Pretend You Don't See Her (15 page)

 
          
The
sound of hammering finally penetrated his consciousness. He looked around him.
It was time to go. With heavy steps he walked across the room and entered the
corridor. He pulled the heavy mahogany doors closed, then stood back to look at
them. An artist had designed the gold letters that were to be fastened on the
doors. They should be ready in a day or two.

 
          
“Heather’s
Place,” they would read, for Baba’s girl, Jimmy thought. If I find that someone
deliberately hurt you, baby, I’ll kill him myself. I promise you that.

 
          
IT
WAS TIME TO CALL HOME, AN EVENT THAT LACEY BOTH longed for and dreaded. This
time the location for the secure phone call was a room in a motel. “Never the
same place,” she said when George Svenson opened the door in response to her
knock.

 
          
“No,”
he agreed. Then he added, “The line’s ready. I’ll put the call through for you.
Now, remember everything I told you, Alice.”

 
          
He
always called her Alice.

 
          
“I
remember every word.” Chanting, she recited the list: “Even to name a
supermarket could give away my location.
If I talk about the
gym, don’t dare refer to it as the Twin Cities Gym.
Stay away from the
weather.
Since I don’t have a job, that’s a safe subject.
Stretch it out.”

 
          
She
bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry, George,” she said contritely. “It’s just that I
get an attack or nerves before these calls.”

 
          
She
saw a flicker of sympathy and understanding in his craggy face.

 
          
“I’ll
make the connection,
then
take a walk,” he told her.
“About half an hour.”

 
          
“That’s
fine.”

 
          
He
nodded and picked up the receiver. Lacey felt her palms get moist. A moment
later she heard the door click behind him as she said, “Hi, Mom. How’s
everyone?”

 
          
Today
had been more difficult than usual. Kit and Jay were not home. “They had to go
to some cocktail reception,” her mother explained. “
Kit
sends her love. The boys are fine. They’re both on the hockey team at school.
You should see how they can skate, Lacey. My heart’s in my mouth when I watch
them.”

 
          
I
taught them, Lacey thought. I bought ice skates for them when they barely had
started to walk.

 
          
“Bonnie’s
a worry, though,” her mother added.
“Still so pale.
Kit
takes her to the therapist three times a week, and I
work out with her weekends. But she misses you.
So much.
She has an idea that you’re hiding because someone may try to kill you.”

 
          
Where
did she get that idea? Lacey wondered. Dear God, who put that notion in her
head?

 
          
Her
mother answered the unasked question: “I think she overheard Jay talking to
Kit. I know he irritates you sometimes, but in fairness, Lace, he’s been very
good, paying for your apartment and keeping up your insurance. I also learned
from Alex that Jay has a big order to sell restaurant supplies to the
casino-hotel that Jimmy Landi is opening in Atlantic City, and apparently he
has been worried that if Landi knew he was related to you, the order might get
canceled. Alex said that Jimmy felt terrible about what happened to his
ex-wife, and Jay was afraid that he’d start to blame you somehow for her death.
You know, for bringing that man in to see the apartment without checking on him
first.”

 
          
Maybe
it’s too bad I wasn’t killed along with Isabelle, Lacey thought bitterly.

 
          
Trying
to sound cheerful, she told her mother that she was going to a gym regularly
and really enjoying it. “I’m okay, really I am,” she said. “And this won’t go
on too long, I promise. From what they tell me, when the man I can identify is
arrested, he’ll be persuaded to turn state’s evidence rather than go to prison.
As soon as they make a deal with him, I’ll be off the hook. Whoever he fingers
will be after him, not me. We just have to keep praying that it happens soon.
Right, Mom?”

 
          
She
was horrified to hear deep sobs coming from the other end of the connection.
“Lacey, I can’t live like this,” Mona Farrell wailed. “Every time I hear about
a young woman anywhere who’s been in an accident, I’m sure it’s you. You’ve got
to tell me where you are. You’ve got to.”

 
          
“Mom!”

 
          
“Lacey, please!”

 
          
“If
I tell you, it’s strictly between us. You can’t repeat it. You can’t even tell
Kit.”

 
          
“Yes, darling.”

 
          
“Mom,
they’d withdraw the protection, they’d throw me out of the program if they knew
I told you.”

 
          
“I
have to know.”

 
          
Lacey
was looking out the window. She saw the ample frame of George Svenson
approaching the steps. “Mom,” she whispered. “I’m in Minneapolis.”

 
          
The
door was opening. “Mom, have to go. Talk to you next week. Kiss everybody for
me. Love you. Bye.”

 
          
“Everything
okay at home?” Svenson asked.

 
          
“I
guess so,” Lacey said, as a sickening feeling came over her that she had just
made a terrible mistake.

 
          
LANDI’S
RESTAURANT ON WEST FIFTY-SIXTH STREET WAS filled with a sparkling after-theater
crowd, and Steve Abbott was acting as host, going from table to table, greeting
and welcoming the diners. Former New York Mayor Ed Koch was there. “That new TV
show you’re on is fabulous, Ed,” Steve said, touching Koch’s shoulder.

 
          
Koch
beamed. “How many people get paid that kind of money for being a judge in
small-claims court?”

 
          
“You’re
worth every penny.”

 
          
He
stopped at a table presided over by Calla Robbins, the legendary musical-comedy
performer who had been coaxed out of retirement to star in a new Broadway show.
“Calla, the word is that you’re marvelous.”

 
          
“Actually,
the word is that not since Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady has anyone faked a song
with such flair. But the public seems to like it, so what’s wrong with that?”

 
          
Abbott’s
eyes crinkled as he bent down and kissed her cheek.
“Absolutely
nothing.”
He signaled to the captain hovering nearby. “You know the
brandy Ms. Robbins enjoys.”

 
          
“There
go the profits,” Calla Robbins said, laughing. “Thanks, Steve. You know how to
treat a lady.”

 
          
“I
try.” He smiled.

 
          
“I
hear the new casino will knock everyone dead,” chimed in Robbins’s escort, a
prominent businessman.

 
          
“You
heard right,” Steve agreed. “It’s an amazing place.”

 
          
“The
word is that Jimmy is planning to get you to run it,” the man added.

 
          
“The
word is this,” Steve said decisively.
“Jimmy’s principal
owner.
Jimmy’s the boss. That’s the way it is, and that’s the way it’s
going to be. And don’t you forget it. He sure doesn’t let me forget it.”

 
          
From
the corner of his eye he saw Jimmy enter the restaurant. He waved him over.

 
          
Jimmy
joined them, his face wreathed in a big smile for Calla.

 
          
“Who
is boss in Atlantic City, Jimmy?” she asked. “Steve says you are.”

 
          
“Steve
has it right,” Jimmy said, smiling. “That’s why we get along so good.”

 
          
As
Jimmy and Steve moved away from Robbins’s table, Landi asked, “Did you set up a
dinner with that Farrell woman for me?”

 
          
Abbott
shrugged.
“Can’t reach her, Jimmy.
She’s left her job,
and her home phone is disconnected. I guess she’s off on some kind of
vacation.”

 
          
Jimmy’s
face darkened. “She can’t have gone too far. She’s a witness. She can identify
Isabelle’s killer when they find him. That detective who took my copy of
Heather’s journal has to know where she is.”

 
          
“Want
me to talk to him?”

 
          
“No,
I’ll do it. Well, look who’s here.”

 
          
The
formidable figure of Richard J. Parker was coming through the restaurant doors.

 
          
“It’s
his wife’s birthday,” Steve explained. “They have a reservation for three.
That’s why R. J.’s wife is with him for a change.”

 
          
And
that punk son of his completes the happy family, Jimmy thought, as he hurried
across to the foyer to welcome them with a warm smile.

 
          
The
elder Parker regularly brought his real estate clients there for dinner, which
was the only reason Jimmy hadn’t banned his son, Rick Parker, from the
restaurant ages ago. Last month he had gotten drunk and noisy at the bar and
had had to be escorted to a cab. A few times when he had come in for dinner, it
was obvious to Jimmy that Rick was high on drugs.

 
          
R.
J. Parker returned Jimmy Landi’s hearty handshake. “What more festive place to
bring Priscilla than Landi’s, right, Jimmy?”

 
          
Priscilla
Parker gave Landi a timid smile,
then
looked anxiously
at her husband for approval.

 
          
Jimmy
knew that R. J. not only cheated on his wife, but that he bullied her
unmercifully as well.

 
          
Rick
Parker nodded nonchalantly. “Hi, Jimmy,” he said with a slight smirk.

 
          
The
aristocrat condescending to greet the peasant inn-keeper, Jimmy thought. Well,
without his father’s
clout that jerk
couldn’t get a
job cleaning toilets.

 
          
Smiling
broadly, Jimmy personally escorted them to their table.

 
          
As
Priscilla Parker sat down, she looked around. “This is such a pretty room,
Jimmy,” she said. “But there’s something different. What is it? Oh, I see,” she
said, “the paintings of Heather are gone.”

 
          
“I
thought it was time to remove them,” Jimmy said gruffly.

 
          
He
turned abruptly and left, so he did not see R. J. Parker’s angry glance at his
son, nor the way Rick Parker stared at the mural of the Bridge of Sighs, from
which the painting of Heather as a young woman was now missing.

 
          
It
was just as well.

 
          
IT
HAD BEEN NEARLY FOUR MONTHS SINCE LACEY HAD HAD a reason to get dressed up. And
I didn’t bring dress-up clothes, she thought, as she looked in the closet for
something that would be appropriate for a festive evening out.

 
          
I
didn’t bring many of my things because I thought that by now Caldwell, or
whatever his real name is, would have been caught and made a deal to turn
state’s evidence, and I’d be out of the loop and back to real life.