Hyde Park, New York, was famous as the birth place of Franklin D. Roosevelt and as the “Summer White House” while he had been president. It was also known for the Culinary Institute of America, the Vanderbilt mansion, and the Clinton Vineyards, no relation to the other president. Three hospitals served the area, three newspapers, two libraries (plus the presidential one), and fourteen churches, only one of which was Catholic.
Ordinarily Dana would not be thrilled about a visit to a nursing home. Her father was close to eighty now—if he were still alive. He could be in a nursing home, but she didn’t know about that, either. No, she thought as she parked the car and followed Kitty toward the door, ordinarily she would not be thrilled to be there. This time, however, she was glad to have left town and the speculation and the yak-yak about Vincent’s murder.
Kitty’s mother was napping in the solarium, but they were welcome to wake her up, the nurse’s aide at the front desk reported.
The corridor was wide and cheerful and carpeted. It was not littered with drooping-headed people in wheelchairs as Dana had expected, but was decorated with pastel still lifes of spring flowers and hazy landscapes of the Hudson Valley. If Dana’s father were in a nursing home, it would probably not be this nice.
“Mom?” Kitty called out, and Dana followed her into a pleasant room that had been painted soft peach and was adorned with lush plants and a baby grand piano in the far corner.
“Mom” sat on the piano bench, the lone person in the room. She looked up and waved.
“I’m over here!” she shouted happily. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”
Kitty kissed her mother’s cheek. “Mom, this is Dana. Dana, meet my mother, Muriel Dalton.”
It occurred to Dana that until then she hadn’t known Kitty’s maiden name. Then again, no one in New Falls but Steven knew she’d once been Dana Kimball and the subsequent burden that held. She took the woman’s hand and smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Dalton.” The woman was small and thin, the way Kitty had become in recent months. She wore a pretty blue-flowered dress and smelled like baby powder.
“Thank you for coming,” she said to Dana, then dropped her hand and turned back to Kitty. “How are the children?”
“Fine. They send their love.”
Apparently Mrs. Dalton didn’t know the “children” barely spoke to Kitty.
“And Howard? How is Howard?”
Howard? Had she meant to ask about Vincent? Didn’t she know they were divorced? Didn’t she know the rest?
“Howard’s fine, too, Mom. He would have come, but he’s so busy with the nightclub.”
Dana stopped herself from asking who the heck Howard was and what “nightclub” she meant. Maybe Kitty had a brother—the way Dana had a father—that she never spoke of for family-secret reasons.
“The aide said you were napping.”
Kitty’s mother waved her hand and laughed a whisper of a laugh. “When I’m not playing the piano they think I’m napping. That way they won’t bother me.”
Dana joined Kitty in a nod as if they both understood.
“Would you like me to play now?” Mrs. Dalton asked. “Would your friend like my Glenn Miller rendition?” Her eyes twinkled from either excitement or medication.
“That would be nice,” Dana said before Kitty had a chance.
Mrs. Dalton smiled again. She lifted her hands over the keyboard, then began to play. “Moonlight Serenade,” she said, but the sounds emitting from the piano were nothing like the classic, nothing, in fact, like music at all. The gnarled fingers plinked and plunked and struck one mis-chord after another.
Dana glanced at Kitty, who averted her eyes, folded her arms, and walked to the window. Dana sat down and waited for the time to pass.
Later, back in the car, Kitty thanked her for being kind. “I should have warned you,” she said. “My mother’s mind is gone.”
“But she seems so…so normal.”
Kitty nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “She thinks I’m my sister, Alice.”
“Alice? I didn’t know you have a sister.”
“She lives in Baton Rouge. She married a musician that my mother adored.”
“Howard.”
Kitty nodded. “Alice hasn’t been in touch for years. She’s dead, for all I know.”
Well, that was something Dana could relate to. “It’s a nice place, though, where your mother is. It must be expensive.” The last sentence popped out like a cold sore.
“It is,” Kitty said. “But Vincent was paying for it.”
Vincent?
“It was part of the divorce,” Kitty added. “In lieu of alimony, he was ordered to pay my mother’s long-term care.”
“But I thought he was broke…”
“Men like Vincent are never completely broke.”
Dana mulled that over as if she were Sam. Did any of this make sense? If Kitty needed Vincent to support her mother, why hadn’t she told the police? Wouldn’t it help prove her innocence?
With both hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road, Dana thought back to something she’d learned from her father: Examine the pieces of a story before trying to put them together.
She reverted back to the beginning. The former wife of futures trader Vincent DeLano was found standing over the corpse, a trickle of blood oozing from his left ear, a gun slack, still smoking, in Kitty’s right hand.
She thought about Kitty’s explanation, about the rug dealers who supposedly had been coming from Newbury Street.
And then Dana had an idea.
“Kitty,” she said, “not to change the subject, but I’ve been thinking of doing Michael’s room over now that he has his own place. I remember what you said about the Newbury Street rug dealers. Maybe I’ll give them a call. What’s the name of the shop?” She thought she sounded believable. She didn’t expect Kitty would cry.
“Well, this is just great,” Kitty said. “You think I killed him.”
“What?” Dana asked. “No!”
“Yes you do. Why else would you ask about the rug dealers? You want to check out my story. You want to see if they exist, if they were really coming that day.”
“Kitty…”
Kitty shook her head. “Never mind. Just take me home. God, Dana. If you don’t believe me, who will?”
Dana sighed. “Well, you have to admit…between your mother and the surprise of the life insurance…”
“I knew about it, all right? I knew about the insurance. The truth is, I insisted on it. For my mother’s care if he died. I didn’t tell anyone because what would they think? The police? My kids? The whole freaking town?”
“You won’t believe this, honey, but Chloe didn’t really like Lee Sato very much. She was only going to marry him because her parents wanted her to.”
Dana dropped her pocketbook on the kitchen counter and looked at her husband. They’d stayed up too late last night, reviewing Sam’s charts and facts and contemplating theory after theory with the police, who revealed there simply was no evidence—no latents, no hair, no fibers, nothing that would do CSI proud. The ballistics report, which wasn’t yet complete, seemed to be all they might have to go on.
Steven had told them this was way more fun than working or being retired like his father in Boca Raton.
He handed her a glass of wine though it was only three o’clock in the afternoon. She took the glass, kicked off her shoes. She wanted to ask Steven if he thought they should track down the rug dealers, but she was too tired of all the nonsense now. So instead of asking about rugs, she asked about Sam.
“Believe it or not, he had a date.”
“A date? With whom?” She didn’t know why she asked. She always hated when Sam’s brothers teased him for being more into books than girls.
“He only said it was undercover work. I asked ‘under whose covers?’ He said I wasn’t funny.” Steven grinned. “I think I was, though.”
Dana sat down at the kitchen table and didn’t ask if he thought the date might be with Chloe. Steven leaned against the counter. She never would admit it to the feminist movement, but she felt better balanced when her husband was at home, as if he were the ballast of the ship that was their house.
“Kitty’s mother lives in a pretty fancy nursing home,” Dana said. “Paid for by Vincent’s money.”
“Who’s paying for it now?”
“The insurance money will. As soon as Kitty receives it.”
Steven swirled the ice cubes in his bourbon. “Honey, are you sure Kitty didn’t kill Vincent?”
Maybe the real reason Dana hadn’t mentioned the rugs was that she didn’t want Steven feeling as doubtful as she did now. Kitty, after all, had saved her life once with the tree in the sunroom and the CPR. “Well, to be honest, I’m not sure. But I do think she deserves a fair trial. A competent defense.”
“And?”
“And this loser Caroline hired is not going to help.”
“I’d be a little nervous about that anyway. What with the hit man and all.”
“The ‘alleged’ hit man, Steven. Good grief, these women are our friends. Listen to the way we’re talking about them.”
Steven laughed. “Our friends have always been entertaining. It’s funny, though, I never trusted DeLano. I think that spilled over onto his wife. Sorry.”
“You never trusted Vincent?”
“No. I always thought he was sneaky, and I thought Kitty was too needy. I know you think she saved your life, but the truth is, I’m sure you would have come to on your own. As for Kitty and Vincent’s kids, Marvin is a dork and Elise is a hottie, but they’re both a little strange.” He grinned again because, unlike many men, Steven was happy. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go add the nursing home to Kitty’s growing list of motives on her chart.”
Dana sipped her wine. “Wait,” she said. “There’s something I want to mention.”
He waited.
“A lawyer,” she said. “For Kitty.”
“What about it?”
“I’d like to help her. I’d like to find someone capable. Wasn’t Michael in school with someone whose father is a criminal attorney? Remember? We saw him on the news once, in a high-profile case.”
“I’m sure he charges a small fortune. I didn’t think Kitty has money anymore.”
“She doesn’t. I’d like to pay his retainer. She can pay me back when the insurance money comes through.”
He really laughed that time.
“Honey,” she said, “I’m serious. I think Kitty would do it for me if the situation were reversed.”
“You mean if you murdered me? Now you’re scaring me, Dana.” Still, his laugh didn’t abate.
“I’m serious, Steven. You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do. And I’m sure you’ll know what I mean when I say that you’ll pay for Kitty’s attorney over my dead body, not DeLano’s.”
She was about to debate him when Sam walked in the door, apparently finished with his date with whomever. “Are you guys expecting a visitor?” he asked.
Steven said, “No, why?”
“There’s some guy in our driveway who asked to see Mom. I would have invited him in but we have steps.”
“Sam,” Dana said, “What are you talking about?”
“We have steps. He couldn’t get up them in his wheelchair.”