Night Secrets by Thomas H. Cook Page A

“Powers?”
    â€œYou know him?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThink carefully. Have you ever heard of him?”
    Phillips thought a moment longer, then shook his head decisively. “Not at all.”
    â€œMaybe in connection with some of her charity things?”
    â€œThe name doesn’t sound familiar,” Phillips said determinedly. “I’ve never heard the name. Who is he?”
    â€œA doctor,” Frank said. “A gynecologist.”
    â€œA gynecologist?” Phillips asked wonderingly. “Perhaps that’s it then. Perhaps Virginia is ill, and doesn’t want me to know.”
    â€œMaybe,” Frank said. “But the thing is, she didn’t go to his office, she went to his house.”
    Phillips did not look unnecessarily alarmed. “For a private consultation, that’s possible.”
    â€œYes, it is,” Frank admitted.
    â€œSo perhaps all of this problem has been about Virginia’s health.”
    â€œIt’s not quite that simple,” Frank said cautiously.
    Phillips eyed him coolly. “Go on.”
    Frank leaned back slightly. “Mr. Phillips, have you ever thought that your wife might be unhappy?”
    â€œUnhappy?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou mean with me?”
    Frank took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully. “Well, you know how it is. There’s always the possibility that Mrs. Phillips has simply done what a lot of people do.”
    Phillips’s eyes grew solemn. “An affair,” he said matter-of-factly. “Is that what you mean?”
    â€œIt’s always possible.”
    â€œWith this, this … Powers?”
    â€œWell, maybe not Powers,” Frank said. “She visited someone else too.”
    Phillips’s face grew very still. He did not speak.
    Frank returned to the notebook. “She left home today at 12:25 P.M. ” he began. “She walked to Central Park.” In his mind, he could see her once again, the tall, slender figure in the long red coat, the platinum sheen of her hair in the sunlight, the small black purse that hung from her left shoulder. “She took a cab to the Dakota,” he went on. “I talked to the guy in the guardhouse there. He told me that Mrs. Phillips comes to see a man who lives there. She comes about once every two weeks.”
    â€œWhat’s his name?”
    â€œPreston R. Devine,” Frank said. “Ever heard of him?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œI’ve never heard of such a person,” Mr. Phillips said. “Is that the man you think she must be seeing?”
    â€œI know she sees him,” Frank said. “I just don’t know why.”
    â€œBut you think it’s an affair?”
    Frank shifted about uncomfortably, closed the notebook and let it drop onto the top of his desk. “It’s always possible,” he said.
    â€œVirginia?” Mr. Phillips said unbelievingly.
    Frank shrugged. “It happens all the time.” He glanced down at his notebook. “Does Mrs. Phillips go by her married name?”
    â€œYes, of course,” Phillips said.
    â€œVirginia Phillips?”
    â€œYes, yes,” Phillips answered immediately. “Why?”
    â€œWhat was her maiden name?”
    â€œHarris.”
    Frank nodded.
    Phillips looked at him intently. “Why are you asking about her name?”
    â€œAt the Dakota, when she sees this Mr. Devine, she uses another name.”
    Phillips’s lips parted silently.
    â€œDriscoll,” Frank told him. “Miss Driscoll.”
    Phillips continued to stare at him astonished. “Driscoll?”
    â€œYeah,” Frank said. “And after she left the Dakota, she walked into the park and I think she made some kind of drop.”
    Phillips eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œShe had a purse with her when she walked into the park,” Frank said. “She left it