CHAPTER 47
THIS MORNING’S ESCAPADES WOULD BE ON HER OWN DIME.
SIDNEY didn’t dare expense any of it to The Girl of Sugar Beach budget.
The documentary was a cash cow pulling in millions in advertising revenue, and Graham and the rest of the lot wouldn’t bat an eyelash if Sidney told them she needed to fly back to St. Lucia for some last-minute footage, let alone expense some mileage and a lunch meeting.
Dollars, however, were not what concerned her.
Sidney wanted to keep the suits in the dark about the recent developments.
The less they knew about Henry Anderson, the better.
At least until she understood what, exactly, it all meant.
She stood in the lobby of Alcove Manor Rehabilitation Center, having just finished hearing Gus Morelli’s story and his startling theory of how Julian Crist and Henry Anderson might be connected. She held the phone to her ear and listened to the voice mail.
“Sid, production was down asking for the cuts for episode eight again, which obviously aren’t ready because you haven’t been in the studio for two days.
The shit is hitting the fan! Graham Cromwell’s having a heart attack, and our entire staff is hiding in their offices to avoid him.
Where the hell are you? Call me back. Or better yet, get in here. ”
Sidney tapped her phone and ended the voice mail.
In her mind’s eye, she could see Leslie at her desk, biting her nails and running a hand through her hair.
Sidney knew she should call, but lying had never been her strong suit.
And she was particularly bad at fabricating stories to her friends.
Within a minute of starting the discussion, Leslie would know the documentary that had America on the edge of its seat was about to crash and burn in spectacular fashion.
And once Leslie knew this, corporate would know it, because the only person worse than Sidney at lying was Leslie Martin.
Standing in the lobby, Sidney punched the numbers into her phone. It was the third time this morning she had called the number. This time, a woman answered.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Anderson?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Sidney Ryan. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your son.”
“David?”
“No, ma’am.” Sidney hesitated. “This is regarding Henry.”
There was a long pause.
“Henry passed away years ago, Ms. Ryan.”
“I know that. It’s the reason I’m calling.”
* * *
Betty Anderson lived in Saratoga Springs, New York, a three-hour drive from Manhattan.
Sidney arrived just after two o’clock. A pleasant neighborhood with tree-lined streets—red maple and sycamore—Sidney found the home easily.
She rang the doorbell and a moment later Henry Anderson’s mother answered.
Frail and gaunt, Betty Anderson looked older than her sixty-seven years.
Cloud-white hair was cut short, framing a face that sagged with wrinkles.
Heavy, hooded lids nearly shut her eyes, and only the constant effort of her pinched forehead kept the world visible.
“Mrs. Anderson? I’m Sidney Ryan.”
“You came all the way from the city?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is this about your television show?”
“It is.”
Betty Anderson pushed open the front door. “Come on in.”
Sidney walked into the foyer and followed Betty into a living room, where they each sat, Betty on the edge of a love seat and Sidney adjacent to her on a side chair.
“David, my older boy, told me about the documentary.”
Sidney nodded. “Have you watched it?”
“No, dear. I don’t watch too much television.”
“But your son has seen it?”
She nodded. “He told me about it. That it had to do with Grace and what happened to her.”
“How about Mr. Anderson? Has he seen it?”
“Hank senior passed a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Sidney said.
“Cirrhosis. He drank too much. Had an awful time of it the last many years. He never quite got past Henry’s death. We divorced many years ago, not long after Henry died. Common thing, we learned. Divorce after a child’s death. He took to drinking and never came back around.”
“I know Henry’s death was many years ago, but I was hoping to ask some questions about it.”
Betty nodded.
“Henry died during a vacation, is that correct?”
“Yes. We all went to the mountains for a long weekend.”
“Who did that include?”
“Several families. Our kids were all in high school together, and most of us had been friends for years.”
“The Sebolds?”
“Yes, Gretchen and Glenn were there. Of course, Grace and Marshall as well. The Reiser family.”
“Ellie Reiser?”
“Yes. There was quite a crowd. Maybe six or seven families from the neighborhood. I’m afraid I can’t remember them all.”
“Can you tell me about the day Henry died?”
“Well,” Betty started. “The kids were out on a hike. The plan was for everyone to meet back at the resort in the evening, and we would all go to dinner. It was Sunday night, with everyone planning to leave the following day. Henry . . . never showed up that night. At first, Hank and I assumed he was simply running late. But as evening pushed on, we asked around and no one had seen him since the hike that afternoon. We started to search for him. His friends joined in. It wasn’t until eight o’clock that evening, as it was getting dark, that we finally phoned the police.
About an hour later, we found Henry in a shallow ravine below the trail where he had been hiking. ”
“I’m very sorry.”
Betty nodded.
“Was Henry dating Grace Sebold around the time he died?”
“Yes. They were quite serious. I mean, as serious as teenagers can be. Grace was Henry’s first love. We really loved Grace, so Hank and I had hoped they might be the rare high-school sweetheart story that made it last.”
Betty smiled as she reminisced. The upward push of her cheeks caused her slivered eyes to close. “It was long ago, but I still remember being happy that my son had found someone who made him feel special. Grace and Henry had planned to attend Syracuse University together.”
Sidney’s mind flashed back to the many photos of Julian Crist she had seen during the creation of her documentary. A sick feeling sat in her gut when she considered what had happened to both of the young men who had loved Grace Sebold.
“Did you keep in touch with the Sebolds after Henry’s death?”
Betty Anderson shook her head. “No. Sadly, we lost touch with many of our friends after Henry passed. Hank started drinking and we had marital problems, so it was easy to melt away.”
“Are you familiar with what happened to Grace Sebold?”
“Yes. I know she was convicted of murder. I always thought the circumstances didn’t fit the girl I knew. I’m glad to hear after so many years that she is finally home with her family.”
“The circumstances surrounding Grace Sebold’s conviction . . . ,” Sidney said. “You remember them, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Sidney was silent for a moment as she waited for Mrs. Anderson to elaborate. When she did not, Sidney spoke. “A young man named Julian Crist was killed while in St. Lucia on spring break. The circumstances of Julian Crist’s death are, frankly, startlingly similar to your son’s.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Sidney placed her elbows on her knees and leaned closer to Henry Anderson’s mother.
“Grace and Julian were dating when he was killed. They were finishing medical school at the time, and preparing to start a residency program together. Like your son, Julian Crist fell to his death from a mountain bluff.”
Betty was already shaking her head. “Henry’s death was an accident. A tragic accident that took my son at a horribly young age.”
“Do you remember Gus Morelli?”
Betty attempted to raise her sagging eyelids as her voice took on a controversial tone. “He was one of the detectives involved in Henry’s case. And he came to me during Grace’s trial with the same theory I think you’re trying to present now.”
Sidney took a deep breath. “Back in 1999, Detective Morelli believed that there may be more to Henry’s death. That, perhaps, it wasn’t an accident.”
“Henry fell off that bluff. I wish it hadn’t happened, Ms. Ryan. I’ve offered so many times to take his place. My boy is gone and I hope to see him again someday. But I’m not going to try to bring him back to life by turning him into some pop-culture star to help your television program.”
Sidney pursed her lips and nodded her head. She didn’t mention that turning Henry into a star was the furthest thing from her mind, or that her television program was likely as dead as the two boys who once loved Grace Sebold.
“I understand,” Sidney finally said.
Betty Anderson’s grief, even all these years later, was still palpable.
If she didn’t want to hear that her son had possibly been killed, then Sidney guessed her audience, who was salivating for the episode that showed Grace Sebold’s exoneration and release from jail, did not, either.
Graham Cromwell and Ray Sandberg certainly would not be interested in pursuing anything that might disrupt the smooth sail they saw for the final three episodes.
The question Sidney weighed as she sat in Henry Anderson’s old house was whether fame and fortune were enough for her, or if the truth was the only thing that mattered.