all right, and she said she hadn’t felt well during the night. The lawyers aren’t going to be here today.”

“Tell her whether she likes it or not, I’m coming over for dinner,” Maggie said firmly.

The front doorbell began ringing as she replaced the receiver. Through the glass panel of the door she could see two men standing outside. When they saw her, both held up IDs identifying them as detectives from the prosecutor’s office.

Reluctantly, Maggie opened the door and invited them in. “Mrs. O’Neil,” the older detective began politely, “we understand that at the time Jonathan Lansing disappeared, the contents of his home were moved here. By any chance, were there any records or files from his office included in that move, and, if so, do you still have them?”

Maggie thought of her cluttered attic. “I gave away his clothes,” she hedged. “The furniture I used. It was better than mine, and after all, his daughter, Kay, was living with me. It made it a nicer home for her.” I wonder if they think I stole the furniture, she asked herself nervously. Maybe I should have paid taxes on it.

“Of course, we can understand that,” the younger detective said reassuringly. “Were there any business records or personal files belonging to Jonathan Lansing that you may have kept?”

“That’s the same thing Kay asked me about. There is one of those old three-drawer steel cabinets that was in the room Jonathan used as an office. It’s on the floor of the attic now with my old couch on top of it. Kay says she is going to come over and take a look through it, but I’ll have to get someone strong to move things around so that there’s room for the couch someplace else, and then he’ll have to stand the file upright.”

“If you’ll give us your consent to examine the contents of that file, we’ll be happy to place it where it’s convenient for Mrs. Carrington to go through it. You don’t have to consent, but we would like to see it.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” Maggie said.

She led the detectives upstairs, then apologized at the mess and the dust. “I always mean to get up here and get rid of things,” she explained, as, with minimal effort, they cleared the space around the file and righted it, “but you know how it is. There are some things you never get around to doing. Kay says I’m a pack rat, and she’s right.”

The detectives did not respond. Each man had taken a folder from the top drawer and was flipping through the contents.

With growing unease, Maggie watched them, wondering if she had done the right thing in letting them come up here. Maybe I should have checked with Kay, she thought. I don’t want her to have another reason to be upset with me. On the other hand, if Peter Carrington was the one who killed her father, and they find some proof here, she’d be crazy to waste another minute of her life worrying about him.

“Look at this,” the older detective said to his partner as he handed him a sheet of paper. It was a copy of a note and a landscaping sketch sent to Peter Carrington by Jonathan Lansing. The note read:

Dear Peter,

It seems a pity not to complete the project. As you probably know, your father and I discussed creating a simple plan for the grounds beyond the fence. Since I am no longer in his employ, and since I believe Mrs. Elaine Carrington does not care to have me in contact with your father, I wonder if you would be so kind as to pass on this design to him. I enclose the card of a landscaper I know who could execute this plan to your father’s specifications.

I have enjoyed our conversations very much, and I wish you well.

Jonathan Lansing

As the younger detective read the note, the older one looked at Maggie. “Never apologize for being a pack rat, Mrs. O’Neil,” he said.