84 84LETITIA BAINBRIDGE HAD ABSOLUTELY REFUSED TO GO TO the hospital. “You can cancel that ambulance or ride in it yourself,” she tartly informed her daughter, “but I’m not going anywhere.”
“But Mother, you’re not well,” Sarah Cushing protested, knowing full well that to argue with her was useless. When her mother got a certain mulelike look, there was no point in further discussion.
“Who’s well at ninety-four?” Mrs. Bainbridge asked. “Sarah, I appreciate your concern, but there’s a lot going on around here, and I don’t intend to miss it.”
“Will you at least take your meals on a tray?”
“Not dinner. You do realize Dr. Evans checked me out just a few days ago. There’s nothing wrong with me that being fifty wouldn’t cure.”
Sarah Cushing gave up the argument reluctantly. “Very well, but you’ve got to promise me one thing. If you don’t feel well, you’ll let me take you to Dr. Evans again. I don’t want Dr. Lane treating you.”
“Neither do I. Sneak that she is, Nurse Markey did see a change in Greta Shipley last week and tried to get Lane to do something about it. He, of course, couldn’t find anything; he was wrong and she was right. Does anyone know why the police were talking to her?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, find out!” she snapped. Then in a quieter tone, she added, “I’m so worried about that wonderful girl, Maggie Holloway. So many young people today are so indifferent or impatient with old fossils like me. Not her. We’re all praying that she’ll be found.”
“I know, and so am I,” Sarah Cushing agreed.
“All right, go downstairs and find out the latest. Start with Angela. She doesn’t miss a thing.”
* * *
Neil had called on the car phone to tell Dr. Lane he would like to stop by to discuss the Van Hillearys’ interest in residing at Latham Manor. He found Lane’s voice curiously indifferent when he agreed to a meeting.
They were admitted to Latham Manor by the same attractive young maid they had seen before. Neil remembered that her name was Angela. When they arrived she was talking to a handsome woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties.
“I’ll let Dr. Lane know you’re here,” Angela said softly. As she crossed the entrance hall to the intercom, the older woman came over to them.
“I don’t want to seem inquisitive, but are you from the police?” she asked.
“No, we’re not,” Robert Stephens said quickly. “Why do you ask? Is there a problem?”
“No. Or at least I certainly hope not. Let me explain. I am Sarah Cushing. My mother, Letitia Bainbridge, is a resident here. She has become very fond of a young woman named Maggie Holloway, who seems to have gone missing, and she is terribly anxious for any news about her.”
“We’re very fond of Maggie, too,” Neil said, once again experiencing the lump in his throat that now was threatening to undermine his composure. “I wonder if it would be possible to speak to your mother after we see Dr. Lane?”
Noting a look of uncertainty in Sarah Cushing’s eyes, he felt he had to explain. “We’re groping at straws to see if Maggie may have said anything to anyone, even casually, that might help us to find her.”
He bit his lip, unable to go on.
Sarah Cushing studied him, sensing his distress. Her frosty blue eyes softened. “Absolutely. You can see Mother,” she said briskly. “I’ll wait in the library for you and take you up when you’re ready.”
The maid had returned. “Dr. Lane is ready to see you,” she said.
For the second time, Neil and Robert Stephens followed her to Lane’s office. Neil reminded himself that as far as the doctor was concerned, he was here to discuss the Van Hillearys. He forced himself to remember the questions that he had intended to ask, on their behalf. Was the residence owned and operated by Prestige, or was it franchised by them? He would need proof of sufficient reserve capital.
Was there any allowance for the Van Hillearys if they opted to decorate and refurbish the suite themselves?
Both men were shocked when they reached Dr. Lane’s office. The man seated at the desk was so radically changed that it was like seeing and talking to a different human being. The suave, smiling, courteous director they had met last week was gone.
Lane looked ill and defeated. His skin was gray, his eyes sunken. Listlessly he invited them to sit down, then said, “I understand you have some questions. I’ll be happy to answer them. However, a new director will be meeting your clients when they come up on the weekend.”
He’s been fired, Neil thought. Why? he wondered. He decided to plunge ahead. “Look, I don’t know what’s been going on here, obviously, and I’m not asking you to explain the reasons behind your departure.” He paused. “But I am aware that your bookkeeper had been giving out privileged financial information. That was one of my concerns.”
“Yes, that’s something that has just been brought to our attention. I’m very sure it won’t happen again in this establishment,” Lane said.
“I can sympathize,” Neil continued. “In the investment business, we unfortunately always seem to face the problem of insider trading.” He knew his father was looking at him curiously, but he had to try to learn if that was the reason Lane was being fired. Secretly he doubted it and suspected that it had something to do with the sudden deaths of some of the residents.
“I’m aware of the problem,” Lane said. “My wife worked in a securities firm in Boston—Randolph and Marshall—before I took this position. It would seem that dishonest people crop up everywhere. Ah, well, let me try to answer whatever questions you have. Latham Manor is a wonderful residence, and I can assure you that our guests are very happy here.”
When they left fifteen minutes later, Robert Stephens said, “Neil, that guy is scared stiff.”
“I know. And it’s not just because of his job.” I’m wasting time, he thought. He had brought up Maggie’s name, and Lane’s only response was an expression of polite concern for her welfare.
“Dad, maybe we should skip meeting with anyone here,” he said as they reached the entrance hall. “I’m going to break into Maggie’s house to search it. Maybe there’s something there that will give us some idea of where she was going last night.”
Sarah Cushing was waiting for them, however. “I phoned up to Mother. She wants very much to meet you.”
Neil was about to protest but saw his father’s warning glance. Robert Stephens said, “Neil, why don’t you pay a visit for a few minutes? I’ll make some calls from the car. I was about to tell you that I happened to keep an extra key to the new lock on Maggie’s door, in case she ever forgot hers. I told her about it. I’ll call your mother and have her meet us there with it. And I’ll call Detective Haggerty, too.”
It would take his mother half an hour to get to Maggie’s house, Neil calculated. He nodded. “I’d like to meet your mother, Mrs. Cushing.”
On the way up to Letitia Bainbridge’s room he decided to ask her about the lecture that Earl Bateman gave at Latham Manor, the one that got him banished from the place. Bateman was the last person to admit seeing Maggie yesterday, he reasoned. She had spoken to Detective Haggerty later, but no one had reported seeing her.
Had anyone thought about that? Neil wondered. Had anyone checked to confirm Earl Bateman’s story that he had gone directly to Providence after he left the museum yesterday afternoon?
“This is Mother’s apartment,” Sarah Cushing said. She tapped, waited for the invitation to enter, then opened the door.
Now fully dressed, Mrs. Letitia Bainbridge was seated in a wing chair. She waved Neil in and pointed to the chair nearest her. “From what Sarah tells me, you seem to be Maggie’s young man. You must be so worried. We all are. How can we help?”
Having deduced that Sarah Cushing had to be nearly seventy, Neil realized that this bright-eyed, clear-voiced woman had to be around ninety or more. She looked as if she missed nothing. Let her tell me something that will help, he prayed.
“Mrs. Bainbridge, I hope I won’t upset you by being absolutely frank with you. For reasons I don’t understand as yet, Maggie had begun to be very suspicious about some of the recent deaths in this residence. We know that only yesterday morning she looked up the obituaries of six different women, five of whom had resided here, and who died recently. Those five women died in their sleep, unattended, and none of them had close relatives.”
“Dear God!” Sarah Cushing’s voice was shocked.
Letitia Bainbridge did not flinch. “Are you talking about neglect or murder?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Neil said. “I just know that Maggie started an investigation that’s already leading to an order for the exhumation of at least two of the dead women, and now she’s disappeared. And I’ve just learned that Dr. Lane has been fired.”
“I just found out that too, Mother,” Sarah Cushing said. “But everyone thinks it’s because of the bookkeeper.”
“What about Nurse Markey?” Mrs. Bainbridge asked her daughter. “Is that why the police questioned her? I mean because of the deaths?”
“Nobody is sure, but she’s mighty upset. And, of course, so is Mrs. Lane. I hear that the two of them are closeted in Markey’s office.”
“Oh, those two are always whispering together,” Letitia Bainbridge said dismissively. “I can’t imagine what they have to say to each other. Markey may be terribly annoying, but at least she has a brain. The other one is as empty-headed as they get.”
This isn’t getting me anywhere, Neil thought. “Mrs. Bainbridge,” he said, “I can only stay a minute longer. There’s one other thing I’d like to ask you. Were you at the lecture Professor Bateman gave here? The one that apparently caused such an uproar?”
“No.” Mrs. Bainbridge shot a look at her daughter. “That was another day when Sarah insisted I rest, so I missed all the excitement. But Sarah was there.”
“I can assure you, Mother, that you wouldn’t have enjoyed being handed one of those bells and being told to pretend you were buried alive,” Sarah Cushing said spiritedly. “Let me tell you exactly what happened, Mr. Stephens.”
Bateman has to be crazy, Neil thought as he listened to her version of the events.
“I was so upset that I gave that man a real tongue-lashing and nearly threw the box with those appalling bells after him,” Sarah Cushing continued. “At first he seemed embarrassed and contrite, but then a look came over his face that almost frightened me. I think he must have a fearful temper. And, of course, Nurse Markey had the gall to defend him! I spoke to her about it later, and she was quite impudent. She told me that Professor Bateman had been so upset that he said he now feared he wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of the bells, which apparently had cost him quite a bit of money.”
“I’m still sorry I wasn’t there,” Mrs. Bainbridge said. “And as far as Nurse Markey goes,” she continued reflectively, “in perfect fairness, many of the residents here consider her an excellent nurse. I just find her to be nosy and pushy and intrusive, and I want her kept away from me whenever possible.” She paused, then said, “Mr. Stephens, this may sound ridiculous, but I think that whatever his faults and shortcomings, Dr. Lane is a very kind man, and I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
* * *
A half-hour later, Neil and his father drove to Maggie’s house. Dolores Stephens was already there. She looked at her son and reached up and took his face between her hands. “We’re going to find her,” she said firmly.
Unable to speak, Neil nodded.
“Where’s the key, Dolores?” Robert Stephens demanded.
“Right here.”
The key fit the new lock on the back door, and as they walked into the kitchen, Neil thought, It all started right here, when Maggie’s stepmother was murdered.
The kitchen was neat. There were no dishes in the sink. He opened the dishwasher; inside were a few cups and saucers, along with three or four small plates. “I wonder if she had dinner out last night,” he said.
“Or made a sandwich,” his mother suggested. She had opened the refrigerator and seen a supply of cold cuts. She pointed to several knives in the utensils basket of the dishwasher.
“There’s no message pad near the phone,” Robert Stephens said. “We knew she was worried about something,” he snapped. “I’m so damn mad at myself. I wish to God that when I came back here yesterday, I had bullied her into staying with us.”
The dining room and living room both were orderly. Neil studied the vase of roses on the coffee table, wondering who had sent them. Probably Liam Payne, he thought. She mentioned him at dinner. Neil had only met Payne a few times, but he could have been the guy Neil had glimpsed leaving Maggie’s Friday night.
Upstairs, the smallest bedroom contained the evidence of Maggie’s packing up her stepmother’s personal effects: Neatly tagged bags of clothing, purses, lingerie, and shoes were piled there. The bedroom she had used initially was the same as when they had fixed the window locks.
They went into the master bedroom. “Looks to me as though Maggie planned to stay in here last night,” Robert Stephens observed, pointing to the freshly made bed.
Without answering, Neil started upstairs to the studio. The light that he had noticed last night, when he parked outside waiting for Maggie to come home, was still on, pointed toward a picture tacked to the bulletin board. Neil remembered that the picture had not been there Sunday afternoon.
He started across the room, then stopped. A chill ran through his body.
On the refectory table, in the glare of the spotlight, he saw two metal bells.
As surely as he knew that night followed day, he knew that these were two of the bells that Earl Bateman had used in his infamous lecture at Latham Manor—the bells that had been whisked away, never to be seen again.