I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [60]
At almost half past ten, while Fr. Aiden was going through the mail on his desk, a call was put through to him. It was Alexandra More-land. “Father,” she said, “I’ll have to make this quick. My attorney is going to be here in a minute to go with me to the police station. The detectives on Matthew’s case want to talk to me. For all I know, I’m going to be arrested. I apologize for being so rude to you last night, and thank you for praying for Matthew. And I want you to know this: I was as close as you can get to swallowing a bottle of sleeping pills early this morning, and something about the kind way you looked at me and then took my hands in yours stopped me. Anyhow, I won’t think of that again. I had to say thank you and please keep praying for Matthew, but if you don’t mind, say a word for me as well.”
Then there was a click in his ear. Stunned, Fr. Aiden sat quietly at his desk. That’s what I’ve been trying to remember, the feel of her hands when I held them, he thought.
But what is it?
What could it possibly be?
40
After the cozy dinner she had shared with her friend Rebecca, and the fact that they both had enjoyed several glasses of wine, Penny had slept soundly through the night and even allowed herself the luxury of bringing her morning cup of coffee back to bed. Propped up on pillows, she had watched the news on television. Once again the Central Park photos of Zan Moreland taking her child out of the stroller and the others of her being carried to the ambulance were briefly shown.
“Unless those photos are proven to be doctored, in my opinion, the arrest of Alexandra Moreland is imminent,” the network’s legal expert explained on the Today show.
“Should have happened yesterday!” Penny barked to the television screen. “What are they waiting for, a sign from heaven?” Shaking her head, she got out of bed a second time, put on a warm robe, and carried the coffee cup to the kitchen, where she began to prepare her usual generous breakfast.
Bernie phoned as she was running the last scrap of toast over the plate to catch the remnants of the yolk of her fried egg. His voice sounded disgruntled as he told her that it would be another couple of hours before the truck was fixed, so he wouldn’t get home till midafternoon. “Hope you and Rebecca didn’t eat all the pot roast,” he told her.
“More than plenty for you,” Penny assured him before saying good-bye. Men, she thought, shaking her head indulgently. He’s upset because he’s stuck in a gas station in King of Prussia, and he’s trying to find a reason to get mad so he can have a fight with me and get it off his chest. I should have told him that Rebecca and I ate the whole thing and tonight we’re having frozen pizza.
As she loaded the dishwasher, Penny saw that the mailman was delivering to their box at the end of the driveway. After his van disappeared, she tightened the belt on her robe and hurried outside. Spring may have just arrived, but boy you’d never know it, she thought, as she opened the box, closed her hand on the small pile of letters, and at an even quicker pace made her way back to the warmth of the house.
The first few envelopes were solicitations from various charities. The next contained a fingernail-sized sample of a new facial cream. The last envelope brought an unconscious smile to Penny’s face. It was from Alvirah Meehan. Quickly she ripped it open. It was a notice that the semiannual meeting of the Lottery Winners’ Support Group was being held the following week in Alvirah and Willy’s apartment.
Alvirah had written a personal note on the notice. “Dear Penny, hope you and Bernie can make it. Always so good to be with you.”
We can make it, Penny thought happily, as she mentally reviewed Bernie’s schedule. I’d love to get her opinion on that More-land woman now. I know Alvirah’s been friendly with her.
The sense of pleasant anticipation wore off as Penny went upstairs, showered, and dressed. Something was gnawing at her and it had to do with that snippy Gloria