Play Dead

No one—not even Mary, James, or Judy.

There was only one potential flaw in the plan but it could be worked around: David’s unusual jump shot. Somebody was sure to recognize it. But so what? If Mark Seidman’s style of play was similar to David Baskin’s, what would that prove? It would take a wild stretch of the imagination to leap from a resemblance in shooting form to a fraudulent death.

Only someone who knew about the past could possibly suspect the truth. That, David must have thought, involved two people: Mary and Judy. Sinclair was dead. James, he thought incorrectly, knew nothing of what had taken place.

Mary, of course, was no threat at all. In the first place, she knew nothing about basketball. And even if she did by some odd coincidence figure it out, she would never say anything. She would just be thankful that David was out of Laura’s life.

Judy, however, was another story. She was both intelligent and a big basketball fan. She might just be able to figure it out. But where was the threat in that? If Judy figured out what David had done, she would certainly not tell anyone. After all, David and Laura were brother and sister. David had done this to protect Laura from the truth. Why would Judy do something to rehash what had happened when it would bring only more pain and misery to her niece?

James smiled. Why indeed?

Only James knew why Judy chose to expose Mark Seidman’s true identity. You see, Mary did not tell David the whole story during their meeting in Australia—not because she was trying to hide something. No, in fairness to Mary she told David everything she knew. Unfortunately for them, that was not enough. She did not know about ... May 30, 1960.

That was the day after Sinclair Baskin died. Mary had never learned what happened on the evening of May 30, 1960. Only two people knew. Only two people had witnessed the event that had taken place on May 30, 1960. One had recently burned to death. The other was about to commit one last murder.

May 30, 1960.

When Judy had first realized that David was still alive, she snapped into action. His strange survival was her last chance at redemption—her last chance to save Laura from the clutches of the past. James, on the other hand, had seen David’s survival as the path to his family’s destruction. He knew that Judy was going to tell Laura and Mary everything. He knew that she was going to reveal secrets that she had promised to take with her to the grave. So James did the only thing he could. He had helped Judy keep her promise.

He had escorted her to the grave.

He had set the house on fire with her and all her damn diaries in it. The secret of the past had burned into nothing but worthless smoke and ashes. There had however been a serious miscalculation in Judy’s death: Laura had gotten caught in the blaze. But that was not his fault. Mary had started it. She should have never slept with Sinclair. And Judy was at fault, too. She should have kept her mouth shut. Lucky for both of them that the mystery man had saved Laura. James now had a pretty good idea of who that mystery man was.

It was a pity that he had to die.

James drove through the Fenway and turned onto Storrow Drive. David Baskin and the Boston Garden were only five minutes away.

GLORIA moved up the front porch and into the house. The three women stared at one another, each noticing the horrifying pallor of the other two and wondering if they, too, looked like they were wearing death masks.

Laura spoke first. “What happened on May thirtieth?”

Gloria wanted to tell her sister and yet she wanted to put it off for even a few more moments. “The diary will explain everything,” she said, “but you’d better read Mr. Corsel’s note first. He said it was urgent.”

Laura could feel beads of sweat on her forehead despite the cold. The envelope was plain and white—the kind you could buy in any stationery or card store. She took it from Gloria’s hand and ripped the seal. She withdrew a small note card, also of unmarked white paper. Richard Corsel had a marvelous economy of words, but Laura understood why. The less said, the better:Please destroy this note as soon as you have read it. The name of the person who now controls the missing money is Mark Seidman.

Her legs almost gave way.

Gloria and Mary moved in. They led Laura to the couch in the den. All three sat down.

“What does it say?” Gloria asked.

Laura’s head swirled, but somewhere in the gyrations, she saw a faint light. At first she swore it was just her imagination—a case of desire turning a hope into a reality. It was all so crazy. It was a mirage—it had to be. And yet the more it ran through her mind, the more she understood everything: why T.C. had lied to her, why David had called the bank, why she had felt so strange around Mark Seidman, why he had been afraid to go near her, why his jump shot was so familiar, why T.C. had helped him sneak out during the cocktail party when he had one of his . . .

“It’s okay. I got you.”

A muffled cry.

“Hang in there, old buddy. Just lean on me. I’ll have you home soon.”

“I didn’t want to see her, T.C. I didn’t want to go near her.”

Tears ran down Laura’s face. Her mind tried to accept that she was finally face-to-face with the truth. “He’s still alive.”

“Who?” Gloria asked. “What are you talking about?”

She held up the piece of paper. “This proves it. Mark Seidman is really David.”

“What?” Mary shouted.

The pieces began to come together in her mind even as she spoke. “David never drowned. He never committed suicide. He just wanted us all to think he was dead. He wanted you to think he was out of the way and he wanted to protect me from the truth. It all makes sense now. And T.C. was in on it.”

“But what about his ring showing up under your pillow?” Gloria asked.

“That had to be T.C.’s doing. He was trying to scare me off. He was afraid I would learn the truth.”

Laura ran for the phone.

“What are you doing?” Mary asked.

“I’m calling Clip Arnstein. I want to find out where Mark Seidman lives.”

“No!” Mary screamed. “Don’t you see? This doesn’t change anything. You can’t be with him. David is still your brother.”

Laura spun back toward her mother as if the words she had spoken had wrapped themselves around her throat and pulled. “But—”

It was Gloria who raised her hand to silence her. Her tear-streaked face mourned her own loss but Gloria now realized that there was hope for Laura.

“No, he’s not,” she said.