This Is YourLife? Come on.” Grabbing his hand, she ran ahead into the library.On the program, Luther was asking her about her commitment toairline safety.“Abigail, I have to talk to you.”“Sam, for heaven’s sake. Don’t you want me to see my own program?”“This won’t wait.” Against the background of the documentary, hetold her why he had come. He watched the disbelief grow in her eyes.
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“You’re trying to say Toby may have killed the Graney woman?You’re crazy.”“Am I?”“He was out on a date. That waitress will vouch for him.”“Two people described him accurately. The letter Catherine Graneywrote you was the motive.”“What letter?”They stared at each other, and her face paled.“He picks up your mail, doesn’t he, Abigail?”“Yes.”“Did he get it yesterday?”“Yes.”“And what did he bring in?”“The usual junk. Wait a minute. You can’t make these accusationsabout him. You make them to him.”“Then call him in here now. He’s going to be picked up forquestioning anyway.”Sam watched as Abigail dialed the phone. Dispassionately heobserved the beautiful outfit she was wearing. She was dressed up tobecome Vice President, he thought.Abigail held the receiver to her ear, listening to the bell ring. “He’sprobably just not answering. He certainly wouldn’t expect me to becalling.” Her voice trailed off, then became resolutely brisk. “Sam,you can’t believe what you’re saying. Pat Traymore put you up tothis. She’s been out to sabotage me from the beginning.”“Pat has nothing to do with the fact that Toby Gorgone was seennear Catherine Graney’s home.”On the television screen Abigail was discussing her leadership inairline safety regulations. “I am a widow today because my husbandchartered the cheapest plane he could find.”Sam pointed to the set. “That statement would have been enoughto send Catherine Graney to the newspapers tomorrow morning, andToby knew it. Abigail, if the President has called this news conferencetonight to introduce you as Vice President-designate, you’ve got toask him to postpone the announcement until this is cleared up.”
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“Have you taken leave of your senses? I don’t care if Toby wastwo blocks from where that woman was killed. What does it prove?Maybe he has a girlfriend or a floating card game in Richmond. He’sprobably just not answering the phone. I wish to God I hadn’t botheredto answer the door.”A sense of urgency overwhelmed Sam. Yesterday Pat had toldhim that she felt Toby had become hostile to her; that she wasbecoming nervous when he was around. Only a few minutes agoAbigail had said that Pat was trying to sabotage her. Did Toby believethat? Sam grasped Abigail’s shoulders. “Is there any reason that Tobymight consider Pat a threat to you?”“Sam, stop it! Let go of me! He was just as upset as I about thepublicity she’s caused, but even that turned out all right. In fact, hethinks that in the long run she did me a favor.”“Are you sure? ”“Sam, Toby never laid eyes on Pat Traymore before last week.You’re not being rational.” He never laid eyes on her before last week? That wasn’t true.Toby had known Pat well as a child. Could he have recognized her?Abigail had been involved with Pat’s father. Was Pat becoming awareof that? Forgive me, Pat, he thought. I have to tell her. “Abigail, PatTraymore is Dean Adams’ daughter, Kerry.”“Pat Traymore is—Kerry?” Abigail’s eyes widened with shock.Then she shook herself free. “You don’t know what you’re talkingabout. Kerry Adams is dead.”“I’m telling you Pat Traymore is Kerry Adams. I’ve been told thatyou were involved with her father, that you may have triggered thatlast quarrel. Pat is starting to remember bits and pieces of that night.Would Toby try to protect you or himself from anything she mightfind out?”“No,” Abigail said flatly. “I don’t care if she remembers seeingme. Nothing that happened was my fault.”“ Toby —what about Toby? Was he there?”“She never saw him. When he went back for my purse he told meshe was already unconscious.”
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The implications of what she had said burst upon both of them.Sam ran for the door, Abigail stumbling behind him.
Arthur watched the film clips of Glory in handcuffs being led fromthe courtroom after the Guilty verdict. There was one close-up ofher. Her face was dazed and expressionless, but her pupils wereenormous. The uncomprehending pain in her eyes brought tears tohis own. He buried his face in his hands as Luther Pelham talkedabout Glory’s nervous breakdown, her parole as a psychiatricoutpatient, her disappearance nine years ago. And then, not wantingto believe what he was hearing, he listened as Pelham said, “Yesterday,citing her overwhelming fear of being recognized, Eleanor Brownsurrendered to the police. She is now in custody and will be returnedto federal prison to complete her sentence.” Glory had surrendered to the police. She had broken her promiseto him. No. She had been driven to break her promise—driven by thecertainty that this program would expose her. He knew he wouldnever see her again.His voices, angry and vengeful, began speaking to him. Clenchinghis fists, he listened intently. When they were silent, he tore off theheadset. Without bothering to push the shelves together to conceal hishiding place, he hurried out to the landing and descended the stairs.
Pat sat motionless, studying the program. She watched herselfbegin to read the letter. “Billy, darling.”“Billy,” she whispered. “Billy.”Raptly she studied Abigail Jennings’ shocked expression, theinvoluntary clenching of her hands before she managed with ironcontrol to assume a pleasant misty-eyed demeanor as the letter wasread to her.She had seen that anguished expression on Abigail’s face before.
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“Billy, darling. Billy, darling.” “ You must not call Mommy ‘Renée .’”“ But Daddy calls you ‘Renée’ . . .”The way Abigail had lunged at her when the cameras stopped rolling.“ Where did you get that letter? What are you trying to do to me? ”Toby’s shout: “It’s all right, Abby. It’s all right to let people hearthe last letter you wrote your husband.” “ Your husband. ” That’s whathe’d been trying to tell her.The picture of Abigail and her father on the beach, their hands touching. Abigail was the one who had rung the bell that night, who hadpushed past her father, her face ravaged with grief and anger. “ You must not call me ‘Renée,’ and you must not call Daddy ‘Billy.’ ”Dean Wilson Adams. Her father —not Willard Jennings—was Billy!The letter! She had found it on the floor in the library the day shehad tried to hide her father ’s personal papers from Toby. That lettermust have fallen from his files, not Abigail’s.Abigail had been here that night. She and Dean Adams— Billy Adams—had been lovers. Had she precipitated that final quarrel?A little girl was crouched in bed, her hands over her ears to drownout the angry voices.The shot.“ Daddy! Daddy! ”Another loud bang.And then I ran downstairs. I tripped over Mother ’s body. Someoneelse was there. Abigail? Oh, God, could Abigail Jennings have beenthere when I ran into the room? The patio door had opened. The phone began to ring, and in the same instant, the chandelierswent off. Pat jumped up and spun around. Illuminated by the twinklinglights of the Christmas tree an apparition was rushing toward her, thetall, gaunt figure of a monk with a vacant unlined face and silveryhair that fell forward over glittering china blue eyes.
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Toby drove toward Georgetown, careful to keep his car below thespeed limit. This was one night he didn’t need a ticket. He’d waiteduntil the documentary was on before he left. He knew Abby wouldbe glued to the set for that half-hour. If she did phone him after theprogram, he could always say he’d been outside checking the car.From the beginning he’d known there was something weirdlyfamiliar about Pat Traymore. Years ago he hadn’t shed any tears whenhe’d read that Kerry Adams had “succumbed to her injuries.” Notthat anything a three-or-four-year-old kid said stood up in court; buteven so, it wasn’t the kind of grief he needed.Abby had been right. Pat Traymore had been out to put the screwson them from the beginning. But she wasn’t going to get away with it.He was on M Street in Georgetown. He turned onto 31st Streetand drove to N, then turned right. He knew where to park. He’d doneit before.The right side of the property extended halfway down the block.He left the car just around the next corner, walked back and ignoringthe padlocked gate, easily scaled the fence. Silently he melted intothe shadowy area beyond the patio.It was impossible not to think about the other night in this place—dragging Abby out, holding his hand over her mouth to keep herfrom crying out, laying her on the back seat of the car, hearing herterrified moan, “My purse is in there” and going back.Edging his way under cover of the tree trunks, Toby pressed againstthe back of the house until he was on the patio a few inches from thedoors. Turning his head, he glanced cautiously inside.His blood froze. Pat Traymore was lying on the couch, her handsand legs tied behind her. Her mouth was taped. A priest or monk, hisback to the door, was kneeling beside her and lighting the candles ina silver candelabrum. What in hell was he up to? The man turned,and Toby had a better chance to see him. He wasn’t a real priest. Thatwasn’t a habit—it was some sort of robe. The look on his facereminded Toby of a neighbor who years before had gone berserk.The guy was yelling at Pat Traymore. Toby could barely make outthe words. “You did not heed my warnings. You were given the choice.”
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Warnings. They thought Pat Traymore had made up that story aboutthe phone calls and the break-in. But if she hadn’t . . . As Toby watched,the man carried the candelabrum over to the Christmas tree and set itunder the lowest branch.He was setting fire to the place! Pat Traymore would be trapped inthere. All he had to do was get back into the car and go home.Toby flattened against the wall. The man was heading toward thepatio doors. Suppose he was found in there? Everyone knew PatTraymore had been getting threats. If this place burned and she wasfound with the guy who had been threatening her, that would be theend of it. No more investigations, no possibility that someone wouldtalk about having seen a strange car parked in the neighborhood.Toby listened for the click of the lock. The robed stranger pushedopen the patio doors, then turned back to look into the room.Silently Toby moved over and stood behind him.
As the closing credits of the program rolled onto the screen, Lilaredialed Sam’s number. But it was useless. There was still no answer.Again she tried to phone Pat. After a half-dozen rings she hung upand walked over to the window. Pat’s car was still in the driveway.Lila was positive she was home. As Lila watched, it seemed therewas a reddish glow behind the dark aura surrounding the house.Should she call the police? Suppose Pat was simply coming closeto the memory of the tragedy; suppose the danger Lila was sensingwas of an emotional not physical nature. Pat wanted so desperatelyto understand how one of her parents had hurt her so badly. Supposethe truth was even worse than she had envisioned?What could the police do if Pat simply refused to answer the door?They would never break it down just because Lila had told themabout her premonitions. Lila knew exactly how scornful ofparapsychology the policemen could be.Helplessly she stood at the window staring at the whirling cloudsof blackness which were enveloping the house across the street.
The patio doors. They had opened that night. She had looked upand seen him and run to him, wrapping her arms around his legs.
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Toby, her friend who always gave her piggy-back rides. And he hadpicked her up and thrown her . . .Toby . . . it had been Toby. And he was there now, standing behind Arthur Stevens. . . .Arthur sensed Toby’s presence and whirled around. The blow fromToby’s hand caught him directly on the throat, sending him reelingbackward across the room. With a gasping, strangling cry he collapsednear the fireplace. His eyes closed; his head lolled to the side.Toby came into the room. Pat shrank from the sight of the thicklegs in the dark trousers, the massive body, the powerful hands, thedark square of the onyx ring.He bent over her. “You know, don’t you, Kerry? As soon as I figuredout who you were, I was sure you’d get around to doping it out. I’msorry about what happened, but I had to take care of Abby. She wascrazy about Billy. When she saw your mother shoot him, she fellapart. If I hadn’t come back for her purse, I swear I wouldn’t of touchedyou. I just wanted to shut you up for a while. But now you’re out toget Abby, and that can’t happen.“You made it easy for me this time, Kerry. Everyone knows you’vebeen getting threats. I didn’t expect to be so lucky. Now this kookwill be found with you and no more questions asked. You ask toomany questions—you know that?”The branches directly above the candelabrum suddenly ignited.They began to crackle, and gusts of smoke surged toward the ceiling.“The whole room will be gone in a few minutes, Kerry. I’ve got toget back now. It’s a big night for Abby.”He patted her cheek. “Sorry.”The entire tree burst into flame. As she watched him closing thepatio doors behind him, the carpet began to smolder. The pungentodor of evergreen mingled with the smoke. She tried to hold her breath.Her eyes stung so painfully that it was impossible to keep them open.She’d suffocate here. Rolling to the edge of the couch, she threwherself to the floor. Her forehead banged against the leg of the cocktailtable. Gasping at the sudden pain, she began to wriggle toward thehall. With her hands tied behind her, she could barely move. She