The Melody Lingers On (14 page)

Ken, she thought longingly.

But it was not Ken who was looking at her lovingly.

What is happening to me? Am I like Katie, so eager to fill a void in my life that the first time I feel myself responding to an attractive man I throw aside discretion?

Be careful, she warned herself as she reluctantly withdrew her hand from his firm grasp.

O
n Sunday morning Anne Bennett went to the ten o’clock Mass at the Church of the Immaculate Conception, then stopped at the drugstore to pick
up some Tylenol. It was just a precaution. She no longer had the blinding migraine headaches that used to paralyze her regularly.

She was also trying to stop taking the antidepressant pills that the doctor had prescribed to her.

The last few days had been terrible, she admitted to herself. Eric had told her not to read the newspapers, but how could she try to ignore them since they carried the story of Eleanor’s
indictment?

That poor woman, Anne thought for the hundredth time as she paid for the Tylenol and left the pharmacy. Should I call her? Would she even want to hear from me? I simply don’t know. On the
way home, out of curiosity, she drove past the restaurant that her neighbor, Tony Russo, was in the process of building. It was going to be large, she thought. He must be investing a great deal of
money in it.

Money. The word—an automatic segue to Parker. As she drove home, the brightness of the sun caused her to lower the visor, and that caused her to glance into the rearview mirror.

Was she wrong or was that old black Ford the same car that had been parked next to hers at the drugstore?

Not that again, she thought with a sinking heart. For a long time after Parker’s disappearance, she knew she had been followed around not only by government agents but also by some
attention-seeking nobodies who would then post her picture on the Internet.

Was that starting again?

She deliberately steered the car on an indirect route to the town house but could see that she was still being followed.

Suddenly nervous, she drove more quickly until she turned into her driveway, and then braked sharply because Tony Russo was walking up it. She waited to let him pass but he tapped on her window.
She opened it, suddenly grateful for his presence.

“I was just going to say good morning,” Russo said, then looked at her closely. “Are you okay, Mrs. Bennett? You came in so fast, I wondered if you were upset.”

Anne liked her new neighbor. Eric had warned her to watch every word she uttered but she could not resist saying, “I am a bit flustered. I think I was followed home just now.”

Instantly aware, Tony asked, “What kind of car was following you?”

His eyes looked past her at the street as she said, “A really old black Ford.”

As she spoke, Tony could see a tired-looking black Ford drive past the town house.

Anne decided to be frank with him. “Tony, if you don’t already know, Parker Bennett is my husband and I’ve been followed around several times since his disappearance. I had
hoped it was over but I guess it isn’t.” She closed the window without waiting for him to answer and pulled forward into her garage.

Jon went straight into his own town house. He immediately made a call and asked a question. “Are you guys putting a tail on Anne Bennett?” As he had expected, the answer was no.

He broke the connection and immediately punched in another number.

O
n Saturday morning, Parker Bennett decided that he absolutely could not put up with more of Len Stacey’s inane chatter on the golf course
today.

It was perfect sailing weather, sunny, a slight breeze, the kind of day that was made for him to go out on his boat. Especially since it had been raining for the last three days.

Trying to sound hoarse and forcing a cough, he phoned his unwanted golfing partner. “Len, this is a real disappointment. I was looking forward to taking your money today. But I feel really
lousy. I’m going back to bed. Didn’t sleep last night so I’m turning off the phone.”

“Ah, come on, George. I’ve been looking forward to our rematch,” Len replied.

His grating laugh put Parker’s teeth on edge. Before he could respond Len added, “And you know what? I planned to run a contest in the locker room today. I was going to ask the guys
in our foursome, ‘Who looks like Parker Bennett?’ I bet at least one of them votes that you look like him.”

“Like
who?”
Parker said as the fingers holding his cell phone went numb.

“Oh come on. Parker Bennett, the big crook. He’s been all over the papers this last week.”

“Oh sure, I know who he is,” Bennett answered. “But you think I look like him?” As he spoke he realized that he had dropped the low, cough-enhanced tone in his voice.

“Hey, don’t be touchy,” Len said. “I’m just kidding. Forget it. It was a lousy idea.”

“Yes it was.” Bennett coughed, a raspy sound. “If you want to say I look like Donald Trump that’s okay.” He attempted a laugh. “All right, sorry to miss you
today. Play well.”

When he disconnected, Bennett realized that his palms were so damp that the phone almost slipped out of his grasp. He had been right. That idiot had been comparing him with the pictures on the
front page of the
Post
.

Wait a minute, he warned himself. Don’t panic again. That would destroy you. You’ve been known around here for fifteen years. You have an impeccable British accent. Even if he sees a
resemblance, he’s not smart enough to think there is any chance that I am Parker Bennett. Taking some consolation in that probability, Parker went down to the dock and got into the boat. Five
minutes later, the sails unfurled, he was out on the water.

Over the past two years he had sometimes wondered what would happen if he got caught. But of course he knew what would happen. He would go to prison for the rest of his life. He was seventy-two
years old now, but his family was long-lived. Although his father had smoked himself to death at a young age, his grandfather and his uncles had lived until their early nineties. At least twenty
years in prison, he thought. No way.

And it didn’t have to happen. Once he got the number of the Swiss account, he’d be home free. He had put in a bid on the villa outside Geneva he had seen on the Internet. It was the
right size for him and newly refurbished.

He had begun to miss Anne. Funny that for the past two years he’d hardly thought of her. But the other night he had dreamed of her. It had been a vivid dream. She was holding the music box
and dancing. She always had a fixation about that music box. It was probably the cheapest gift he ever gave her. And of course now it was worth five billion dollars, less about fifteen million.

Deep in reverie, Parker had not noticed that the wind had become brisk and one of the sudden Caribbean storms was imminent. He turned the boat to head back to shore, but in minutes the sea was
turbulent and the rain blinding. At one point the boat heeled so much to one side that his hand touched the water. If he hadn’t let out the mainsail the boat would have turned over.
Experienced though he was, when he finally got to shore and raced through pelting rain to the house Parker was gasping for breath, and keenly aware that he had been lucky to make it back
safely.

The phone rang. The caller ID showed it was that miserable pest Len. On the other hand, he was lucky that he was here to answer it. After all his show of having a heavy cold, he lowered his
voice, trying to give it a raspy sound.

“Hello, George. Just wanted to see how you’re doing, old buddy.”

“Oh, that’s thoughtful of you.” Parker forced a pleasant tone into his voice. “I’m over the worst of it.”

“That’s good. I have to apologize about saying you look like Parker Bennett. No one in our foursome agreed with me.”

“Oh, then you
did
have your guess-who game?”

“Just between the four of us. No one guessed who. In fact Dewayne thought you look like Mayor de Blasio of New York.” Once again Len’s grating laugh pounded like drums in
Parker’s ears. He could feel a net closing around him. It was happening suddenly, just as the storm had come up so suddenly.

What should he do?

A
s Ranger drove past Anne Bennett’s, he decided that he had to be careful. He didn’t want anyone to notice his car. But of course it
would be noticeable. It was twelve years old now and had been secondhand when Judy and he bought it. Someone had dented the front fender in the parking lot of the supermarket a few months ago. No
question, if you saw it, you’d remember it.

This was the second time he had driven past the town house where Parker Bennett’s wife lived. Pretty nice, he thought. A lot nicer than any place he and Judy had ever lived. Oh, maybe it
wasn’t good enough for Bennett’s wife. She was used to that fancy place in Connecticut. He’d seen pictures of it.

The first time he went by Anne Bennett’s place in New Jersey had been a couple of days ago. He had parked down the street. Parker Bennett’s son, Eric, had been there in the driveway.
There was a good-looking woman, young, maybe late twenties, with him. Eric put something in her car and then leaned into the driver’s window. Ranger was sure that he was kissing the
woman.

Today he had followed Anne Bennett to church. He’d even gone into the Mass and sat in the last row. He knew he didn’t look out of place. His jeans weren’t worn out and Judy had
bought his jacket for him at a secondhand store two years ago, just before Bennett disappeared. She had been passing the store and saw it in the window. He remembered how hard she had laughed when
she told him about the lettering “TP” on the breast pocket. “Oh, Ranger, I asked the clerk if those letters stood for ‘Turnpike Authority.’ That guy put on a real
snooty look and said it stood for ‘Trinity-Pawling.’ He said that it was a really classy boarding school for boys.”

We drove an old car. Sometimes I wore secondhand clothes so that we could save to buy the condo in Florida—all cash, he thought. Probably everyone at Mass from around here would know this
was a jacket that meant he had gone to a high-class school.

He had followed Anne Bennett into the drugstore and down the aisle, where he watched as she bought Tylenol. He hoped she had a headache. He hoped that she and her son and her son’s
girlfriend all had the worst headaches that anyone in the world had ever had.

There wasn’t much traffic, and before he knew it he was almost at the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel. He could be home in half an hour. But what good would that do him? Home was that
three-room apartment that Judy had always kept so nice. She liked to keep it no higher than sixty-eight degrees but always turned the thermostat up when he was due home. She understood that after
being out in the cold all day, it was so good to feel the warmth the minute he opened the door.

She knew that he was always hungry when he got home, so dinner was always ready for him. The warmth and the good smells coming from the kitchen—Ranger remembered them so keenly that as he
drove through the Lincoln Tunnel he felt that he was experiencing them again.

Parker Bennett’s wife was living in a nice house in a nice town. Eric Bennett was kissing his pretty girlfriend. And he was going home to an empty apartment. Ranger clasped his hand around
the vial of Judy’s ashes that he wore around his neck.