“No!”
“And you didn’t want your daughter to make the same mistake you made. After all, like father, like son, right? You decided he was no good.”
“That’s not it,” Mary said. “You don’t understand.”
“How could you be so blind to David, Mother? He was nothing like his father. David was warm, sweet, considerate, caring—”
“I know!” Mary interrupted loudly. “I know he was a wonderful young man. I know he was nothing like his father. Don’t you see? I never wanted him to die.”
Laura stopped. Her puzzled eyes locked onto her mother. “Then why, Mother? If you thought he was such a wonderful man, why did you have him killed?”
“I didn’t have him killed. I never killed anyone.”
“But you just said—”
“I caused his death,” Mary explained, “but I didn’t kill him.”
Laura’s mind spun. “You’re not making sense. You wanted to destroy a relationship between your daughter and a man you just described as wonderful. You wanted to break us up so badly that you flew to Australia, met with him, and begged him to stop seeing me, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then when he refused to leave me—”
“He didn’t refuse,” Mary said. “David promised me he would never see you again.”
Laura could not believe what she was hearing. “What are you saying?” she snapped. “You talked David into leaving me?”
“I guess I did. But I didn’t realize the cost. You were the one who said, ‘Like father, like son.’ ”
“So?”
“So David loved you. He couldn’t stand to be away from you. After we talked, I thought he was just going to leave you, disappear from your life. That’s what he promised. And I knew you would be devastated. I knew how much you loved him. But you’re strong and young. You’d be able to snap back from the heartbreak. Your family would help you. Don’t you see, Laura? I just wanted David to leave you. I never wanted him to commit suicide . . . like his father.”
Laura felt her knees buckle. “What?”
“Right after I convinced David to leave you, he drowned. Doesn’t that seem like a strange coincidence to you? I never imagined that my words would make him kill himself.”
Laura felt blows landing on her head. She tried to fend them off but there were too many and they were coming too fast. She felt dizzy, sick. “Are you trying to tell me that David was so upset about his father’s indiscretions that he committed suicide?”
“No. That’s not it at all.”
“Why couldn’t you have just left us alone?” Laura ranted, tears flowing freely now. “We were happy and in love. Why should your disgusting affair have anything to do with us?”
“Unfortunately,” Mary said sadly, “it had everything to do with you.”
“But why?” Laura demanded. She was on the verge of striking out physically at her mother, of punching and kicking until she dropped from exhaustion. “David was an infant when Sinclair Baskin died. He was nothing like his father—you yourself said that. Why was it so important for you to destroy my marriage?”
Mary swallowed. She stood upright, her spine rigid. She turned to face Laura as if she were preparing to receive a terrible blow. Her body trembled. “Because,” she said slowly, “you were married to your brother.”
29
“THIS way, miss.”
Estelle followed the president of First National of Hamilton into the bank. It was late, well past closing, but Estelle had managed to get him to come down and open the bank for her. How? Trade secrets. Estelle knew how to network better than anyone. She had taken the simple ritual of talking on the phone and transformed it into an art. Give her a telephone and a local directory and Estelle could locate anybody or anything—like the truth behind Judy’s mystery key.
“Please have a seat. May I have the key, please?”
Estelle handed him the key.
“And the notarized letter?”
She passed him the notarized letter Laura’s attorney had drawn up giving Estelle full access to whatever the key might open.
The banker headed down the hallway. He returned a minute later with the box under his arm.
“Here it is.”
He handed her the box. Estelle opened it and skimmed through the contents. A lot of old bonds. An employment contract from Colgate University. Insurance claims.
On the bottom, Estelle found a diary from nineteen sixty. Laura’s words came back to her.
“What exactly do you expect me to find, Laura?”
“I don’t really know. Something to do with the past.”
“The past?”
“Nineteen sixty to be more precise. Something happened to my aunt that year and I need to find out what.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Neither do I. Don’t worry about it. Just keep your eyes open for anything involving nineteen sixty.”
Without further delay, Estelle poured everything from the box into a small bag with the other items. She thanked the banker and hurried to the taxi. The chartered jet was fueled and waiting for her at the airport. Estelle looked at her watch. With a little luck, she could be back at Laura’s apartment with the diary in just over two hours.
FOR more than a full minute, the kitchen remained silent. Only the sounds of Mary’s sobs penetrated the stillness that surrounded the two women. Laura was too stunned to move, too stunned to allow the truth to go any deeper than the periphery of her mind.
“My brother?” she was finally able to utter. “David was my brother?”
Mary nodded. “Sinclair Baskin is your real father.”
“No,” Laura said with a dull voice. “That can’t be.”
“It’s true. God, I wish it wasn’t, but it’s true.”
“But how . . . ?”
“Because I was stupid and careless. During my affair with Sinclair, I became pregnant.”
“Maybe Dad was the one. Maybe Dad got you preg—”
Mary shook her head. “Your father and I had not slept together for nearly two months.”
“You became pregnant?”
She nodded.
“Did you tell Sinclair?”
“Of course I told him. Like I said before, I was young and confused. I thought we were in love. I was prepared to leave your father and start life anew as Mrs. Sinclair Baskin.”
“And you didn’t want your daughter to make the same mistake you made. After all, like father, like son, right? You decided he was no good.”
“That’s not it,” Mary said. “You don’t understand.”
“How could you be so blind to David, Mother? He was nothing like his father. David was warm, sweet, considerate, caring—”
“I know!” Mary interrupted loudly. “I know he was a wonderful young man. I know he was nothing like his father. Don’t you see? I never wanted him to die.”
Laura stopped. Her puzzled eyes locked onto her mother. “Then why, Mother? If you thought he was such a wonderful man, why did you have him killed?”
“I didn’t have him killed. I never killed anyone.”
“But you just said—”
“I caused his death,” Mary explained, “but I didn’t kill him.”
Laura’s mind spun. “You’re not making sense. You wanted to destroy a relationship between your daughter and a man you just described as wonderful. You wanted to break us up so badly that you flew to Australia, met with him, and begged him to stop seeing me, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then when he refused to leave me—”
“He didn’t refuse,” Mary said. “David promised me he would never see you again.”
Laura could not believe what she was hearing. “What are you saying?” she snapped. “You talked David into leaving me?”
“I guess I did. But I didn’t realize the cost. You were the one who said, ‘Like father, like son.’ ”
“So?”
“So David loved you. He couldn’t stand to be away from you. After we talked, I thought he was just going to leave you, disappear from your life. That’s what he promised. And I knew you would be devastated. I knew how much you loved him. But you’re strong and young. You’d be able to snap back from the heartbreak. Your family would help you. Don’t you see, Laura? I just wanted David to leave you. I never wanted him to commit suicide . . . like his father.”
Laura felt her knees buckle. “What?”
“Right after I convinced David to leave you, he drowned. Doesn’t that seem like a strange coincidence to you? I never imagined that my words would make him kill himself.”
Laura felt blows landing on her head. She tried to fend them off but there were too many and they were coming too fast. She felt dizzy, sick. “Are you trying to tell me that David was so upset about his father’s indiscretions that he committed suicide?”
“No. That’s not it at all.”
“Why couldn’t you have just left us alone?” Laura ranted, tears flowing freely now. “We were happy and in love. Why should your disgusting affair have anything to do with us?”
“Unfortunately,” Mary said sadly, “it had everything to do with you.”
“But why?” Laura demanded. She was on the verge of striking out physically at her mother, of punching and kicking until she dropped from exhaustion. “David was an infant when Sinclair Baskin died. He was nothing like his father—you yourself said that. Why was it so important for you to destroy my marriage?”
Mary swallowed. She stood upright, her spine rigid. She turned to face Laura as if she were preparing to receive a terrible blow. Her body trembled. “Because,” she said slowly, “you were married to your brother.”
29
“THIS way, miss.”
Estelle followed the president of First National of Hamilton into the bank. It was late, well past closing, but Estelle had managed to get him to come down and open the bank for her. How? Trade secrets. Estelle knew how to network better than anyone. She had taken the simple ritual of talking on the phone and transformed it into an art. Give her a telephone and a local directory and Estelle could locate anybody or anything—like the truth behind Judy’s mystery key.
“Please have a seat. May I have the key, please?”
Estelle handed him the key.
“And the notarized letter?”
She passed him the notarized letter Laura’s attorney had drawn up giving Estelle full access to whatever the key might open.
The banker headed down the hallway. He returned a minute later with the box under his arm.
“Here it is.”
He handed her the box. Estelle opened it and skimmed through the contents. A lot of old bonds. An employment contract from Colgate University. Insurance claims.
On the bottom, Estelle found a diary from nineteen sixty. Laura’s words came back to her.
“What exactly do you expect me to find, Laura?”
“I don’t really know. Something to do with the past.”
“The past?”
“Nineteen sixty to be more precise. Something happened to my aunt that year and I need to find out what.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Neither do I. Don’t worry about it. Just keep your eyes open for anything involving nineteen sixty.”
Without further delay, Estelle poured everything from the box into a small bag with the other items. She thanked the banker and hurried to the taxi. The chartered jet was fueled and waiting for her at the airport. Estelle looked at her watch. With a little luck, she could be back at Laura’s apartment with the diary in just over two hours.
FOR more than a full minute, the kitchen remained silent. Only the sounds of Mary’s sobs penetrated the stillness that surrounded the two women. Laura was too stunned to move, too stunned to allow the truth to go any deeper than the periphery of her mind.
“My brother?” she was finally able to utter. “David was my brother?”
Mary nodded. “Sinclair Baskin is your real father.”
“No,” Laura said with a dull voice. “That can’t be.”
“It’s true. God, I wish it wasn’t, but it’s true.”
“But how . . . ?”
“Because I was stupid and careless. During my affair with Sinclair, I became pregnant.”
“Maybe Dad was the one. Maybe Dad got you preg—”
Mary shook her head. “Your father and I had not slept together for nearly two months.”
“You became pregnant?”
She nodded.
“Did you tell Sinclair?”
“Of course I told him. Like I said before, I was young and confused. I thought we were in love. I was prepared to leave your father and start life anew as Mrs. Sinclair Baskin.”
