Read Online Manhattan Mayhem by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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you see how fast she got that minister to move? Oh, well, at least we had a little fun, and that dear girl would be glad, I’m sure of it. You’re going to the reception now?”
“No. I wasn’t invited. I don’t know the family.”
“Oh, well, bosh to that. You just crook your well-tailored arm and let me hold your elbow, and I’ll get you in as if you live there. I’m assuming Priscilla was your patient, although I know you won’t tell me so. You know us better than our husbands do, and that makes you at least as close to her as family. Closer, in the case of
her
family, and don’t you ever tell anybody I ever said so!”
Sam smiled at her. “I won’t.”
A few pews from the exit, he managed to ease away when Mrs. Darnell wasn’t looking and lose himself in the crowd. He wanted to chase down the last person who had risen to speak, the one who had been defeated by Bach.
A floral dress, puffy hair, a round face.
He spotted her standing between two younger women, and immediately he intuited whom they might be: teachers at the preschool where Priscilla had worked, a school so unfashionable that it didn’t even have a waiting list. They looked unfashionable themselves amid the chic crowd. The older woman looked like somebody a child might run to for a hug.
She didn’t smile when he said, “Excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“You started to get up, in the sanctuary just now, to say something about Priscilla—”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to. Would you mind telling me what it was?”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Sam Waterhouse. I was her doctor.”
“Oh.” She looked tired, harried, and a lot less huggable up close. “I was only going to say that the children and parents at our preschool adored her. I thought it might bring us some business. Do you have grandchildren?”
He was taken aback by her cold words and sharp eyes—and by her assigning grandchildren to him before his time.
“I have a son in fourth grade.”
“Really?” The single word had an amused tone that offended him, as if it tickled her that a man his age could have a child that young. He thought the woman tactless and unpleasant; no wonder her preschool didn’t have a waiting list.
“I liked her,” he said on Priss’s behalf. “I liked her very much. I thought maybe you were going to tell a funny story about her.”
She snorted and eyed the young women on either side. What she didn’t see was how they eyed each other the moment she turned her attention back to him. “The story I could tell wouldn’t be so nice,” she said. “I fired her last week.” She finally smiled, but it had a smirky edge. “Maybe not the right story for a funeral, hm? What kind of doctor did you say you are?”
“Ob-gyn.”
“Oh. I was sure you’d say psychiatrist.” She smirked again and walked away.
One of the young women went with her, but the second woman lingered and said quietly, “Don’t pay any attention to her. She was always jealous of how much the kids and parents liked Priss more than her. And she’s still furious about what Priscilla did.”
“What did she do?”
“She read a couple of parents the riot act. Which they
so
had coming!”
“When was this?”
“The day she died.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s so awful, to think her last memory of us was of getting fired, but I think she knew that the rest of us loved her for it. Susan”—she pointed a thumb back over her shoulder in the direction the floral dress had gone—“won’t cross our parents for any reason, because she doesn’t want to lose their money. It drives us crazy. The parents Priss yelled at used to pick up their kids any ol’ time they wanted to, even if they were two hours late, or even later! No call ahead, no making plans with our permission. No consideration for us at all, and their poor kids felt abandoned, even though we lied and told them their mom and dad weren’t the jerks they really
“No. I wasn’t invited. I don’t know the family.”
“Oh, well, bosh to that. You just crook your well-tailored arm and let me hold your elbow, and I’ll get you in as if you live there. I’m assuming Priscilla was your patient, although I know you won’t tell me so. You know us better than our husbands do, and that makes you at least as close to her as family. Closer, in the case of
her
family, and don’t you ever tell anybody I ever said so!”
Sam smiled at her. “I won’t.”
A few pews from the exit, he managed to ease away when Mrs. Darnell wasn’t looking and lose himself in the crowd. He wanted to chase down the last person who had risen to speak, the one who had been defeated by Bach.
A floral dress, puffy hair, a round face.
He spotted her standing between two younger women, and immediately he intuited whom they might be: teachers at the preschool where Priscilla had worked, a school so unfashionable that it didn’t even have a waiting list. They looked unfashionable themselves amid the chic crowd. The older woman looked like somebody a child might run to for a hug.
She didn’t smile when he said, “Excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“You started to get up, in the sanctuary just now, to say something about Priscilla—”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to. Would you mind telling me what it was?”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Sam Waterhouse. I was her doctor.”
“Oh.” She looked tired, harried, and a lot less huggable up close. “I was only going to say that the children and parents at our preschool adored her. I thought it might bring us some business. Do you have grandchildren?”
He was taken aback by her cold words and sharp eyes—and by her assigning grandchildren to him before his time.
“I have a son in fourth grade.”
“Really?” The single word had an amused tone that offended him, as if it tickled her that a man his age could have a child that young. He thought the woman tactless and unpleasant; no wonder her preschool didn’t have a waiting list.
“I liked her,” he said on Priss’s behalf. “I liked her very much. I thought maybe you were going to tell a funny story about her.”
She snorted and eyed the young women on either side. What she didn’t see was how they eyed each other the moment she turned her attention back to him. “The story I could tell wouldn’t be so nice,” she said. “I fired her last week.” She finally smiled, but it had a smirky edge. “Maybe not the right story for a funeral, hm? What kind of doctor did you say you are?”
“Ob-gyn.”
“Oh. I was sure you’d say psychiatrist.” She smirked again and walked away.
One of the young women went with her, but the second woman lingered and said quietly, “Don’t pay any attention to her. She was always jealous of how much the kids and parents liked Priss more than her. And she’s still furious about what Priscilla did.”
“What did she do?”
“She read a couple of parents the riot act. Which they
so
had coming!”
“When was this?”
“The day she died.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s so awful, to think her last memory of us was of getting fired, but I think she knew that the rest of us loved her for it. Susan”—she pointed a thumb back over her shoulder in the direction the floral dress had gone—“won’t cross our parents for any reason, because she doesn’t want to lose their money. It drives us crazy. The parents Priss yelled at used to pick up their kids any ol’ time they wanted to, even if they were two hours late, or even later! No call ahead, no making plans with our permission. No consideration for us at all, and their poor kids felt abandoned, even though we lied and told them their mom and dad weren’t the jerks they really
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