Hanging Hannah (15 page)

“That's true,” Greenberg conceded, and breathed a deep sigh. “Arthur admitted to having walked with the young woman, to having shown her the cave, and to having gone into the village and bought her a map and some food. But he swore that after he brought her those things, he never saw her again. He also had an alibi he never mentioned to his Aunt Doris: He was having drinks with two friends at the Roadside Tavern during the hours we figure the woman died—between eight o'clock Saturday night and one o'clock Sunday morning. His story checks out.”

“I'm so relieved,” Jane said. “Doris will be, too.” She had a thought. “What about that Mike Vernell, the hiker who was staying at Hydrangea House? He left Sunday, the day the woman was found. We don't know a thing about him.”

“We're already checking him out. He lives in Pennsylvania. A widower with a grown daughter. We spoke to her. She said her father was supposed to be at the inn for another week. So apparently he departed early—and he didn't go home.”

Jane pondered this. “Still no word on who the dead girl was?”

“No, but we're still working on it.”

“Keep checking with Mike Vernell's daughter. I think there's something there.”

“Yes, chief.”

She laughed. “I'd better get back to the office, make a living.”

“Good idea.” He walked her out. At the door he said quietly, “I reserve the right to a second second date.”

“Oh?” She smiled up at him. “Why is that?”

“You have to admit the Corsair party didn't turn out quite the way we expected. How about something a little . . . calmer?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Good. I'll give it some thought and call you.”

 

That evening, Louise called Jane and told her she wanted to suspend the Defarge Club meetings for a while. She just wasn't up to hosting them for the time being. She would be calling the others, too, she said.

Saddened by this news, Jane asked if Louise would like
her
to host the meetings for a while.

“That's up to you, Jane.”

“Would you come if I did?”

“No. I'm just not in a knitting mood right now.”

“Maybe we can help. If you want people to talk to, I mean.”

“No, thanks, Jane. I've done as much confiding as I intend to do—to you. You know I'm devastated about Ernie—about his . . . affair. But I won't tell the others that. I'll just tell them I'm still upset that the woman was found here.” And she hung up.

Jane decided she'd have to give some thought to the idea of hosting the meetings. The Defarge ladies had always met at Hydrangea House.

It just wouldn't be the same.

Florence speared four pancakes from the platter with her fork, deposited them on her plate, and wandered over to the kitchen table, lost in thought.

“Murder . . . death.” She shook her head. “I don't think we have it like this in Trinidad.”

Jane set down her coffee mug and regarded her skeptically. “Come now, Florence. Murder is everywhere; you know that as well as I do.”

“Perhaps, missus, perhaps. But it certainly seems to be following
you
around lately.”

Jane frowned, troubled. “That's what Laura said,” she murmured.

Florence poured syrup over her pancakes and took a big bite. “Mm, missus, with pancakes you have what my dear mother calls ‘the touch.' ”

“Why, thank you, Florence.”

From the family room came the sound of Nick calling to Winky.

“Let's not talk about the murders anymore,” Jane whispered to Florence. “Nick!” Jane called. “Come for breakfast.”

“You mean Nick and Winky,” Nick said, appearing in the kitchen doorway with the ball of tortoiseshell fur in his arms.

“Yes, sorry. Nick and Winky.” Jane smiled.

Florence brought Nick a plateful of pancakes and poured him some milk.

“Forgetting someone?” he said innocently.

“Ah, how thoughtless of me!” Florence cried, and got another plate, onto which she dropped several pancakes. She placed the plate on the table near Nick, and Winky jumped up to examine its contents.

“Syrup, Wink?” Nick asked her.

She looked up at him and gave a tiny mew.

“Winky would like some syrup, please,” he told Florence.

“Here you are,” she said, handing him the bottle.

“Just a little,” Jane said, remembering what she'd paid for that bottle at Pathmark.

Nick drizzled syrup onto Winky's pancakes.

“So, tell us about this Goddess, missus,” Florence said, and took a sip of her coffee. “Is she as outrageous as everyone says?”

“She's pretty outrageous,” Jane replied, “though I'm not sure that's quite the word I'd use. Perhaps
rude
or
bratty
would be more accurate.”

“She
is
very young,” Florence pointed out.

“Not that young,” Jane said. “She's what—twenty-five?”

“No one knows for sure,” Florence said. “That's part of her mystique.”

“Mystique! Please.” Jane rolled her eyes. “She's a fresh brat who needs a good spanking.”

“Spanking is bad,” Nick interjected. “Did you know you could be arrested for spanking me?”

“Have I ever spanked you?” Jane asked him.

“No.”

“I didn't mean it literally,” she went on. “What I mean is that she's obviously been spoiled her whole life, and now that she's a star, she has absolutely no limits. She says what she wants, goes where she wants, buys what she wants, and doesn't give a darn what anyone thinks of her.” She laughed. “Come to think of it, I'd like to live that way!”

“Really, missus? Do you mean that?”

“Yes . . .” Jane said thoughtfully, “except that if I were Goddess, I would try to respect people's feelings when I spoke. And I would get into therapy for—some of my bad habits.”

“What bad habits?” Nick asked, eyes innocently wide.

Jane wouldn't tell him about the shoplifting. “Just the way she behaves,” she said vaguely.

“Her dad invented the Hammer. Did you know that, Mom?”

“Yes, Carl Hamner. Rich as Croesus. That's what I was talking about.”

“So much money,” Florence said, pouring Nick some more milk. “I just cannot imagine it. With all that money, she doesn't have to work, doesn't have to do her songs and films and plays and things, but she still does. Why do you think that is, missus?”

“Because,” Jane said, “she's a genius!”

Nick and Florence both looked at her, frowning.

Jane laughed. “That's what the waiter said after my brunch with Goddess on Wednesday. She
is
exceptionally talented. And she must love her work, since she obviously doesn't do it for the money.”

The phone rang. Florence answered it.

“Missus, it's for you. It's Daniel.”

Jane took the phone, smiling. “It's Saturday, Daniel. You don't have to work today.”

He laughed. “I'm not. Well, actually, this afternoon I
am
planning to read Tanya Selman's new manuscript. But I'm not calling about work. I want to ask you a favor.”

“Of course! What is it?”

“Can I come over and see you?”

What on earth can it be? she wondered. “Certainly. Name your time.”

“How about in half an hour?”

“You got it. I'll keep the coffee hot.”

 

Sitting on the sofa in Jane's study off the living room, Daniel, in khaki shorts and a T-shirt, sipped coffee from his mug.

“So shoot,” Jane said. “What's the favor?” She smiled. “You know I'll do it.”

He set down his mug on the end table, his face growing serious. “Thanks, Jane. I think I mentioned to you that Laura has no family.”

“Yes.”

“So she has no mother, no aunt, no sister—no one to help her get ready for the wedding. I think she'd really like some help, but she's too proud to ask for it. So I thought, well, that it would be perfect if you would help her. You know, picking out her gown, that sort of thing. After all, you're like family to us.”

“Of course. I'll be delighted to help her,” Jane said. “As long as you're sure she'd really want me to.”

“I'm sure she would. I haven't asked her yet, of course, because first I wanted to make sure you were willing. But you know she's extremely fond of you.”

“Is she?” This was a surprise. Jane had never picked up any vibes either way from Laura.

“Absolutely,” Daniel said. “And thank you, Jane. I'll speak to her.” He paused, looking troubled about something. “Now I need another favor from you, Jane. Your opinion.”

“You know I've always got plenty of those!”

“Thanks. You know I respect your judgment more than anyone else's.” He looked down, as if unsure where to begin. “Jane,” he said at last, “my father called me.”

She stared at him. “Your
father
. I thought your father was dead.”

“No, my father's not dead. You probably thought that because I never talk about him. But he's very much alive. For the past seven years, though, we've been . . . I guess you'd say estranged.”

Jane waited.

“Anyway,” Daniel said, “he called to ask to come to our wedding. He said he wanted to correct some mistakes he'd made in his relationship with me. I . . . said yes.”

“I think that was the right answer. But how did he even know about the wedding?”

Daniel looked uneasy. “When I tell you who my father is, you'll understand. Jane, have you ever heard of
Onyx
, the magazine for African-Americans?”

“Of course I've heard of
Onyx
,” she said with a little laugh. “It's one of the leading magazines in the country.”

“In the world, actually. My father owns it. Founded it, in fact.”

Jane just stared at him, stunned. Daniel Willoughby. Everyone knew that the founder and owner of
Onyx
was Cecil Willoughby.

Jane leaned forward. “But—but Cecil Willoughby . . . he's one of the richest people in the country.”

Daniel smiled, looking almost apologetic.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Jane said. “If Cecil Willoughby is your father, why the hell have you been toiling away for the past four and a half years as my assistant? Why have you been living in a rented apartment? Why are you—forgive me—always short of money?”

“Because,” Daniel replied, “as I've told you, my father and I are not on good terms. I don't have any of his money, and I don't want it.”

“Well
I
sure as hell would! What's the problem?”

“While I was in my second year at Yale, I told my father, as gently as I could, that I had no interest in taking over the running of the magazine when I graduated. That had always been the plan. My father was very hurt. He took my decision as a personal affront; I'd rejected his dream of passing along his empire to his son. Just the same, he begrudgingly offered to provide me with an income. I turned down his offer. That offended him even more. From that day on, I've had no contact with him. Obviously, however, he's had people watching over me—he's always made liberal use of private investigators—and that's how he found out about the wedding.”

Jane took a deep breath and big gulp of coffee, trying to take this all in. “Wow. I think it's sweet that he's been watching over you.”

“Sweet? Hah! Believe me, my father's no guardian angel. He's a tough, powerful son of a gun. How else do you think he became a multimillionaire? If he's been watching over me, it's been for his own reasons—like wanting to see if I showed any signs of giving up my chosen career to take over his. He desperately wants me to run that magazine.

“Anyway,” he said, rising, “obviously you think I did the right thing by saying he could come to our wedding.”

“Yes,” Jane said, smiling sentimentally, “I do.”

“Thanks, Jane—for agreeing to help Laura,
and
for the feedback. I'll see myself out—and I'll see you at the office Monday.”

She watched him leave the room. Then she sat, mug in hand, smiling fatuously, still stunned by what he had told her, a single word rattling around in her head:
multimillionaire
.

 

Twenty minutes later the phone rang. Jane picked it up. It was Laura.

“Jane, that's so great of you to want to help me,” Laura gushed. “You know I have no mother, so
you
can be my mother!”

“Your mother
figure
. I'm not
that
old.”

Laura laughed. “You know what I mean. The first thing I need is my gown. Could you help me pick one out?”

“Sure. When were you thinking of going?”

“Well . . . how about this afternoon?”

Jane hadn't expected to be called into service so soon, but Nick would be at his friend Aaron's house for most of the day. “That would be just fine. In fact, now that I think about it, the sooner the better, what with fittings and everything. Where were you thinking of looking?”

“Well, there are several really beautiful shops in New York I'd like to try.”

“Okay.” Then Jane remembered her luncheon date at Goddess's pied-à-terre. “Laura, I just thought of something. I don't mean to be rude, but I've just remembered I'm having lunch with Goddess in New York this afternoon. I guess I forgot to mention it to Daniel. I almost forgot myself!”

“We could do it another day.” Laura sounded disappointed.

“No, we can still go today, but would you mind terribly if I leave you on your own for a couple of hours while I go to this lunch? Then we can meet up again afterward.”

“That would be fine,” Laura said, brightening. “I'm sure I can find something to do.”

They agreed that Jane would pick her up in about an hour and that they would drive into the city. Jane hurried upstairs and changed into a copper-colored watered-silk suit she deemed appropriate for her lunch with Goddess. She drove Nick over to Aaron's house, then headed for Daniel and Laura's apartment.

On the way, Jane reflected that she was glad to have this opportunity to get to know Daniel's fiancée better. Jane had always felt a tension between her and Laura, a tension that had only worsened when, last fall, Daniel had turned down the high-paying job offer from Silver and Payne.

Jane knew that Laura, though always supportive of Daniel's idealistic career goals, harbored a slight resentment toward Jane. Daniel had told Jane that for years Laura had wanted a wedding, a house, a child; but they'd been unable to afford any of these things. If Daniel had taken the job at Silver and Payne, all of these things would have been possible. Well, now she was getting the wedding and the child; the house would have to come later—unless Daniel made peace with his father.

Jane's impression of Laura had always been that she was a bit shallow; yet Jane couldn't imagine the deep Daniel being in love with a shallow woman. Turning left onto Packer Road, where Daniel and Laura lived on the top floor of a two-family house, Jane resolved to get to know Laura better, to find her best qualities and learn to like her more. To make her her friend.

Jane had no sooner pulled into the driveway than Laura came bounding out of the house in jeans and an oversize T-shirt.

To Jane's surprise, Laura gave her a kiss on the cheek as she got into the car. “Thanks, Jane. Really.”

Jane waved away her thanks. “It's my pleasure.” She continued on Packer and got onto Route 46 East.

“Isn't this fun?” Laura said. “Girls' day out! We can gossip and everything.”

“I never turn down good gossip,” Jane said with gusto.

“Me, neither. Daniel hates gossip, but I bet he'd learn to like it if he had to work with boring old pharmaceuticals all day, like me.”

“I see your point. Then what's my excuse?”

They both laughed.

“So,” Jane said, “got anything juicy?”

“
Well
. . .” Laura's eyes gleamed devilishly as she fingered a pendant she'd worn for as long as Jane had known her. “At my company—you know, Unimed—there's been talk about Ernie Zabriskie.”