I Heard That Song Before Read Online Free PDF Page B

mirror, humming cheerfully. When I asked her what was up, she blithely told me that Nicholas Greco, the investigator who was delving into Susan Althorp’s disappearance, had called and was coming to see her. She was expecting him any minute.
    I was dumbfounded. “Maggie, why in the name of God would that guy want to talk to you?” But even before she had answered, I knew that Greco was coming here because my father had worked for the Carringtons at the time of the Althorp disappearance.
    Automatically I began to straighten up the living room. I adjusted the window shades so that they were at the same level, picked up the newspapers that were scattered around, hung up her sweater in the hall closet, and carried the teacup and plate of cookies that were on the coffee table into the kitchen.
    Greco arrived as I was putting some loose strands of silver hair into the bun at the back of Maggie’s head.
    I’m a Dashiell Hammett fan, and Sam Spade, especially in The Maltese Falcon , is the prototype for my mental image of a private investigator. Applying that yardstick, Nicholas Greco was a disappointment. In his appearance and manner he reminded me of the insurance adjuster who came to see me when a pipe broke in the apartment above mine.
    That illusion was quickly shattered, however, when, after Maggie had introduced me as her granddaughter, he said, “You must be the one who accompanied your father to the Carrington estate the same day that Susan Althorp disappeared.”
    When I stared at him, he smiled. “I’ve been going through the files on the case. Twenty-two years ago your father told the prosecutor’s office that he had gone to the estate unexpectedly that day because of a problem with the lighting, and that he took you with him. One of the caterer’s workers also mentioned seeing you sitting on a bench in the garden.”
    Had anyone seen me sneak into the house? I hoped I didn’t look as guilty as I felt when I invited Greco to sit down.
    It irritated me to see that Maggie was obviously enjoying herself. I knew that this man—who no longer reminded me of an insurance adjuster—had been hired to prove Peter Carrington had been responsible for Susan Althorp’s disappearance, and that upset me.
    But his next question startled me. It was not about the Carringtons or the Althorps; it was about my father. He asked Maggie, “Had your son-in-law shown signs of depression?”
    “If you call hitting the bottle a sign of depression, I would say so,” Maggie said, then glanced at me as though afraid I’d be upset by her answer. She hurried to qualify it. “I mean, he never got over Annie’s death. She was my daughter, but when a couple of years had passed after her death, I begged Jonathan to start dating. Let me tell you, there were plenty of women around here who would have jumped at the chance to go out with him. But he never would. He’d say, ‘Kathryn’s the only girl I need.’ ” Then she added, somewhat unnecessarily, “When she was ten, Kathryn decided she wanted to be called Kay.”
    “Then you feel that the excessive drinking was a sign of his depression, and that it led to his taking his own life?”
    “He’d lost out on a number of landscaping jobs. I think that being fired by the Carringtons may have pushed him over the edge. His insurance policy was about to expire. After he was declared legally dead, it paid for Kay’s education.”
    “But he did not leave a suicide note, and his body was never recovered. I’ve seen his picture. He was a strikingly handsome man.”
    I could see where that line of questioning was going. “Are you suggesting that my father did not commit suicide, Mr. Greco?” I asked.
    “Miss Lansing, I’m not suggesting anything. Anytime a body is not recovered, there is always an open question about the manner of death. There are numerous documented cases of people who were believed to be dead, and who showed up or were tracked down twenty or thirty years later. These