Part 26 (2/2)

”I'm Anna Malloy, Mr. MacKingsley's secretary. Will you follow me, please?”

The sixtyish woman had a sweet face and a firm, quick step. As I followed her down the corridor, I had a hunch that she was one of those motherly type secretaries who think they know better than their boss.

Jeff MacKingsley's corner office was large and pleasant. I had always instinctively liked this man, even when I resented him showing up unannounced on my doorstep. Now he got up from his desk and came around it to greet us. I had done the best possible makeup job I could, trying to disguise my swollen eyes and eyelids, but I don't think I fooled him much, if at all.

With Benjamin Fletcher sitting beside me like an aging lion, ready to pounce at the scent of danger, I told Jeff everything I knew about Zach. I told him that as a ten-year-old in lockdown detention I would have spasms of grief at the sound of his name. I told him that it was only in these last two weeks that I had remembered clearly my mother's last words: ”You told me when you were drunk. You killed my husband. You told me Zach saw you.”

”That's why my mother threw him out,” I told Jeff. Detective Ortiz and a stenographer were in the room, but I ignored them. I wanted this man who was sworn to protect the safety of the people of this county to understand that my mother was wise to be afraid of Ted Cartwright.

He let me talk almost without interruption. I guess in my own way, I was answering all the questions he had planned to ask me. When I described going to Zach's house, ringing the bell, and then seeing Zach in the car, he did prod me for additional details.

When I was finished, I looked at Benjamin Fletcher and, knowing he would be displeased, I said, ”Mr. MacKingsley, I want you to ask me any questions you may have about Georgette Grove and Charley Hatch. I guess you know now why I made it home so fast from Holland Road. I knew that route from my childhood. My grandmother lived very near it.”

”Wait a minute,” Benjamin Fletcher interrupted. ”We agreed we were not going to discuss those cases.”

”We have to,” I said. ”It's going to get out that I'm Liza Barton.” I looked at Jeff MacKingsley.

”Does anyone in the media know yet?”

”In fact, it was a person in the media, Dru Perry, who first disclosed it to us,” Jeff admitted. ”At some point you may want to talk with her. I think she'd be very sympathetic.” Then he added, ”Is your husband aware that you are Liza Barton?”

”No he is not,” I said. ”It was a terrible mistake, but I promised Jack's father, my first husband, that I would not reveal my past to anyone. Of course, I will tell Alex now, and I can only hope that our relations.h.i.+p will survive.”

For the next forty minutes I answered every question the prosecutor asked me about my brief acquaintance with Georgette Grove, and about my absolute lack of information on Charley Hatch. I even told him about the Little Lizzie phone calls and messages I had received.

At ten of five, I stood up, ”If there's nothing more, I must get back,” I said. ”My little boy gets quite anxious if I'm away too long. If any other questions come up, just call. I'll be glad to answer them.”

Jeff MacKingsley and Fletcher and Detective Ortiz got up, too. I don't know why, but I had the feeling that all three were hovering around me as though they thought I needed protection.

Fletcher and I said goodbye and left the private office. There was a woman with wild gray hair at Jeff's secretary's desk. She was obviously very angry. I recognized her and remembered she had been at the house the day of the vandalism, a part of the media that surged onto the place.

Her back was to me, and I heard her say, ”I told Jeff about Celia Nolan because I thought it was my duty to warn him about her. My thanks is that I lose my exclusive. The New York Post is giving all of page 3, and possibly its headline, to the 'Return of Little Lizzie' story, and they're practically going to accuse her of committing all three murders.”

Somehow I made it to my car. Somehow I remained poised when I said goodbye to Benjamin Fletcher. Somehow I got home. I paid Sue and thanked her and turned down her offer to fix dinner for us, an offer she made because, as she said, I looked awfully pale to her. I'm sure she was right.

Jack was listless. I think he was starting to get a cold, or perhaps it was the heavy weight of my troubled aura that was making him ill. I sent out for a pizza, and before it came, I got him into pajamas and changed into my own pajamas and robe.

I decided I would go to bed after I tucked Jack in. All I wanted to do was to sleep and sleep and sleep. There were several phone calls. First from Mr. Fletcher, and then from Jeff MacKingsley.

I did not answer either of them, and on the answering machine they both left messages expressing concern at how upset I must be.

Of course, I'm upset, I thought. Tomorrow I'll be starring in ”The Return of Little Lizzie.”

From this day forward, I will never travel far enough or hide deep enough to escape being called Little Lizzie.

When the pizza came, Jack and I each had a couple of slices. Jack definitely was catching some kind of bug. I took him upstairs at eight o'clock. ”Mom, I want to sleep with you,” he said fretfully.

That was fine with me. I locked up and set the alarm; then I called Alex's cell phone. He didn't answer, but I expected that. He had said something about a dinner meeting. I left a message saying that I was going to turn off the phone because I was going to bed early, and to please call me at six o'clock A.M., Chicago time. I said there was something important I had to tell him.

I took a sleeping pill, got into bed, and with Jack cuddled in my arms, I fell fast asleep.

I don't know how long I slept, but it was pitch dark when I felt my head being raised and heard a shadowy voice whispering, ”Drink this, Liza.”

I tried to close my lips, but a strong hand was forcing them open, and I was gulping a bitter liquid that I knew contained crushed sleeping pills.

From a distance, I heard Jack's wail as someone carried him away.

CHAPTER 74.

”Dru, that leak did not come from this office,” Jeff snapped, finally out of patience with the reporter. ”You seem to forget that Clyde Earley, among others, knows that Celia Nolan is Liza Barton. We don't know how many other people may have recognized her or been told who she is. Frankly, I think that whoever planned that vandalism at the Old Mill Lane house was well aware of Celia Nolan's ident.i.ty. The Post is going to be rehas.h.i.+ng an old story and trying to tie it to three recent homicides, but they're barking up the wrong tree. Hang around, and I may be able to give you the true story, and you'll have some real news for yourself.”

”You're playing straight with me, Jeff?” Dru's anger began to subside, as her eyes relaxed and her lips became less compressed.

”I don't think I've ever been known not to play it straight with you,” Jeff replied in a tone that reflected both annoyance and understanding.

”You're suggesting I wait around?”

”I'm suggesting that there's going to be a big story soon.”

They were standing at the door of Jeff's office. Jeff had come out at the first sound of Dru's raised voice.

Anna came up to them. ”You don't know what you did to that poor girl, Dru,” she scolded.

”You should have seen the look on her face when you were shouting about 'The Return of Little Lizzie.' She's stuck living in Little Lizzie's house, poor thing. She was devastated.”

”Are you talking about Celia Nolan?” Dru asked.

”She walked right behind you on her way out,” Anna snapped. ”She was with her lawyer, Mr.

Fletcher.”

”Liza, I mean Celia, went back to him? He's representing her?” Too late Dru realized that Jeff had not told Anna who Celia was. ”I'll hang around, Jeff,” she added, an apologetic note in her voice.

”I'm expecting Henry Paley and his lawyer,” Jeff told Anna. ”It's five o'clock. You can go.”

”Not a chance,” Anna told him. ”Jeff, is Celia Nolan really Liza Barton?”

Jeff's look made her next question die in her throat. ”I'll send Mr. Paley in when he gets here,”

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