The Post and the Times were delivered to the Aldrich town house every morning. Maria Garcia put them in the pocket on the side of the breakfast tray for Nina Aldrich, who enjoyed breakfast in bed. But before Maria brought up the tray, she looked at the headline with Zan Moreland’s cry, “I AM NOT THE WOMAN IN THOSE PHOTOS,” splattered across the front page.
Mrs. Aldrich lied to the police, Maria thought, and I know why. Mr. Aldrich was away and Bartley Longe dropped in on her. And stayed. And stayed a long time. She knew she was keeping that young woman waiting and she didn’t care. And then she lied bald-faced to those detectives. It was easier than to try to make an excuse for keeping Ms. Moreland waiting so long.
She brought up the tray and Nina Aldrich, propped up on pillows, grabbed the Post and saw the front page. “Oh, they did arrest her?” she said. “Walter will be furious if I’m dragged in to testify. But I’ll simply repeat what I told the detectives, and that will be that.”
Maria Garcia left the bedroom without answering. But by noon, she could stand it no longer. She had the card Detective Collins had given her and, being careful to see that Mrs. Aldrich was not on her way down in the elevator, dialed his number.
In the precinct, Billy Collins was waiting for Bartley Longe who, in a rage, had accepted Detective David Feldman’s invitation to come in to the Central Park Precinct. Billy picked up the phone. He heard a tremulous voice say, “Detective Collins, I’m Maria Garcia. I’m afraid to call you because I don’t have my green card yet.”
Maria Garcia, the Aldrich housekeeper, Billy thought. What now? His voice soothing and reassuring, he said, “Mrs. Garcia, I didn’t hear you tell me that. Is there something else that you want to say?”
“Yes.” Maria took a long breath, then nervously burst out, “Detective Collins, I swear on my mother’s grave that Ms. Moreland was told by Mrs. Aldrich to meet her here at the town house that day almost two years ago. I heard her and I know why she’s lying about it. Bartley Longe, the designer, had stopped in to see Mrs. Aldrich on Beekman Place. They were having an affair. She let poor Ms. Moreland do all the work to get the job and gave it to him instead when he started flattering her. But that day, she was leaving to meet Ms. Moreland here on Sixty-ninth Street when Mr. Longe arrived. She knew perfectly well that Ms. Moreland was waiting for her, and that she’d sit there waiting until Mrs. Aldrich decided to show up.”
Billy was about to respond when Maria Garcia gasped, “Mrs. Aldrich is on the way down. I have to go.”
There was a click in his ear, and Billy Collins was processing this new chink in the evidence in the case against Alexandra Moreland when, accompanied by his lawyer, a furious Bartley Longe arrived at the precinct.