I Heard That Song Before by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

the doctor that Maggie had only a mild concussion, though they wanted to keep her overnight. After she was settled in a room, Peter drove me home to Maggie’s house. I guess I was trembling so much from both relief and shock that he had to take the key from my hand and open the door. Then he came in with me, found the light switch, and said, “You look as though you could use a drink. Does your grandmother keep any liquor in the house?”
    That question made me start to laugh, a little hysterically, I think. “Maggie claims if everyone followed her regimen of a nightly hot toddy, Ambien would be out of business.”
    That was when I felt myself trying to blink back tears of relief. Peter handed me his handkerchief and said, “I can understand how you feel.”
    We both had a scotch. The next day he sent flowers to Maggie and called me to suggest we have dinner together. After that I saw him every day. I was in love and so was he. Maggie, though, was heartsick. She was still sure he was a murderer. Peter’s stepmother suggested we wait, warning us that it was much too soon to be sure of ourselves. Gary and Jane Barr, however, were delighted for us. Vincent Slater brought up the subject of a prenuptial agreement and was obviously relieved when I told him that I would sign one. Peter became furious, and Slater stalked out. I told Peter that I had read about agreements where, if the marriage was brief, the settlement would be very limited. I said that was fine with me. I also told him that I wasn’t worried about it, because I knew that we would always be together and that we would have a family.
    Later, of course, Peter and Slater made peace, and Peter’s lawyer drew up a generous agreement. Peter insisted that I have a lawyer of my own review it so that I could be sure that it was fair. This was done, and, a few days later, I signed the document.
    The following day, we went to New York and quietly made our wedding arrangements. On January 8th, we were married in the Lady Chapel of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where we solemnly vowed to love, honor, and cherish each other until death do us part.

9
    P rosecutor Barbara Krause studied the picture the paparazzi had snapped of Peter Carrington and his new wife, Kay, walking on a beach in the Dominican Republic. Happy is the bride the sun shines on today, she thought sarcastically as she pushed aside the newspaper.
    Now fifty-two years old, Barbara had graduated from law school and began her career as a clerk for a Bergen County criminal judge; after one year she moved across the courthouse to become an assistant prosecutor. For the next twenty-seven years, she worked her way up in that office, becoming trial chief, first assistant, and finally, upon the retirement of her predecessor three years ago, was named prosecutor. It was a world she loved, an enthusiasm she shared with her husband, a civil court judge in nearby Essex County.
    Susan Althorp had disappeared when Barbara had only been in the office a few years. Because of the prominence of both the Althorp and the Carrington families, the case had been investigated from every possible angle. The inability to solve it or even to be able to indict the number one suspect, Peter Carrington, had been a bone in the throat to Barbara’s predecessors, as it was to her.
    From time to time, over the years, she had taken out the Susan Althorp file and reviewed it, trying to take a fresh look, circling some testimony, putting a question mark after certain statements. Unfortunately, none of it had ever led anywhere. Now, as she sat at her desk, some of Peter Carrington’s statements ran through her mind.
    He claimed that he had dropped Susan at her door that night: “She didn’t wait for me to open the car door. She ran up the steps to the porch, turned the handle, waved to me, and went inside.”
    “That was the last time you saw her?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did you do then?”
    “I went home. There were still some people dancing