Mary Clark - Nighttime Is My Time

"Yes, I was," Jean said carefully. A kaleidoscope of memories rushed through her mind. Sunday afternoons in spring, walking down the footpath at Trophy Point and settling on one of the benches to write. The pink granite benches had been donated to the Point by the class of 1939. She could recite the words inscribed on them: DIGNITY, DISCIPLINE, COURAGE, INTEGRITY, LOYALTY. Even the lettering on those benches made me realize the pettiness of the life my parents were leading, she thought.

She wrenched her attention back to Mark. "Our leader, Jack Emerson, has decreed that the honorees are supposed to mingle and sit anywhere today" he was saying, "which is going to pose a problem for Laura. Did you notice how she's been spreading her charms? She was flirting with our television executive, Gordon, our playwright, Carter, and our comedian, Robby, at the dinner table last night. On the bus she was sitting next to Jack Emerson and making a fuss over him . He's become quite the real estate magnate, I gather."

"You're the one specializing in adolescent behavior, Mark. Laura always went for the guys who were successful. Don't you think that carries through into adulthood? And, anyhow, she might as well concentrate on those four. Her ex-boyfriends, such as Doug Hanover, are either not here or have their wives in tow." Jean had to sound amused.

Mark was smiling, but as she studied him, Jean saw a change in his expression, a tightening in his eyes. You, too? she wondered. And she realized that it was disappointing to think that Mark had been another one to have a crush on Laura, and maybe even still had one. Well, she wanted to have a chance to talk to Laura, and if he wanted to be with her, too, that was fine. "Let's sit with Laura," she suggested. "I always did in school." For a moment the image of the lunch table at Stonecroft surfaced vividly in her mind. She saw there Catherine and Debra and Cindy and Gloria and Alison.

And Laura and me.

And Laura… and me…

The Owl had expected that the disappearance of a woman in Surrey Meadows, New York, would not be reported in time to make the Saturday morning papers but was pleased that it was featured on both the radio and television. Before and after breakfast, as he soaked his arm, he watched and listened to the reports. The pain in his arm emanated from where the dog had sunk his teeth; he considered it a punishment for his carelessness. He should have noticed the leash in the woman's hand before he stopped the car and grabbed her. The German shepherd had appeared out of nowhere, leaping onto him, snarling as it attacked. Fortunately, he was able to grab the tire jack that he always kept on the front seat when he went on that kind of outing.

Now Jean was sitting across the luncheon table from him, and it was obvious that she had found the rose at the grave. He was sure she was hoping that Laura had noticed who in their group might have been carrying the flower or had slipped away during the cemetery tour. He wasn't worried. Laura hadn't noticed anything. He'd stake his own life on that. She'd been too busy trying to figure out which of us she had the best chance of using. She's broke and desperate, he thought triumphantly.

The accident of learning about Lily all those years ago had made him realize all the many ways in which it was possible to have power over other people. Sometimes it amused him to use that power. Other times, he just waited. His anonymous tip to the IRS three years ago had caused the audit of Laura's finances. Now she had a lien on her house. Soon it wouldn't matter anymore, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that even before he killed her, she had been worried about losing her home.

The idea of contacting Jean about Lily had only surfaced when he happened to meet the adoptive parents of her daughter. Even though I was ambivalent about killing Jean, I wanted to make her suffer, he thought, without regret.

Leaving the flower on the headstone had been a stroke of genius. At the lunch table in Thayer, he had seen the distress in Jean's eyes. At the trooping of the colors before the football game, he made it his business to sit next to her. "It's a marvelous sight, isn't it?" he'd asked her.

"Yes, it is."

He knew she was thinking about Reed Thornton.

The Hellcats drum and signal corps was marching past the stand where they were sitting. Take a good look, Jeannie, he thought. Your kid is the one on this end in the second row.

After they got back to the Glen-Ridge House in Cornwall, Jean made it her business to go up in the elevator with Laura and to follow her down to her room. "Laura, honey, I need to talk to you," she said.

"Oh, Jeannie, I've just got to have a hot bath and rest," Laura protested. "Tours of West Point and going to a football game may be all very well, but I'm not one for spending hours outdoors. Can we get together later?"

"No," Jean said firmly. "I need to talk to you now."

"Only because you're such a good friend," Laura said with a sigh. She slipped the plastic key into the lock. "Welcome to the Taj Mahal." She opened the door and flipped the light switch. The lamps at the side of the bed and on the desk went on, casting uncertain light on the room already falling into shadows from the late afternoon sun.

Jean sat on the edge of the bed. "Laura, this is really important. You went to the cemetery as part of your tour, didn't you?"

Laura began to unbutton the suede jacket she had worn to West Point. "Uh-huh. Jeannie, I know you used to go up there a lot when we were at Stonecroft, but this is the first time I went through the cemetery. God, when you think of all the famous people who are buried there. General Custer. I thought they'd figured he messed up that attack he led, but now I guess, thanks to his wife, they've decided he was a hero. Standing at his grave today I thought of something you told me a long time ago, that the Indians called Custer 'Chief Yellow Hair.' You always managed to come up with things like that."

"Did everyone go on the tour to the cemetery, Laura?"

"Everyone on the bus did. Some of the people who brought their kids had their own cars, and they kind of did their own tour. I mean, I saw them wandering off by themselves. When you were a kid, did you want to look at tombstones?" Laura hung up her jacket in the closet. "Jeannie, I love you, but I have got to lie down. You should, too. Tonight's our big night. We get the medal or the plaque or whatever it is we get. You don't think they'll make us sing the school song, do you?"

Jean got up and put her hands on Laura's shoulders. "Laura, this is important. Did you notice if anyone on the bus was carrying a rose, or did you see anyone take out a rose in the cemetery?"

"A rose? No, of course not. I mean I saw some other people putting flowers on some of the graves, but no one from our crowd. Who in our group knew someone who's buried there well enough to bring flowers?"

I should have known, Jean thought. Laura wasn't paying attention to anyone who wasn't important to her. "I'll get out of your way," she promised. "What time are we due downstairs?"

"Seven o'clock cocktails, dinner at eight. We get our medals at ten o'clock. Then tomorrow it's just the memorial service for Alison and the brunch at Stonecroft."

"Are you going right back to California, Laura?"

Impulsively, Laura hugged Jean. "My plans are not yet definite, but let's say I may have a better option. See you later, honey."

When the door closed behind Jean, Laura pulled her garment bag out of the closet. As soon as the dinner was over, they would slip away. As he had said, "I've had enough of the hotel, Laura. Have an overnight bag ready, and I'll put it in my car before dinner. But keep your mouth shut. It's nobody's business where we stay tonight. We'll make up for you not realizing how great I was twenty years ago."