Pretend You Don't See Her (18 page)

 
          
It
was, as always, a pleasant evening. By the time they were sipping espresso,
Alex Carbine’s hand was covering hers.

 
          
“Not
too busy a night for you,” Mona said teasingly. “You’ve only been up and down
about ten times.”

 
          
“I
thought that might be why you bought a newspaper.”

 
          
“Not at all, although I did glance at the headlines.”
Mona
reached for her purse.
“My turn to get up.
I’ll be
right back.”

 
          
Alex
saw her to her car at eleven-thirty. At one o’clock the restaurant closed and
the staff went home.

 
          
At
ten of twelve a phone call was made. The message was simple. “Tell Sandy it
looks like she’s in Minneapolis.”

 
          
WHAT
HAD HAPPENED BETWEEN HEATHER LANDI AND Rick Parker?

 
          
Lacey
was stunned to learn they had known each other. After Tom Lynch and Kate
Knowles had left Friday night, she had been unable to sleep and had sat up for
hours, trying to make sense of it all. Over the weekend her mind had constantly
replayed the night of Isabelle Waring’s death. What had Rick been thinking as
he sat there, listening to her being quizzed about how well she had known
Isabelle, and if she had ever known Heather? Why hadn’t he said something?

 
          
According
to what Kate had been told, on the last day of her life, Heather had been
visibly upset when she saw Rick at the skiing lodge in Stowe.

 
          
Kate
had referred to Rick as a “jerk who’s in real estate in New York” and had said
that he “had pulled something on Heather when she came to the city.”

 
          
Lacey
remembered that, in her journal, Heather alluded to an unpleasant incident that
happened when she was looking for an apartment on the West Side. Could that
have involved Rick? Lacey wondered.

 
          
Before
being transferred to Madison Avenue, Rick had spent five years in the West Side
office of Parker and Parker. He changed offices about three years ago.

 
          
Which means, Lacey thought, that he was working the West Side at
precisely the time Heather Landi came to New York and was apartment hunting.
Did she go to Parker and Parker and meet Rick? And if she did, what had
happened between them?

 
          
Lacey
shook her head in anger. Could Rick be involved in all of this mess?
she
wondered. Am I stuck here because of him?

 
          
Rick
was the one who gave me Curtis Caldwell’s name as a potential buyer for
Isabelle’s apartment, she reminded herself. It was because of him that I
brought Caldwell there. If Rick had known Caldwell somehow, then maybe the
police would be able to track Caldwell down through Rick. And if they arrest
Caldwell, then I’ll be able to go home.

 
          
Lacey
stood up and began to pace the room excitedly. This could be part of what
Isabelle had seen in the journal. She had to get this information to Gary
Baldwin at the U.S. Attorney’s office.

 
          
Lacey’s
fingers itched to pick up the phone and call him, but direct contact was
absolutely forbidden. She would have to leave a message for George Svenson to
call her, then either write or talk to Baldwin through secure channels.

 
          
I
have to talk to Kate again, Lacey thought. I have to find out more about Bill
Merrill, the boyfriend who had mentioned Heather’s reaction to Rick Parker, and
I have to find out where he lives. Baldwin will want to talk to him, I’m sure.
He can place Rick Parker in Stowe only hours before Heather died.

 
          
Kate
had mentioned that the cast was staying at the Radisson Plaza Hotel for the
week. Lacey glanced at her watch. It was ten-thirty. Even if Kate was a late
sleeper, like most show-business people, she probably would be awake by now.

 
          
A
still slightly sleepy voice answered the phone, but when she realized who was
calling, Kate livened up and seemed pleased enough at Lacey’s suggestion that
they get together for lunch the next day. “Maybe we should try to get Tom to
join us, Kate,” she suggested. “You know how nice he is. He’ll take us to a good
restaurant and pay the tab to boot.” Then laughing, she added, “Forget it. I
just realized
,
his program goes on at noon.”

 
          
Just
as well, Lacey thought. No doubt Tom would pick up on the fact that she was
pumping Kate for information. But he is nice, she thought, remembering how
concerned he had been that he wasn’t paying her enough attention at the party.

 
          
She
arranged to meet Kate at the Radisson at twelve-thirty the next day. As she
replaced the receiver, she felt a sudden surge of hope. It’s almost like seeing
the first ray of sunshine after a long, terrible storm, she decided, as she
walked to the window and pulled back the curtain to look out.

 
          
It
was a perfect Midwestern winter’s day. The outdoor temperature was only
twenty-eight degrees, but the sun was shining warmly in a cloudless sky. There
appeared to be no wind, and Lacey could see that the sidewalks were clear of
snow.

 
          
Until
today, she had been too nervous to go for a real run, afraid that she would
look over her shoulder and see Caldwell behind her, his pale, icy eyes fixed on
her. But suddenly, feeling as though there was the possibility of some sort of
breakthrough in the case, she decided that she had to try, at least, to resume
some kind of normal life.

 
          
When
she had packed to move, Lacey had brought her cold-weather jogging clothes: a
warm-up suit, jacket, mittens, hat,
scarf
. She quickly
put them on and headed to the door. Just as she was turning the knob, the phone
rang. Her first instinct was to let it go, but then she decided to pick it up.

 
          
“Ms.
Carroll, you don’t know me,” a crisp voice told her. “I’m Millicent Royce. I
hear you may be looking for a job in the real estate field. Wendell Woods
talked to me about you this morning.”

 
          
“I
am looking, or rather, just about to start looking,” Lacey said hopefully.

 
          
“Wendell
was quite impressed with you and suggested we should meet. The office is in
Edina.”

 
          
Edina
was fifteen minutes away. “I know where that is.”

 
          
“Good.
Take down the address. Are you free this afternoon by any chance?”

 
          
When
Lacey left the apartment and jogged down the street, it was with the sense that
her luck might be changing at last. If Millicent Royce did hire her, it would
mean she would have something to do to fill her days until she could go home.

 
          
After
all, she thought wryly, as Ms. Royce just told me, real estate can be a very
exciting career. I bet she doesn’t know the half of it!

 
          
Tom
Lynch’s four-hour program was a mixture of news, interviews, and offbeat humor.
It was broadcast each weekday from noon till four o’clock, and his guests ran
the spectrum from political figures, authors, and visiting celebrities to local
VIPs.

 
          
He
spent most mornings before the show in his office at the station, roaming the
Internet in search of items of interest, or poring over newspapers and
periodicals from all over the country, looking for unusual subjects to discuss.

 
          
On
the Monday morning following the opening of The King and
I
,
he was not comfortable with the fact that he had been thinking about Alice
Carroll all weekend. Several times he had been tempted to call her, but he
always replaced the receiver before the connection was made.

 
          
He
reminded himself that he would almost certainly see her at the gym during the
week; he could just suggest casually that they go out for dinner or to a movie.
Phoning and planning a date might potentially take on undue significance, and
then it would be uncomfortable if he didn’t ask her out again, or if she
refused, and they still kept running into each other.

 
          
He
knew his concern on that subject was a standing joke with his friends. As one
of them had told him recently, “Tom, you’re a nice guy, but if you don’t call
some girl again, trust me, she’ll get through the day.”

 
          
Remembering
that conversation, Tom silently acknowledged that if he had a few dates with
Alice Carroll and then didn’t call her again, she clearly would get through the
day very well without him.

 
          
There
was something so quietly contained about her, he thought, as he watched the
clock and realized he was an hour away from air time. She didn’t talk much
about herself, and something in her told him that she didn’t invite questions.
That first afternoon, when they had coffee together in the gym, she hadn’t
seemed happy when he teased her about moving to Minneapolis. Then Friday
evening he had sensed that when the overture to The King and I began, she had
been close to tears.

 
          
Some
girls have a fit if their date doesn’t give them full attention at a party. But
it hadn’t bothered Alice a bit that he had left her on her own when people came
up to talk to him.

 
          
The
clothes she had worn to the opening were expensive. A blind man could see that.

 
          
He
had overheard her tell Kate that she had seen The King and
I
three times. And she had talked knowledgeably with Kate about the revival of
The Boy Friend.

 
          
Expensive
outfits.
Trips in and out of New York from Hartford to go to
the theater.
These generally weren’t the kinds of things one was able to
do on the salary of a clerk in a doctor’s office.

 
          
Tom
shrugged and reached for the phone. It was no use. His questions were a sign of
his interest in her, and the fact was, he couldn’t stop thinking of her. He was
going to call Alice and ask her if she wanted to have dinner tonight. He wanted
to see her. He reached for the phone, dialed, and waited. After four rings the
answering machine clicked on. Her voice, low and pleasing, said: “You’ve
reached 555-1247. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

 
          
Tom
hesitated, then hung up, deciding to call back later. He felt more uncomfortable
than ever over the fact that he was so intensely disappointed at not having
reached her.

 
          
ON
MONDAY MORNING SANDY SAVARANO TOOK NORTHWEST flight 1703 from La Guardia
Airport in New York to Minneapolis–St. Paul International Airport in Minneapolis.

 
          
He
rode first class, as he had on the flight from Costa Rica, where he now lived.
He was known to his neighbors there as Charles Austin, a well-to-do U.S.
businessman who had sold his company two years ago at age forty and retired to
the tropical good life.

 
          
His twenty-four-year-old wife had driven him to the airport in
Costa Rica and made him promise not to stay away too long.
“You’re
supposed to be retired now,” she had said, pouting lovingly as she kissed him
good-bye.

 
          
“That
doesn’t mean that I turn down found money,” he had said.

 
          
It
was the same answer he had given her about the several other jobs he had
undertaken since he staged his death two years ago.

 
          
“Lovely day to fly.”

 
          
The
voice was that of a young woman in her late twenties who was seated next to
him. In a way, she reminded him very slightly of Lacey Farrell. But then,
Farrell was on his mind, since she was the reason he was on his way to
Minneapolis now. The only person in the world who can finger me for a murder,
he thought. She doesn’t deserve to live. And she won’t for long.