Let Me Call You Sweetheart by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online

knew she was up for a judgeship, but he didn't really know her. The call intrigued him. It was too late to get her at the office. He decided he would try her now, at home.
...
"I'll get it," Robin called, as the phone rang.
It's probably for you, anyhow, Kerry thought as she tested the spaghetti. I thought telephonitis didn't set in until the teen years, she mused. Then she heard Robin yelling for her to pick up.
She hurried across the kitchen to the wall phone. An unfamiliar voice said, "Kerry."
"Yes."
"Geoff Dorso here."
It had been an impulse to leave the message for him. Afterwards, Kerry was uneasy about having done it. If Frank Green heard that she was contacting Skip Reardon's attorney, she knew he would not be so gentle as he had been earlier. But the die was cast.
"Geoff, this is probably not relevant, but..." Her voice trailed off. Spit it out, she told herself. "Geoff, my daughter had an accident recently and was treated by Dr. Charles Smith--"
"Charles Smith," Dorso interrupted, "Suzanne Reardon's father!"
"Yes. That's the point. There is something bizarre going on with him." Now it was easier to open up. She told him about the two women who resembled Suzanne.
"You mean Smith is actually giving them his daughter's face?" Dorso exclaimed. "What the hell is that about?"
"That's what troubles me. I'm taking Robin to another plastic surgeon on Saturday. I intend to ask him about the surgical implications of reproducing a face. I'm also going to try to talk to Dr. Smith, but it occurred to me that if I could read the entire trial transcript beforehand, I'd have a better handle on him. I know I can get one through the office, it's in the warehouse somewhere, but that could take time and I don't want it getting around that I'm looking for it."
"I'll have a copy in your hands tomorrow," Dorso promised. "I'll send it to your office."
"No, better send it to me here. I'll give you the address."
"I'd like to bring it up myself and talk to you. Would tomorrow night about six or six-thirty be all right? I won't stay more than half an hour, I promise."
"I guess that would be okay."
"See you then. And thanks, Kerry." The phone clicked.
Kerry looked at the receiver. What have I gotten myself into? she wondered. She hadn't missed the excitement in Dorso's voice. I shouldn't have used the word "bizarre," she thought. I've started something I may not be able to finish.
A sound from the stove made her whirl around. Boiling water from the spaghetti pot had overflowed and was running down the sides onto the gas jets. Without looking, she knew that the al dente pasta had been transformed into a glutinous mess.
Dr. Charles Smith did not have office hours on Wednesday afternoon. It was a time usually reserved for surgical procedures or hospital follow-up visits. Today, however, Dr. Smith had cleared his calendar completely. As he drove down East Sixty-eighth Street, toward the brownstone where the public relations firm Barbara Tompkins worked for was located, his eyes widened at his good luck. There was a parking spot open across from the entrance of her building; he would be able to sit there and watch for her to leave.
When she finally did appear in the doorway, he smiled involuntarily. She looked lovely, he decided. As he had suggested, she wore her hair full and loose around her face; the best style, he had told her, to frame her new features. She was wearing a fitted red jacket, black calf-length skirt and granny shoes. From a distance she looked smart and successful. He knew every detail of how she looked up close.
As she hailed a cab, he turned on the ignition of his twelve- year-old black Mercedes and began to follow. Even though Park Avenue was bumper-to-bumper as was usual in the rush hour, keeping up with the taxi was not a problem.
They drove south, the cab finally stopping at The Four Seasons on East Fifty-second. Barbara must be meeting someone for a drink there, he thought. The bar would be crowded now. It wouldn't be