Play Dead (57 page)

But even then, David had known that he could not just hurt her and walk away. He would never be able to tell Laura that he no longer loved her, that his love for her had died. His heart wanted so much to ignore the frightening reality of his situation, to deafen his ears to everything he had heard. But he also knew that Mary's words were true. What choice did he have? All their dreams of a family and life together had been trampled to death by the heavy boot of past sins. They could no longer stay together. Telling Laura the truth would not change that fact. It would only hurt her father and tear her away from her family. He would have to leave her. He would have to turn his back on the only thing in life that truly meant anything to him.

But how could he do it? How could he tell Laura that his love for her had withered away and died? How could he say that the love they shared had been a lie after Laura had risked everything and given him all that she had?

Better, he decided then, to have love ripped away from you than to think it had never been more than a deception. Better to have lost love in a tragedy than to be told it had never really been.

A plan began to form in his mind.

Completely numb, David walked out of room 607, took an elevator to the lobby, and called T. C.

'She'll call you first.'

'What about her father?' T.C. asked. 'Or her sister?'

'She won't want to worry them yet. She'll figure you'll know what to do.'

'Okay. Now call your bank as soon as we hang up. Then stay hidden till I get there. I'll take care of the rest.'

David Baskin died that day. And Mark Seidman was born.

Back in the present, Mark turned away from the Charles River and headed up the embankment. His face was red from the cold, his breath coming in frigid gusts.

It was time to go home.

Estelle stepped through the door. She had moved the contents of the safety deposit box into a large manila envelope during the flight home and now she handed them to Laura.

'The key opened your aunt's safety deposit box at the First National Bank in Hamilton,' she told her.

'Thanks, Estelle.'

'No problem, boss. You need me for anything else?'

Laura shook her head. 'I'll see you on Monday. Thanks again.'

'Bye.'

Laura closed the door and moved back toward the couch.

'So what are we looking for?' Gloria asked.

'I don't know exactly,' Laura admitted. 'I guess it will have something to do with Sinclair Baskin. It may be nothing but more old photographs.'

'Let's get to it.'

'Are you sure you're up to it?'

'Positive.'

Laura took hold of the letter opener and slit the envelope at the belly. The contents fell to the cushions of the couch. She put down the opener and started to shuffle through the items.

'What are all these things?' Gloria asked.

'Savings bonds. Mom has some too. Grandma left them to her.'

'Laura, you don't really think that Mom could have killed anybody, do you?'

'I don't know. I hope not. But then again, I never thought she would have an affair and deceive all of us.'

'It's all so crazy. What is going on? Why is everybody being killed?'

The diary was face down, but Laura knew what it was even before she turned it over. 'That's it.'

'What?'

Laura picked it up.

Diary 1960.

Gloria inhaled sharply. '1960. Isn't that the year they had the affair?'

Laura nodded. 'This is what the murderer was trying to destroy in the fire. Judy kept all her diaries behind her desk in the study. The blaze destroyed them all.'

'Except this one.'

'Right.'

Laura held the old volume in her hands. She opened it up and recognized Judy's handwriting. It had not changed much in thirty years. Some of the letters looped a little higher back then. The pen had a lighter touch against the paper. But there was no mistaking the penmanship.

Gloria moved closer. 'Start reading, Laura.'

James grabbed an apple from the refrigerator. His wife was upstairs in bed, the lights out, her eyes open. None of them were going to get any sleep tonight, he thought. Words had been uttered that were best left unsaid. Secrets had been stirred that were best left to sleep.

He took a bite out of the apple. James was compulsive when it came to health. He allowed no cookies in his house, no cakes, no ice cream. Sherbet was okay because he felt it improved digestion. Snacks consisted of raisins, nuts, rice cakes and a variety of fresh fruits. Apples were his favorite. McIntosh.

He sat alone in the kitchen with the light off. The lamp from the hallway provided enough illumination, casting giant shadows across the spacious white kitchen. James felt cold in his pajamas and robe, cold and alone. He had worked so hard to keep his family together, to provide for them and care for them. When had it all gone wrong? When had everything that mattered to him been leveled by deceit and lies?

He took another bite. He almost felt tears but quickly pushed them away. James Ayars did not cry. He was strong. He would remain strong and somehow save his family from the past. Thirty years ago, his wife had tried to deceive him. She had packed her lies into a snowball and let it roll down the slope, growing bigger and bigger with the years. Nothing had changed. Lies still ruled their lives. Tonight was a perfect example.

Mary. His achingly beautiful wife could charm him, seduce him, convince him to ignore or forget things that she had done. But when she lied to him, James always knew. He could always tell when she was trying to deceive him. Deep in his heart, he had known about Mary's affair thirty years ago -- even before he received oral confirmation. He had not known with whom or when or even how. But he knew.

He stood, tossed the apple core into the canister, and headed down the corridor to his study. Tonight, Mary had lied again. So had Laura. He had not interrupted a casual mother-and-daughter chat. No, their conversation went well beyond that. Laura learned something during her excursion to Chicago. When she arrived back in Boston, she immediately came here. She pressured her mother until Mary cracked.

How much had Mary told Laura?

James did not know. As little as possible, he was sure. But Mary had undoubtedly opened her mouth and let the past rush out. She had told Laura enough to threaten the very fabric of the family he so cherished.

Everything was going wrong now. The deceptions that held their lives together were coming unglued in front of his eyes. He had to do something to hold the pieces together before they blew away like tiny grains of sand.

But what? What could he do to save his family?

Whatever it takes, he thought. He reached his study and flicked on the light. His long overcoat hung on the tall brass rack Mary had given him on their anniversary last year. He loved that rack. It fit in perfectly with the polished oak bookshelves of medical textbooks, the antique globe, the Persian carpet. The study had always been the most important room in the house for James. This was where he did all his serious thinking, where he planned for life's blows and the strategies he would use to fend them off.

He reached into the pocket of the overcoat. His hand withdrew a gun. He stared at the weapon for a moment, almost hypnotized by its power. He crossed the study, flicked off the light, and moved out the front door without looking behind him.

If he had, he may have noticed his wife standing in the shadows.

Hours passed. How many? Laura and Gloria could not say. The clock seemed to speed around like some cartoon prop. The sun started to rise. Laura kept on reading. Her eyes filled with tears. These words had been written by a Judy Simmons that Laura had never known. The author of this diary had been filled with such hope, such dreams, such youthful optimism. In many sections, Judy rambled randomly about a budding flower or a blue sky or her burning desire to be a novelist. She dreamed of living in Paris, of having a family, of spending summers in Cannes, of writing bestsellers.

Regret echoed through Laura's heart. Judy had ended up doing none of those things. Somewhere along the way, her dreams were derailed and lost forever. When Laura reached February 16th, she learned how the derailment had begun:

February 16, 1960

I met the most handsome and charming man in the world today. He is a professor at Brinlen College and his name is Sinclair Baskin. Now I understand what books mean when they speak of unbridled passion, of heroines who would do anything to stay with their man . . .

Laura read parts out loud, skimmed through others. The relationship between Judy Simmons and Sinclair Baskin progressed rapidly. Judy soon learned that Sinclair Baskin was married with two children, but by then it was too late. As Judy herself admitted, love can make you more than blind; it can make you cruel and selfish. It could make you do things you never imagined: February 24, 1960

I love him. I cannot help my feelings. Emotions are not water faucets that can be turned on and off or made warm and cold as I please. I know about his past. I know that I am not his first. But still I know that I am special to him. Most would dismiss me as terribly naive but I know the truth. I can see it in the way he looks at me . . .

Laura felt ensnared by Judy's words. She was trapped in 1960 with no possible escape but to read on. Laura wanted to go back and warn Judy to stay away from Sinclair Baskin. She wanted to reach right through the pages and shake Judy to her senses.

March 18, 1960

I have never been so happy, never knew such happiness existed. Losing James has ended up being a blessing in disguise. Mary and James are happy and now I'm ecstatic! Could life be better? I doubt it. I am so filled with feelings of love that I am sure I will burst. I want to shout from the top of tall buildings, 'I love you, Sinclair!' He has started talking about divorce even though the idea of hurting his two sons is tearing him apart. Stan is only ten years old. David just a few months. But we are meant to be together and soon we will be. I must have patience . . .

More love notes followed. Pages and pages of sonnets that brought tears to Laura's eyes. She read about the softball game where the photograph had been taken, about walks in the day and lovemaking in the night. The diary was like some bizarre novel whose characters were all too real. Laura watched Judy merrily skip down a path filled with hidden mines. She called out a warning, but Judy would not hear her. Right now it was March of 1960. Young Judy cared not for what was to come. The world was bright and sunny and no one could tell her otherwise. Laura wanted to lock her in, to somehow suspend her aunt's memory in March of 1960. But the diary had to move on. When Laura turned the page, it was April. March of 1960 was gone forever.

April 3, 1960

We're going to visit my family today. I don't expect them to be thrilled for me. I doubt they will understand. But how can they deny the glow in my face? How can they be upset when they see how happy we are? They will have to accept us. They will want to accept us. Of course, my parents are going to be upset about his being married, but love conquers all, right? I'll let you know how it goes when we get back.

Later. Something changed today, I don't know what. Everything went well with my family -- as well as could be expected. My parents were upset but managed to remain fairly polite. Mary got along very nicely with Sinclair as did James. In truth, my family reacted just as I suspected they would. So why this dark feeling inside? It's Sinclair. He was different today. Oh, he still looked at me with love. He still kissed me good night and told me that he loved me. But something was . . . off. He was distracted, not completely there. Of course that's understandable. Today was a stressful day for him too. But still, there was something wrong. Something in the air . . .

'Listen to that something,' Laura said out loud, calling through time itself to patch wounds that still bled. 'Get away from him.'

'She was young,' Gloria said. 'She was in love.'

'He was a married man, Gloria.'

She smiled sadly. 'If you had learned David was married, would it have changed anything?'

'Of course it would -- '

'Really? Be honest with yourself, Laura.'

Laura tried to push the allegation to the side and read on, but it remained there, swaying occasionally but never fully leaving.

April 17, 1960

My life is coming to an end. The sun no longer rises. The flowers no longer bloom. Something has taken away my Sinclair. More than that, something has begun to destroy him. I approached him today in the hopes he would confide in me. He has been acting strangely for two weeks now, ever since our visit to my parents' house. I asked him what was wrong.

'Nothing,' he said quietly. 'There are problems.'

'Problems?' I asked.

He nodded. 'I think we have to end this.'

My heart disintegrated then, right in his stuffy, book-congested office, right in front of the works of Keats and Browning and Shakespeare and Dante.

I think we have to end this.

Seven words. Seven words destroyed my life. I of all people should not be amazed by that. Words, I know, can be all-powerful tools. That is all well and good on an analytical front, but the heart is an object that knows merely emotion and feeling. First James was taken away from me and now I am losing Sinclair.