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I Heard That Song Before, by Mary Higgins Clark
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In a riveting psychological thriller, Mary Higgins Clark takes the reader deep into the mysteries of the human mind, where memories may be the most dangerous things of all.
At the center of her novel is Kay Lansing, who has grown up in Englewood, New Jersey, daughter of the landscaper to the wealthy and powerful Carrington family. Their mansion -- a historic seventeenth-century manor house transported stone by stone from Wales in 1848 -- has a hidden chapel. One day, accompanying her father to work, six-year-old Kay succumbs to curiosity and sneaks into the chapel. There, she overhears a quarrel between a man and a woman who is demanding money from him. When she says that this will be the last time, his caustic response is: "I heard that song before."
That same evening, the Carringtons hold a formal dinner dance after which Peter Carrington, a student at Princeton, drives home Susan Althorp, the eighteen-year-old daughter of neighbors. While her parents hear her come in, she is not in her room the next morning and is never seen or heard from again.
Throughout the years, a cloud of suspicion hangs over Peter Carrington. At age forty-two, head of the family business empire, he is still "a person of interest" in the eyes of the police, not only for Susan Althorp's disappearance but also for the subsequent drowning death of his own pregnant wife in their swimming pool.
Kay Lansing, now living in New York and working as a librarian in Englewood, goes to see Peter Carrington to ask for permission to hold a cocktail party on his estate to benefit a literacy program, which he later grants. Kay comes to see Peter as maligned and misunderstood, and when he begins to court her after the cocktail party, she falls in love with him. Over the objections of her beloved grandmother Margaret O'Neil, who raised her after her parents' early deaths, she marries him. To her dismay, she soon finds that he is a sleepwalker whose nocturnal wanderings draw him to the spot at the pool where his wife met her end.
Susan Althorp's mother, Gladys, has always been convinced that Peter Carrington is responsible for her daughter's disappearance, a belief shared by many in the community. Disregarding her husband's protests about reopening the case, Gladys, now terminally ill, has hired a retired New York City detective to try to find out what happened to her daughter. Gladys wants to know before she dies.
Kay, too, has developed gnawing doubts about her husband. She believes that the key to the truth about his guilt or innocence lies in the scene she witnessed as a child in the chapel and knows she must learn the identity of the man and woman who quarreled there that day. Yet, she plunges into this pursuit realizing that "that knowledge may not be enough to save my husband's life, if indeed it deserves to be saved." What Kay does not even remotely suspect is that uncovering what lies behind these memories may cost her her own life.
I Heard That Song Before once again dramatically reconfirms Mary Higgins Clark's worldwide reputation as a master storyteller.
- Sales Rank: #69756 in Books
- Brand: Pocket Books
- Published on: 2008-02-26
- Released on: 2008-02-26
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.75" h x 1.10" w x 4.19" l, .43 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 416 pages
- Great product!
From Publishers Weekly
At the start of bestseller Clark's riveting new novel of suspense, Kay Lansing recalls her first visit as a six-year-old to the Carrington estate in Englewood, N.J., where her father worked as a landscaper. Twenty-two years later, she returns to ask the present owner, Peter Carrington, if she can use the mansion for a fund-raiser. The two fall madly in love, and after a whirlwind courtship, they marry despite the shadow of suspicion that hangs over Peter regarding the death of a neighbor's daughter two decades earlier and the drowning of his first wife four years before. After an idyllic honeymoon, the couple return to New Jersey, where a magazine article has caused the police to reopen the cases. The subsequent discovery of two bodies buried on the estate causes even Kay to doubt her husband's innocence. Clark (Two Little Girls in Blue) deftly keeps the finger of guilt pointed in many directions until the surprising conclusion. (Apr.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
About the Author
Mary Higgins Clark, #1 international and New York Times bestselling author, has written thirty-four suspense novels; three collections of short stories; a historical novel, Mount Vernon Love Story; two children’s books, including The Magical Christmas Horse; and a memoir, Kitchen Privileges. With her daughter Carol Higgins Clark, she has coauthored five more suspense novels. She also wrote The Cinderella Murder with bestselling author Alafair Burke. Her books have sold more than 100 million copies in the United States alone.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
I grew up in the shadow of the Lindbergh baby kidnapping.
By that I mean I was born and raised in Englewood, New Jersey. In 1932, the grandson of Englewood's most prominent citizen, Ambassador Dwight Morrow, was kidnapped. Furthermore, the baby's father happened to be the most famous man in the world at the time, Col. Charles Lindbergh, who had flown the first solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean in his single-engine plane, the Spirit of St. Louis.
My grandmother, who was eight years old at that time, remembers the blazing headlines, the crowds of reporters who congregated outside Next Day Hill, the Morrow estate, the arrest and trial of Bruno Hauptmann.
Time passed, memories faded. Today Englewood's most prominent residence is the Carrington mansion, the stone-castlelike structure that I had stolen into as a child.
All these thoughts went through my mind as, for the second time in my life, I went inside the gates of the Carrington estate. Twenty-two years, I thought, remembering the inquisitive six-year-old I had been. Maybe it was the memory of my father being dismissed by the Carringtons only a few weeks later that made me suddenly feel self-conscious and awkward. The bright October morning had changed into a windy, damp afternoon, and I wished that I had worn a heavier jacket. The one I had chosen now seemed much too light both in color and fabric.
Instinctively, I parked my secondhand car to the side of the imposing driveway, not wanting it to be the object of anyone's scrutiny. One hundred and eight thousand miles on the speedometer takes a lot of starch out of a car, even one recently washed and mercifully free of dents.
I had twisted my hair into a bun, but the wind tore at it as I walked up the steps and rang the bell. A man who looked to be in his midfifties, with a receding hairline and narrow, unsmiling lips, opened the door. He was dressed in a dark suit, and I wasn't sure whether he was a butler or a secretary, but before I could speak, without introducing himself, he said that Mr. Carrington was expecting me and that I should come in.
The wide entrance hall was illuminated by light that filtered through leaded stained-glass windows. A statue of a knight in armor stood next to a medieval tapestry depicting a battle scene. I longed to examine the tapestry, but instead I dutifully followed my escort down a corridor to the library.
"Miss Lansing is here, Mr. Carrington," he said. "I'll be in the office." From that remark I guessed he was an assistant.
When I was little I used to draw pictures of the kind of home I'd love to live in. One of my favorite rooms to imagine was the one in which I would read away my afternoons. In that room there was always a fireplace and bookshelves. One version included a comfortable couch, and I'd draw myself curled up in the corner, a book in my hand. I'm not suggesting I'm any kind of artist because I'm not. I drew stick figures and the bookshelves were uneven, the carpet a splotched multicolored copy of one I'd seen in the window of an antique rug store. I could not put the exact image in my mind on paper, but I knew what I wanted. I wanted the kind of room I was standing in now.
Peter Carrington was seated in a wide leather chair, his feet on a hassock. The lamp on the table beside him not only illuminated the book he was reading but spotlighted his handsome profile.
He was wearing reading glasses, which sat on the bridge of his nose and slipped off when he looked up. Retrieving them, he laid them on the table, removed his feet from the hassock, and stood. I had caught occasional glimpses of him in town and had seen his picture in the papers, so I had an impression of him, but being in the same room with him was different. There was a quiet authority about Peter Carrington that he retained even as he smiled and extended his hand.
"You write a persuasive letter, Kathryn Lansing."
"Thank you for letting me stop in, Mr. Carrington."
His handshake was firm. I knew he was studying me just as I was studying him. He was taller than I had realized, with the narrow body of a runner. His eyes were more gray than blue. His thin, even-featured face was framed by dark brown hair that was a shade long but which suited him well. He was wearing a dark brown cardigan with a rust thread running through the weave. If I had been asked to guess his job from his appearance alone, I would have said college professor.
I knew he was forty-two years old. That meant he would have been about twenty the day that I crept into this house. I wondered if he had been home for that party. It was possible, of course -- in late August he might not yet have gone back to Princeton, where he had been a student. Or, if he had already started school, he might have come home for the weekend. Princeton was only an hour-and-a-half drive away.
He invited me to sit down in one of the two matching armchairs near the fireplace. "I've been wanting an excuse to have a fire," he said. "This afternoon the weather cooperated."
I was more than ever conscious of the fact that my lime green jacket was more suitable to an August afternoon than to midautumn. I felt a strand of hair slip over my shoulder and tried to twist it back into the bun that was supposed to anchor it.
I have a master's in library science, my passion for books having made that a natural career choice. Since graduation five years ago, I've been working at the Englewood Public Library and am heavily involved in our community's literacy project.
Now I was in this impressive library, "with my hat in my hand," as my grandmother would say. I was planning a fundraiser for the literacy program and wanted to make it spectacular. There was one way I was sure I could get people to pay three hundred dollars for a cocktail reception, and that would be if it were held in this house. The Carrington mansion had become part of the folklore of Englewood and the surrounding communities. Everyone knew its history and that it had been transported from Wales. I was certain that the prospect of being inside it would make all the difference in whether or not we could have a sellout event.
I usually feel pretty comfortable in my own skin, but sitting there, sensing that those gray eyes were taking my measure, I felt flustered and ill at ease. Suddenly I felt, once again, like the daughter of the landscaper who drank too much.
Get over it, I told myself, and stop with the "gee-whiz" nonsense. Giving myself a brisk mental shake, I began my well-rehearsed solicitation. "Mr. Carrington, as I wrote you, there are many good causes, meaning many reasons for people to write checks. Of course it's impossible for anyone to support everything. Quite frankly, these days even well-off people feel tapped out. That's why it's essential to our event to find a way to get people to write a check for us."
That was when I launched into my plea for him to allow us to have a cocktail party in this house. I watched as his expression changed, and I saw the "no" word forming on his lips.
He put it gracefully. "Miss Lansing," he began.
"Please call me Kay."
"I thought your name was Kathryn."
"On my birth certificate and to my grandmother."
He laughed. "I understand." Then he began his polite refusal. "Kay, I'd be happy to write a check . . ."
I interrupted him. "I'm sure you would. But as I wrote, this is more than just about money. We need volunteers to teach people how to read, and the best way to get them is to make them want to come to an affair, and then sign them up. I know a great caterer who has promised to reduce his price if the event is held here. It would just be for two hours, and it would mean so much to so many people."
"I have to think about it," Peter Carrington said as he stood up.
The meeting was over. I thought quickly and decided there was nothing to lose by adding one final thing: "Mr. Carrington, I've done of lot of research about your family. For generations this was one of the most hospitable homes in Bergen County. Your father and grandfather and great-grandfather supported local community activities and charities. By helping us now, you could do so much good, and it would be so easy for you."
I had no right to feel so terribly disappointed, but I did. He didn't respond, and without waiting for him or his assistant to show me out, I retraced my steps to the door. I did pause to take a quick glance to the back of the house, thinking of the staircase I had sneaked up all those years ago. Then I left, sure that I had made my second and final visit to the mansion.
Two days later Peter Carrington's picture was on the cover of Celeb, a national weekly gossip rag. It showed him coming out of the police station twenty-two years ago, after being questioned about the disappearance of eighteen-year-old Susan Althorp, who had vanished following the formal dinner dance she had attended at the Carrington mansion. The blaring headline, IS SUSAN ALTHORP STILL ALIVE?, was followed by the caption under Peter's picture: "Industrialist still a suspect in the disappearance of debutante Susan Althorp, who would be celebrating her fortieth birthday this week."
The magazine had a field day rehashing details of the search for Susan and, since her father had been an ambassador, comparing the case to the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby.
The article included a summary of the circumstances surrounding the death of Peter Carrington's pregnant wife, Grace, four years ago. Grace Carrington, known for drinking heavily, had given a birthday party for Carrington's stepbrother, Richard Walker. Carrington had arrived home after a twenty-three-hour flight from Australia, observed her condition, grabbed the glass out of her hand, dumped the contents on the carpet, and angrily demanded, "Can't you have a little mercy on the child you're carrying?" Then, claiming exhaustion, he went up to bed. In the morning, the housekeeper found the body of Grace Carrington, still dressed in a satin e...
Most helpful customer reviews
36 of 39 people found the following review helpful.
Romantic Suspense From the Queen of the Genre
By Antoinette Klein
Mary Higgins Clark has been a must-read for me most of my adult life. Her well-plotted, faced-paced novels are easily devoured in a day or two and always leave me thinking, "I should have seen that coming!"
This one is particularly good not only because of her trademark brand of short chapters with cliff-hanger endings but because each of the characters is so well-defined. Sometimes she has so many characters that it is hard to keep track of them, but in this novel each is unique and easily identifiable.
The action takes place at the Carrington family mansion in New Jersey. Our young protagonist, librarian Kay Lansing, asks Peter Carrington for permission to hold a fund-raiser for a literacy program at his estate. Love blooms and not long after the fund-raiser and a whirlwind courtship Kay finds herself married to the much older Carrington. He has been living under a cloud of suspicion for over twenty years and is still considered a "person of interest" in the disappearance of neighbor Susan Althorp as well as in the drowning death of his first wife. What possesses a woman to marry a man under such a cloud of suspicion and could her life be in jeopardy as well?
Add to this mix a former stepmother now in residence on the estate, a long-time employee, a married couple who cook and serve for the family, an art gallery owner with a gambling addiction, an irate caller who never gets a return call, a grieving mother, and a private investigator intent on cracking a cold case. Suspicion falls on everyone before all the red herrings are cleared away and all questions are resolved.
25 of 26 people found the following review helpful.
On The Street Where You Live Was Better.
By SUPPORT THE ASPCA.
This is my second MHC book that I've read. The author uses her fine tactics of deeply defined characters, brief chapters, & cliff hanger endings to create a modestly good read. The story takes place at the Carrington family mansion in New Jersey. The young librarian Kay Lansing, asks Peter Carrington for permission to hold a fundraiser for a literacy program at his estate. Soon romance blooms & a dizzying courtship finds Kay married to the far older Carrington.
For two decades the latter has lived under a cloud of suspicion in the disappearance of Susan Althorp his neighbor, as well as in the drowning death of his pregnant first wife. Could the naieve Kay be in danger? Now a former step-mother resides at the estate, a married couple who runs the kitchen, a gambling addict- art gallery owner, a cranky caller who gets no responce, a grieving mom, & a private detective who is ardently trying to solve a cold case. Some of the dialogue felt forced & seemed very unrealistic. Nonetheless, you will enjoy this novel. I just think you will prefer "On The Street Where You Live More?"
20 of 21 people found the following review helpful.
Dreams Come True
By J.E. Stephens
Kay's dreams of growing up and living in a mansion come true.
I enjoyed this book very much and read it in one afternoon. I kept thinking I had it figured out and then something else would steer me in another direction.
It seems that everyone figured it out at the same time, which was just in time to keep Kay safe.
It was not as suspenseful as some of her other books, but it was definitely a page turner.
If you liked any other Mary Higgins Clark book you will like this one as well.
It earned 4.5 stars!
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