“I don’t know,” Martha wailed. “I want to know, but I don’t. I kept hoping that he would call, but he didn’t.”
“What did he tell you about himself, dear?”
“Well, he said he went to Harvard, and that he worked for the State Department in Washington for a long time.”
“What else?”
“I don’t think he sees his family; there was some kind of argument with them. They’re very wealthy, though, and Jonathan always had a lot of money. He paid cash for everything.”
“I’m sure he did. Did he say how he knew about Allan Peebles’s, ah, predilection?”
“He said something about having friends in Los Angeles, but he didn’t mention any names.”
“Who are his friends in New York?”
“I don’t know; I never met any of them. We spent all our time… alone.”
“What else can you tell me about him, Martha?”
“I don’t know anything else, Amanda, believe me. I’ve told you everything.” She began to cry again.
“There, there, darling,” Amanda said, rising to her feet and looking around. They were alone in the dense forest. “Come over here; you haven’t seen the best part of the view.”
“What?”
“Come over here, dear,” Amanda said, holding out a hand.
Martha took her hand and struggled to her feet. They walked a few yards farther along through the fallen leaves. A distant roar filtered through the trees, like the sound of heavy traffic.
Amanda led her along, thinking about the humiliation this little bitch had caused her, and after all she had done to make her life comfortable and secure. “Just a little farther, dear,” Amanda said soothingly, her brain on fire with anger.
“What’s that noise?” Martha asked. “It sounds like…”
“It’s the Shepaug River, dear,” Amanda replied as she took hold of Martha’s wrist with her other hand. “Just ahead is where it goes over the rapids.” Amanda took a step, turned, and with both hands swung Martha ahead of her, just as the ground fell away. Martha teetered on one foot on the brink of the rock, and for a moment it appeared that she would recover her balance. Then, without a sound, she went backward over the edge and, looking wide-eyed back toward Amanda, fell ninety feet onto the river-washed boulders below.
Amanda watched for a moment as Martha’s limp form traveled through the rocks and downstream, out of sight in the rushing waters. Then she returned to where she’d spread the tablecloth, sat down, poured herself the last of the wine, and sipped it. When she was again completely composed, she took her portable cellular phone from her pocket and punched in a number.
Chapter 43
Stone and Arrington were having brunch at the Brasserie, which had become a weekend hangout for them. Stone had his notebook out and was writing as quickly as Arrington could talk.
“So that’s five parties I took Jonathan to, one of them a dinner party,” she was saying.
Stone checked his notes against the list of burglaries. “He hit all five, plus three more – Berman, Charleson, and White.”
“They were all at one or more of the parties I took him to.”
“Plus your apartment and my house.”
“Ten burglaries in all?”
“That we know about. Jonathan has been a busy fellow.”
“What about women?”
“Beg pardon?”
“How many other women was he seeing when he was seeing me?”