Free I Heard That Song Before by Mary Higgins Clark

Gladys Althorp, surrounded by pictures of her daughter at every stage of Susan’s brief life.
    I know enough about the law to understand that if Peter did not demand a retraction and get it, his only alternative would be to sue Gladys Althorp. I looked at him and now could not read his expression. But I was sure that the last thing he wanted was to hear useless cries of outrage from me. “What are you going to do?” I asked.
    Jane Barr vanished into the kitchen.
    Peter looked as if he were in pain, as if he’d been physically attacked. His eyes glistened and his voice was agonized when he said, “Kay, for twenty-two years I have answered every question they ever asked about Susan’s disappearance. Only hours after they realized she was missing, the prosecutor’s office descended upon us, questioning me. Twenty-four hours later, even before they asked, my father gave permission to have bloodhounds sniff the grounds. He allowed a search of the house. They impounded my car. They couldn’t come up with one single iota of evidence that suggested I knew what happened to Susan after I dropped her off that night. Have you any idea what a nightmare it would be if I demand a retraction from Susan’s mother, don’t get it, and institute a suit? I’ll tell you what will happen. It will be a three-ring circus for the media and that poor woman will be dead long before it even gets near a court date.”
    He stood up. He was shaking and fighting back tears. I rushed around the table and put my arms around him. The only way I could possibly help was to tell him how much I loved him.
    I think my words gave him some comfort, so that at least he didn’t feel totally alone. But then, in a voice that was sad, even a little remote, he said, “I’ve done you no favor by marrying you, Kay. You don’t need this mess.”
    “Neither do you,” I said. “Peter, I think that, horrible as it is, you’ve got to demand a retraction from Mrs. Althorp, and if necessary file suit against her for libel and slander. I’m sorry for her, but she’s done it to herself.”
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t know.”
    Vincent Slater came in as Peter was showering. I knew they were going to Peter’s office together that morning. “You’ve got to convince Peter that he must demand a retraction,” I told him.
    “That’s a subject we’ll take up with our lawyers, Kay,” he said, his tone dismissive.
    We looked at each other. From the first minute I met him, when I came here begging to have the reception in the mansion, I had sensed Slater’s animosity toward me. But I knew I had to be careful. He was an important part of Peter’s life.
    “Peter has been given the chance to clear his name, to show that there isn’t a shred of evidence to tie him to Susan’s disappearance,” I told Vincent. “If he doesn’t demand a retraction, he might as well hang a sign around his neck saying, ‘I did it. I’m guilty.’ ”
    He did not answer. Then Peter came downstairs, kissed me good-bye, and they were gone.
    That afternoon, as they were digging to lay new underground cables, the Public Service crew unearthed the skeleton of a woman, tightly wrapped in plastic bags, buried in the unfenced area at the edge of the Carrington estate. Traces of what appeared to be blood were visible on the front of her decaying white chiffon gown.
    Gary Barr was the one who rushed in to tell me what was happening. On his way back from a shopping trip, he had passed the excavation site and was there when the first shout came from the workman whose equipment uncovered the body. Gary told me that he had parked and watched as police cars began to arrive on the scene, sirens blaring.
    From the security cameras outside the mansion, I could see a crowd gathering. I don’t think that for a minute I doubted that the body would be identified as that of Susan Althorp.
    The ringing of the front door reminded me of the pealing of the church bells at the memorial