Do You Want to Know a Secret? Read online

  Something to hide . . .

  “I wanted to show you this before someone else did.” Harry slowly unrolled the newspaper. Eliza saw the blazing masthead of The Mole, the most popular of the nation’s supermarket tabloids. At the side of the front page sat an inky black rodent with oversize teeth; next to it was the slogan “We dig it all up.”

  Beneath that was the gigantic headline. Eliza stared at it, feeling her chest tighten. She let her telephone buzz insistently as she scanned the story about the most painful period of her life. Harry rambled on in outrage.

  “Everyone knows these tabloid stories aren’t worth the paper they’re written on! Nobody pays any attention to them!”

  “You did,” she said . . . .

  “Secrets . . . ambition . . . intrigue . . . Mary Jane Clark knowingly seduces you in this intensely suspenseful behind-the-media-scenes thriller.”

  —Joan Rivers

  “Clark . . . spins a tightly knit whodunit with engaging characters and a suspenseful plot.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Behind-the-scenes rivalries of national television news furnish an energetic and interesting background for a thriller that is well-structured and fast-paced.”

  —Sullivan County Democrat

  Do You

  Want To

  Know

  A Secret?

  MARY JANE

  CLARK

  Table of Contents

  Also by the Author

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  May

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  June

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  July

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Chapter 127

  Chapter 128

  Chapter 129

  Chapter 130

  Chapter 131

  Chapter 132

  Chapter 133

  Chapter 134

  Chapter 135

  Chapter 136

  Chapter 137

  Chapter 138

  Chapter 139

  Chapter 140

  Chapter 141

  For Elizabeth Higgins Clark and

  David Frederick Clark

  MY GREAT LITTLE MOTIVATORS

  Acknowledgments

  I tried to keep this book a secret, wanting to reserve the right to fail in private.

  But I am weak, and the road from idea to publication is long and lonely. I needed moral support. So I told a few people . . . or now, as I list them, I realize, more than a few people . . . people who were there, pulling for me during a very rough period of my life.

  It is my sincere pleasure to thank Louise and Joel Albert, Regina Blakely, Beth Boyle, Joy Blake, Eileen Winters Chiocchi, Bunny Colburn, Pat Cunningham, B. J. D’Elia, Elizabeth Demarest, Roberta Golubock, Amy Guttman, Cathy White Haffler, Randi Hagerman, Cathy and David Holmes, Caroline Leiber, Katharine and Joe Hayden, Elizabeth Kaledin and Jon Dohlin, Judy Keegan, Linda Karas, Hal Leibowitz, Walt Leiding, Susie Marshall, Tina McEvoy, Jim McGlinchy, Marcy McGinnis, Norma and Norman Nutman, Louise Ryan, Steve and Susie Simring, and Frances Twomey. I am truly blessed to have you as friends and confidantes. You guys are much better at keeping a secret than I am!

  Dan Rather, you probably had no idea what an emotional boost you gave me each time you asked how the book was coming.

  Joni Evans, you were the first to make me believe that my dream could come true. Thank you for your nurturing energy; you made me feel very special.

  Liz Mullen, you rooted for me, hoped with me, and led me to Laura Dail, my wonderful agent. Laura, I’m convinced, wanted this to be successful as much as I did . . . and believe me, that’s saying something!

  Thanks to my editor, Jennifer Weis, and her editorial assistant, Kristen Macnamara, for believing in this project and for skillfully shepherding it along the path to publication.

  Thanks to George Condouris, M.D., of the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey Department of Toxicology for his expert advice on what would and wouldn’t kill somebody.

  Very special thanks to Father Paul Holmes, brainstormer extraordinaire, who asked all the right questions, had a great sense of fun, and knew that genius lay in the details. Thank God for Paul.

  And finally, Doris and Fred Behrends, my parents, and my sister, Margaret Ann Behrends. Without your support I couldn’t have done it. Thank you for h
elping me and loving my children.

  May

  Prologue

  He turned the key in the lock beneath the shiny brass doorknocker and let himself into the townhouse, a triumphant smile on his face. He had made it all by himself.

  Daddy will be so happy, he thought.

  He stood for a while in the hallway and tried to collect himself as he had been trained to do. He was excited from the trip. Calm down. Calm down.

  The grandfather clock ticked loudly to his ears. The car horns blowing out on the street outside sounded angry. The phone was ringing over and over again, but he made no move to answer it.

  He felt his arms begin to move up and down in a strange rhythmic pattern. He squeezed his hands into tight fists, trying to concentrate, trying to organize himself. Slowly, he could feel himself calming. Good.

  A worried feeling came over him. Would Mom be happy that he had made the trip by himself? She always wanted to know where he was. She might not like what he had done.

  He slowly made his way upstairs toward Dad’s library. He called out for Millie, Dad’s housekeeper. No one answered.

  At first he did not see the man sitting in the corner of the library. He unzipped his jacket and took it off, dropping it on the couch. He walked over to the huge window and looked over at Central Park. When Dad came home, they would play one of their favorite games, identifying the special places in the park. Landmarks, Dad called them. He smiled in anticipation.

  He slowly turned from the window. It was then that he saw his father in the chair.

  “Dad?” His innocent face smiled openly.

  His father didn’t answer.

  “Daddy?” He walked over to the man he loved. Dad’s head was tilted to the side and his eyes were open, so he wasn’t sleeping. Why didn’t he answer? Something was wrong. He began to get that feeling. His hands began flapping, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

  Hummingbird. Mom said it reminded her of a hummingbird when he flapped. Stop flapping, stop flapping.

  He took his right hand and put the crook between the thumb and the index finger into his mouth. He bit down as hard as he could. He felt no pain. It helped him concentrate.

  The grandfather clock began to chime, loudly. Bong, bong, bong, bong, bong, bong. The phone was ringing again. Why didn’t his father get up to answer it?

  “Daddy, Daddy! What’s wrong?” His gentle facial expression turned to one of puzzlement and then fear as he reached out and insistently shook his father’s arm. Dad’s face didn’t move.

  None of Dad moved.

  Chapter 1

  The vague tingling sensation started at her polished toe and quickly crept up her shapely calf.

  “Damn!” Eliza Blake exclaimed as she opened the bottom drawer of her desk, fingers shuffling through the jumble of Band-Aids, dental floss, hair spray, makeup and tampons until she found the clear nail polish to stop the run in the second pair of designer pantyhose she’d gone through in what had already been a fourteen-hour day.

  Putting her long, well-defined leg up on her desk, she applied the sticky liquid as her mind replayed the day’s mishaps. The satellite difficulties on this morning’s show were then followed by the first lady’s office’s abrupt canceling of a long-sought interview scheduled to be taped that afternoon. Scrambling, the KEY to America bookers had called around for a replacement to fill the time allotted for Angela Grayson on the following morning’s broadcast. They performed admirably, coming up with the starlet du jour, the latest overnight sensation. The actress, however, didn’t want to be questioned on live television so early in the morning. And she didn’t want to come to the Broadcast Center either. Eliza would have to go to her hotel suite to tape the interview this afternoon.

  On the ride to the Plaza with her camera crew, Eliza hurriedly scanned the research packet provided by an associate producer, framing the questions she would pose. She and her gear-laden videotape team were met in the hotel’s opulent lobby by the star’s apologetic publicist who claimed his boss had suddenly come down with some sort of bug. While the crew resignedly reloaded the camera and lighting paraphernalia back in the car, Eliza spotted the actress and her latest handsome co-star, holding hands, smiling and skipping out the side exit of the hotel toward Central Park.

  “Should we take this personally?” Eliza asked her crew wryly, gesturing toward the oblivious lovebirds.

  “Nah,” came the response from Gus, the senior man on the KEY News camera staff, who squinted at the pair and shook his head. “Raging hormones’ll win every time.”

  Now, back in her KEY to America office, Eliza had just screened the piece on a popular author that would ultimately fill the minutes originally planned for Mrs. Grayson. The writer had been eager to come in for a last-minute interview. Nothing like a chance to market a few more books and stay on the New York Times bestseller list for another week or two, thought Eliza, smiling to herself.

  She was tired and eager to get home to Janie but the orange-wrappered Butterfinger called to her from the desk drawer. Aching for the sweet pick-me-up, she debated for all of five seconds and gave in. Guiltily, she relished the candy bar. There had been a time when she never had to worry about what she ate. But no more. The last few years, since John had died and Janie had been born, weight came on more easily and was harder to take off. Stop it! She shook herself. If you’re going to sin, at least enjoy it.

  As she crinkled up the candy wrapper, the tiny oval locket hanging from the delicate gold chain on her wrist caught Eliza’s eye. She took it between her fingers and began to play with it. The locket was her grandmother’s gift to her on her tenth birthday. Her grandmother, who had spent her working life scrubbing and cleaning one of the big “cottages” in Newport, had saved to buy the locket. As a kid, Eliza had thought it magical, and she rubbed it and made wishes on it. When things went the way she wanted, she gave the locket credit. When she didn’t get what she desired, she ignored the possibility that perhaps the locket didn’t have all the powers she wanted to believe it had.

  Now, rationally, she knew that a tiny golden oval couldn’t really have any force. But that hadn’t stopped her from rubbing the yellow charm, dented and jammed unopenable, as she prayed through the long hours at Sloan-Kettering. She hadn’t gotten her wish.

  Tossing her head to clear the painful memories from her mind, Eliza began to straighten the papers on her desk. She wanted to go home. She thought of how she planned to give Janie the locket on her tenth birthday, in six years. Meantime, Eliza would wear it, still savoring its specialness. Eliza knew it was ridiculous, but when she rubbed it something always happened. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but something. Silly. What would the KEY News viewing audience think if they knew her foolish little superstition?

  She was stuffing the last of her homework in preparation for the next morning’s broadcast into her canvas tote when her co-anchor Harry Granger appeared at her office door. He was gripping a rolled-up newspaper and by the expression on his face, Eliza could tell he wasn’t happy.

  “What’s up?” Eliza asked, fully prepared for some vintage Granger moaning about KEY News management.

  But Harry, usually so straightforward and unreservedly opinionated, was hesitating.

  “C’mon, Harry, what gives? What have they done now?” Eliza found herself smiling. They had played this scene many times before, using each other as sounding boards, venting frustrations about the workings of KEY to America and KEY News. But they knew they were just blowing off steam. They weren’t going anywhere. They loved their jobs.

  “I wanted to show you this before someone else did.” Harry slowly unrolled the newspaper. Eliza saw the blazing masthead of The Mole, the most popular of the nation’s supermarket tabloids. At the side of the front page sat an inky black rodent with oversize teeth; next to it was the slogan “We dig it all up.”

  Beneath that was the gigantic headline. Eliza stared at it, feeling her chest tighten. She let her telephone buzz insistently as she scanne
d the story about the most painful period of her life. Harry rambled on in outrage.

  “Everyone knows these tabloid stories aren’t worth the paper they’re written on! Oprah just won a lawsuit against one last month. Nobody really pays any attention to them.”

  “You did,” she said.

  Chapter 2

  “Eliza, thank Christ you’re still there! What the hell took you so long to answer?” Not waiting for her response, Range Bullock pushed on. “Bill isn’t in yet and I need you to stand by. I don’t know what’s with him lately. He hasn’t called, Jean doesn’t know any of his appointments, and we’re forty-five minutes from air. He’s making me nuts. Anyway, Eliza, can you get down here and start to go over the copy?”

  Bullock, executive producer of the KEY Evening Headlines, hung up the phone, sighed heavily, and reached for the economy-size bottle of Tums which sat next to the large container of aspirins he kept on his desk at all times. As he popped the chalky tablets into his mouth he thought, This job is aging me. Quickly.

  Where the hell was Bill? An unexplained absence just wasn’t like him. At least, not until recently.

  Bill Kendall, who had been anchoring the KEY Evening Headlines for twelve years, was reliable, dependable and predictable. Range and the hard-news people knew his routine and admired his discipline. At precisely 6:30 every morning, Kendall called the network assignment desk for a briefing by the overnight assignment editor. After getting a rundown of the mostly foreign stories that happened while the nation slept, Kendall would say invariably, “Okay, I’m going for a run. I’ll be on my beeper.”

  Like clockwork, an impeccably dressed Kendall would appear in the newsroom at 9:30, full of amiable small talk for the newsroom staff as he made his way to his office. Once there, he checked with Jean, his secretary, regarding the phone messages and his schedule for the day. Next he finished going through the New York Times and the Washington Post, which he had begun in the limousine on the way to work. At 10:30 he listened to, but never spoke on, the national conference call, a multiline conversation between the domestic news bureau managers and the Evening Headlines producers. Bill Kendall and Range Bullock always had a closed-door powwow after the conference call, Bill venting his views on the stories of the day and what he thought KEY coverage should be.