Part 16 (2/2)

”Do you remember his name? If not, I'm sure I have it in your file.” ”It was Benjamin Fletcher.

I didn't like him.”

”But he got you acquitted. From what I understand, he did a very good job in light of the way your stepfather was testifying. Have you got a business telephone directory nearby?”

”Yes, I have.” ”Get it and look him up.”

The telephone books were in the cabinet under the phone. I pulled out the yellow pages directory and turned to the section on lawyers. ”He's listed here,” I told Dr. Moran. ”He practices in Chester. That's only twenty minutes away from here.”

”Ceil, I think you should consult him. Anything you tell him will be protected by attorney-client privilege. At the very least, he could recommend a suitable lawyer to you.” ”I'll call him, Doctor, I promise.”

”And keep in touch with me?” ”Yes, I will.”

I called Kathleen next. She has always understood that calling her ”Mother” or ”Mom” was difficult for me. She did not, could not replace my mother, but she is very dear to me. We talk every few weeks on the phone. She had been upset when she heard about the house, but then agreed that I could probably get Alex to move to a different one. ”As for Mendham,” she said, ”your maternal ancestors came from that area, Celia. One of them fought in the Revolutionary War in Was.h.i.+ngton's army. Your roots are there, even if you can't let that fact be known.”

When Kathleen answered, I could hear Martin in the background. ”It's Celia,” she called to him. I heard his response, and it chilled my blood.

”Her name is Liza,” he called back. ”She made up the other name.”

”Kathleen,” my voice was now a whisper. ”Does he tell that to people?”

”He's gotten so much worse,” she whispered back. ”I never know what he's going to say. I'm at the end of my rope. I took him to a nursing home that is really wonderful and only a mile away, but he sensed that I was looking at it with the possibility of putting him there. First he started shouting at me, then when we got home, he cried like a baby. For a little while he was perfectly lucid, and begged me to keep him home.”

I could hear the despair in her voice. ”Oh, Kathleen,” I said. Then I insisted that she immediately find a live-in aide and told her that I would gladly take care of the expense. I think that by the time the conversation ended, I had cheered her a little. Of course, I didn't talk to her about what was going on in my life. It was clear she had enough on her plate without having to listen to my problems. But suppose Martin blurted out my story to someone who would have read about Little Lizzie Borden, and that person talked to friends or wrote about it on an Internet chat room.

I could hear the conversation. ”There's an old guy who lives near us. He has an adopted daughter. He's in the early stage of Alzheimer's now, but he claims she's Little Lizzie Borden, the kid who shot her mother years ago.”

I took the only action open to me. I dialed Benjamin Fletcher's phone number. He answered himself. I told him I was Celia Nolan. I said that he had been recommended to me and I would like to make an appointment to speak with him.

”Who recommended me, Celia?” He asked with a laugh that sounded almost as if he didn't believe me.

”I'd rather discuss it when I see you.” ”That's fine with me. How's tomorrow for you?”

”I'd prefer between nine and ten, when my little boy is in school.”

”You got it. Nine o'clock. You have my address?” ”If it's the one in the book, I do.”

”That's it. See you then.”

The phone clicked in my ear. I put the receiver down, wondering if I had made a mistake. Upon hearing his voice, even though it had become somewhat husky with age, I could see him clearly in my mind-that hulking giant of a man whose size had made me shrink from him when he visited me at the juvenile detention center.

For a few moments I stood irresolutely in the center of the kitchen. During another sleepless night I had decided that I had to do something to make this house more livable until we could move. I had decided that I owed that much to Alex. Except for the piano, he had sold his apartment furnished, because he'd said that when we bought a house he'd be delighted to have his wife, a fabulous interior designer, start from scratch.

I had decided to go out and buy some sectionals for the library and a few extra pieces for the living room, and to have some draperies made. At least I'd try to pull together the downstairs floor. I knew Alex was right: even if we found another house, it might be months before we could move into it.

But I did not feel like going shopping. I was sure that if I did, I would look in the rear view mirror and see Detective Walsh's car. I did remember to phone the housekeeper who had been so well recommended by Cynthia Granger. We agreed that she would come to meet me next week.

That was when I made the decision that was to throw me into an even deeper nightmare. I called the Was.h.i.+ngton Valley Riding Club, reached Zach, and asked if he was free for another lesson at two o'clock.

He agreed, and I rushed upstairs to change into the breeches and boots and a long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt that I'd just bought. As I pulled the riding jacket out of the closet, I thought how similar it was to the ones my mother had worn years ago. In a detached way, I thought about how Zach Willet had been the last human being my father spoke to before he died. In one way I loved my father for trying to overcome his fear of horses so that he could share my mother's pa.s.sion for them; in another, I realized I was angry at him for riding off alone without Zach. We would never know why he did that, and what really happened.

And that was the unanswered question. My mother must have demanded to know the exact circ.u.mstances of my father's death. She could hardly blame Zach Willet for the fact that my father rode off without him, or that he got on the dangerous trail. So then why did she hurl Zach's name at Ted Cartwright less than a minute before she died?

I had a premonition that if I spent enough time with Zach, whatever else my mother screamed at Ted that night might come back to me.

I drove to the club, arriving there at ten of two, and was rewarded by Zach's grunt of approval at my appropriate new outfit. We went out on the trail, and I thought of how my mother enjoyed riding on an afternoon like this. In thinking of her, the riding expertise I had gained as a child was returning, becoming second nature to me again. Zach was much quieter today, but obviously was in a good mood. On the way back to the stable, he apologized for not saying much, but added that I was doing just fine, and he was tired since he'd lost sleep last night because the kids downstairs were having a party.

When I sympathized that it must be a problem to have noisy neighbors, he smiled and said that at least he wouldn't be stuck with them much longer because he was planning to move to a new town house. Then, as we hit the open field, with the clubhouse in the distance, he said, ”Let's go,” and began to canter. Biscuit immediately followed him, and we raced across the gra.s.s until we pulled up at the barn.

We slid off the horses, and Zach's eyes were wary when he faced me. ”You've done a lot of riding,” he said flatly. ”Why didn't you tell me?”

”I told you my friend had a pony.”

”Uh-huh. Well unless you want to waste your money, why don't we figure out exactly how good you are, and start your lessons from there.”

”That would be fine, Zach,” I said quickly.

”Ted, you admitted that Zach...” Suddenly, I was hearing my mother's voice-those were a few of the words I had heard her screaming when I woke up that night.

What had Ted admitted to her? Trying not to let my face give me away, I mumbled to Zach that I would call him, and then I went straight to the car.

As I drove down Sheep Hill Road, I could see that something must have happened at the corner house. When I had pa.s.sed a little over an hour before there had been no sign of activity around it. Now there were squad cars and media trucks parked in the driveway, and I could see police milling around the grounds. It was a sight that I wanted to avoid, and I stepped on the gas, then tried to take a right turn onto Valley Road. It was closed to traffic and I could see a mortuary van and people gathered at a break in the hedge. I kept going straight, not caring where the road took me, because all I wanted to do was to get away from the sight of police cars and all the trappings of death.

It was quarter of four when I got home. I was anxious to shower and change, but I didn't want to be late picking up Jack. Still dressed in my riding outfit, I walked over to the next street, thanked Carolyn, asked Billy if he'd come over soon and have a ride on Jack's pony, and then strolled home hand in hand with Jack.

We were barely inside and having a soda together in the kitchen when the bell rang. My heart in my throat, I went to answer it. Even before I opened the door, I knew that I would be looking at Detective Paul Walsh.

I was right. But this time he was accompanied not only by the prosecutor, but also by two other men who were introduced to me as Detectives Ortiz and Sh.e.l.ley.

There was something about the way they all stared at me as I stood there in my riding clothes that made me know that my appearance had startled them. As I would later learn, all four of them were mentally comparing me with the newspaper picture of my mother that they had found in Charley Hatch's breast pocket.

CHAPTER 44.

Dru Perry went to the Morris County courthouse late Tuesday morning to search through old records. At first, she thought she was wasting her time. Liza Barton's adoption records were sealed. The record of Liza's trial in Juvenile Court was sealed. She'd expected that, but wanted to see if there was any point in the Star-Ledger testing the public's ”right to know” law.

”Forget it,” she was told matter-of-factly by a clerk. ”Juvenile and adoption cases don't come under that law.”

Then, as she was leaving the courthouse, a grandmotherly-type woman who introduced herself as Ellen O'Brien caught her at the door. ”You're Dru Perry. I have to tell you I love when your ”Story Behind the Story” series is in the Star-Ledger. Are you going to do one of them again soon?”

”I'd like to do one on the Liza Barton case,” Dru admitted. ”I thought I'd do some research here, but I'm hitting a stone wall.”

<script>