Mary Clark - Nighttime Is My Time

"I think you're right and I know exactly the right person to contact," Alice said firmly. "Sam Deegan is an investigator for the district attorney's office. He was there the morning we found Karen and has never closed the file on her death. He's become a good friend. He'll find a way to help you."

The bus to West Point was scheduled to leave at ten. At nine-fifteen, Jack Emerson left the hotel and made a quick trip home to pick up the necktie he had forgotten to pack. Rita, his wife of fifteen years, was reading the newspaper as she sipped coffee at the breakfast table. When he came in, she looked up indifferently.

"How's the great reunion going, Jack?" The sarcasm that tinged every word she uttered to him was particularly apparent in her greeting.

"I would say it's going very well, Rita," he said amicably.

"Is your room comfortable at the hotel, or do you know?"

"The room is as comfortable as rooms at the Glen-Ridge get. Why don't you join me there and see for yourself?"

"I think I'll pass." Her eyes dropped back to the newspaper, dismissing him.

For a moment he stood looking at her. She was thirty-seven years old, but not one of those women who got better as she aged. Rita had always been reserved, but along the way her narrow lips had acquired an unattractive sullen droop. When she was in her twenties and her hair was loose around her shoulders, she had been genuinely attractive. Now, with her hair drawn tightly back and pinned in a French knot, her skin seemed taut. In fact, everything about her looked pinched and angry. Standing there, Jack realized how thoroughly he disliked her.

It infuriated him that he felt the need to explain his presence in his own home. "I don't have the tie I'll want for the dinner tonight," he snapped. "That's why I stopped by."

She put the paper down. "Jack, when I insisted that Sandy go to boarding school instead of your beloved Stonecroft, you must have known something was in the wind."

"I believe I did." Here it comes, he thought.

"I'm moving back to Connecticut. I've rented a house in Westport for the next six months or so until I see what I want to buy. We'll work out visitation for Sandy. In spite of the fact that you're a rotten husband, you've been a reasonably decent father, and it's better if we keep our separation amicable. I know exactly what you're worth, so let's not waste too much money on lawyers." She stood up. "Hail fellow, well met-jovial, wisecracking, community-minded, smart businessman, Jack Emerson. That's what a lot of people say about you, Jack. But even besides the womanizing, there's a lot festering inside of you. Out of idle curiosity I'd be interested to know what it is."

Jack Emerson smiled coldly. "Of course I knew that when you insisted on sending Sandy to Choate you were beginning your move back to Connecticut. I debated about trying to talk you out of it-that is, for ten seconds I debated. Then I celebrated."

And guess again if you think you know what I'm worth, he added mentally.

Rita Emerson shrugged. "You always said that you had to have the last word. You know something, Jack? Underneath what passes for veneer, you're still the same tacky little janitor who resented pushing mops after school. And if you don't play fair in the divorce, I might have to tell the authorities you confessed to me that you arranged to have that fire set in the medical building ten years ago."

He stared at her. "I never told you that."

"But they will believe me, won't they? You worked in that building and knew every inch of it, and you wanted that property for the mall you were planning. After the fire you were able to buy it cheap." She raised an eyebrow. "Run along and get your school tie, Jack. I'll be on my way out of here in a couple of hours. Maybe you can pick up one of your fellow classmates and have a real reunion here tonight. Be my guest."

The sense of finally beginning to take action gave Jean a measure of peace. Alice Sommers had promised to call Sam Deegan and try to arrange a meeting for Sunday afternoon. "He often stops by on Karen's anniversary anyhow," she said.

I don't have to go home tomorrow, Jean thought. I can stay at the hotel for at least a week. I'm good at research. Maybe I can find someone who worked in Dr. Connors' office, a nurse or secretary who can tell me where he registered the births of the babies whose adoptions he handled. Maybe he kept copies of his records elsewhere. Sam Deegan could help me find out how to get them, assuming they exist.

Dr. Connors had taken the baby from her in Chicago. Was it possible he had registered her birth there? Had the adoptive mother traveled with him to Chicago, or had he taken Lily back to Cornwall himself?

Anyone in the reunion group who was driving separately to West Point had been told to park in the lot near the Thayer Hotel. Jean felt a lump in her throat as she drove through the gate onto the grounds of the academy. As she had so often in the past few days, she thought of the last time she had been there, at the graduation of Reed's class, when she watched his mother and father accept his diploma and sword.

Most of the Stonecroft group were on tours of the Point. They were scheduled to meet at twelve-thirty for lunch at the Thayer. Then they would watch the trooping of colors before going to the game.

Before joining the others, Jean headed for the cemetery to visit Reed's grave. It was a long walk through the grounds, but she welcomed the time for reflection. I found so much peace here, she thought. What would my life have been like if Reed had lived, if my daughter were with me now, not somewhere with strangers? She had not dared go to Reed's funeral. It had taken place on her graduation day from Stonecroft. Her mother and father had never met Reed and knew virtually nothing about him. There was no way to explain that she could not go to her own graduation.

She walked past Cadet Chapel, remembering the concerts she had attended there, at first alone and then later a few times with Reed. She walked past the monuments that bore names emblazoned in history, as she wended her way to section 23 and stood in front of the headstone that bore his name, Lt. Carroll Reed Thornton, Jr. There was a single rose propped against the headstone with a small envelope attached to it. Jean gasped. Her name was written on the envelope. She picked up the rose and tore the card from the envelope. Her hands began to tremble as she read the few words it contained: "Jean, this is for you. Knew you'd stop by."

On the walk back to Thayer she tried to compose herself. It almost has to mean that someone at the reunion knows about Lily and is playing this cat-and-mouse game with me, she thought. Who else would have known I was going to be here today and would anticipate that I'd go to Reed's grave?

There are forty-two from our class here, she thought. That narrows the field of who might be contacting me from anyone in the world to one of forty-two. I'm going to find out who it is and where Lily is. Maybe she doesn't know she's adopted. I won't interfere with her life, but I need to know that she's all right. I'd just like to see her once, even from a distance.

Her footsteps quickened. There was only today and tomorrow to try to see everyone face-to-face, to try to learn who had been in the cemetery. I'll talk to Laura, she thought. She doesn't miss anything. If she was on the tour that included the cemetery, she might have noticed something.

The moment she stepped inside the room reserved for the Stonecroft luncheon, Mark Fleischman came up to her. "The tour was really interesting," he said. "I'm sorry you missed it. I'm ashamed to say that even when I was living in Cornwall, the only times I came down to West Point were to jog. But you were here pretty often in senior year, weren't you? I mean, I remember you wrote some articles about it for the school paper."