Pretend You Don't See Her (28 page)

 
          
Despite
his apparent good humor, Kit sensed that Jimmy Landi was extremely tense. There
was a drawn look to his face, along with an unhealthy pallor. Perhaps it’s just
that he’s grieved so much for his daughter, she decided. Lacey had told them
that Heather Landi’s mother had been heartbroken over their daughter’s death.
It made sense that Heather’s father would have the same reaction.

 
          
When
they had been introduced, Mona had said to Jimmy, “I know how much you’ve been
through. My daughter—”

 
          
Alex
interrupted, holding up his hand. “Why don’t we wait until later to talk about
that, dear?” he said smoothly.

 
          
Kit
instinctively liked Jimmy’s partner, Steve Abbott. Alex had told them that he
had become something of a surrogate son to Jimmy, and that they were very
close. Not in appearance, though, Kit decided. Abbott is really good-looking.

 
          
As
dinner progressed, Kit could see that Steve and Alex were deliberately keeping
the conversation away from any mention of either Lacey or Isabelle Waring.
Between them they got Landi to tell some amusing stories about encounters with
some of his celebrity clients.

 
          
Landi
was, in fact, a first-class raconteur, a trait that Kit decided combined with
his earthy, peasant appearance to make him oddly attractive. He also seemed
genuinely warm and interested in them.

 
          
On
the other hand, when he noticed a waiter looking impatiently at a woman who was
obviously hemming and hawing over her entrée selection, his face darkened.

 
          
“Fire
him, Alex,” he said sharply. “He’s no good. He’ll never be any good.”

 
          
Wow!
Kit thought. He is tough! No wonder Jay is afraid of stepping on his toes.

 
          
Finally
it was Jimmy who abruptly began to discuss Lacey and Isabelle Waring. As soon
as coffee was served he said, “Mrs. Farrell, I met your daughter once. She was
trying to keep her promise to my ex-wife by delivering my daughter’s journal to
me.”

 
          
“I
know that,” Mona said quietly.

 
          
“I
wasn’t very nice to her. She’d brought me a copy of the journal instead of the
original, and at the time I thought she had a hell of a nerve to decide to give
the original to the cops.”

 
          
“Do
you still feel that way?” Mona asked,
then
didn’t wait
for an answer. “Mr. Landi, my daughter has been threatened with prosecution for
withholding evidence because she tried to fulfill Isabelle Waring’s dying
wish.”

 
          
Dear
God, Kit thought. Mom is ready to explode.

 
          
“I
learned about this only two days ago,” Landi said brusquely. “I finally had the
brains to hire a private detective when I saw that I’d been given the runaround
by the cops. He’s the one who found out that the cock-and-bull story they’d
given me about a professional thief unintentionally killing Isabelle was so
much hogwash.”

 
          
Kit
watched as Landi’s complexion darkened to beet red.

 
          
It
was obvious that Steve Abbott had noticed too. “Calm down, Jimmy,” he urged.
“You’ll make a lousy patient if you have a stroke.”

 
          
Jimmy
shot a wry glance at him, then looked back at Mona. “That’s just what my
daughter used to tell me,” he said. He swallowed the rest of the espresso in
his cup. “I know your daughter’s in that witness protection plan,” he said.
“Pretty lousy for her and for all of you.”

 
          
“Yes,
it is,” Mona said, nodding in agreement.

 
          
“How
do you stay in touch with her?”

 
          
“She
calls once a week,” Mona said. “In fact the reason we were a few minutes late
is because I was talking to her until Jay and Kit picked me up.”

 
          
“You
can’t call her?” Jimmy asked.

 
          
“Absolutely not.
I wouldn’t know where to reach her.”

 
          
“I
want to talk to her,” Jimmy said abruptly. “Tell her that. The guy I hired
tells me she spent a lot of time with Isabelle in the days before she died. I
have a lot of questions I want to ask her.”

 
          
“Mr.
Landi, that request would have to be made through the U.S. Attorney’s office,”
Jay said, breaking his silence on the matter. “They talked with us before Lacey
went into the program.”

 
          
“What
you’re saying is they’ll probably turn me down,” Jimmy growled. “All right,
maybe there’s another way. You ask her this question for me. Ask her if she
remembers if there were a couple of unlined pages with writing on them at the
end of Heather’s journal.”

 
          
“Why
is that important, Jimmy?” Alex Carbine asked.

 
          
“Because
if there were, it means that none of the evidence delivered to that precinct is
going to be safe; it’s going to be doctored or disappear. And I
gotta
find a way to do something about it.”

 
          
Jimmy
waved away Carlos, who was standing behind him with the coffee carafe. Then he
stood and extended his hand to Mona. “Well, that’s it, I guess. I’m sorry for
you, Mrs. Farrell. I’m sorry for your daughter. From what I hear she was very
nice to
Isabelle,
and she tried to be helpful to me. I
owe her an apology. How is she doing?”

 
          
“Lacey
is a trouper,” Mona said. “She never complains. In fact she’s always trying to
cheer me up.” She turned to Kit and Jay. “I forgot to tell you two in the car
that Lacey just joined a brand-new health club, apparently one that has a
fabulous squash court.” She turned back to Landi. “She’s always been a demon
for exercise.”

 
          
AFTER
COMPLETING HER CALL TO HER MOTHER AND HANGING up, Lacey met George Svenson in
the lobby of the motel and walked wordlessly with him to the car.

 
          
She
thought briefly about what she would do for the rest of the evening that
stretched out ahead of her. One thing was certain—she simply could not spend
all that time alone in the empty apartment. But what should she do? She was not
particularly hungry and didn’t like the idea of going to a restaurant alone.
After the experience at the movie Thursday night, she also could not bear the
idea of sitting alone in a darkened movie theater.

 
          
In
a way, she would have enjoyed seeing the final Minneapolis performance of The
King and
I
, if she could get a ticket, but was sure
that the overture would completely unravel her. She had a mental image from
years ago of looking down into the orchestra pit for her father.

 
          
Dad,
I miss you, she thought as she got into Svenson’s car.

 
          
But
a voice inside her head came back with a reply.

 
          
Be
honest, Lacey, my girl, you’re not grieving for me at the moment. Face
it—you’ve met someone you want, but you’re using my image to block out his.
Admit it. It’s not my face you’re chasing, and not my image you’re running away
from.

 
          
Svenson
was silent the entire drive, leaving her to her thoughts. Finally Lacey asked
him if he had heard anything more from Gary Baldwin.

 
          
“No,
I haven’t, Alice,” he replied.

 
          
It
irritated Lacey that the one human being with whom she had even this much honest
contact would not call her by her own name.

 
          
“Then
kindly pass the word to the Great One that I want to know what is going on. I
gave him some important information Tuesday night. As a simple courtesy, he
could keep me informed of developments. I don’t think I can live like this much
longer.”

 
          
Lacey
bit her lip and slumped back in the seat. As always when she vented her anger
on Svenson, she felt embarrassed and childish. She was sure he wanted to be
home with his wife and three teenage daughters, not out dragging her around to
motels to make phone calls.

 
          
“I
had money put in your account, Alice. You can join the new health club tomorrow
morning.”

 
          
It
was Svenson’s way of telling her that he understood how she felt.

 
          
“Thanks,”
she murmured,
then
realized she wanted to shout,
“Please, just once, call me Lacey! My name is Lacey Farrell!”

 
          
When
they reached her apartment building, she went into the lobby, still undecided
about what to do. For several long moments she stood irresolutely in front of
the elevator,
then
turned abruptly. Instead of going
upstairs, she went out again, but this time got into her own car. She drove
around aimlessly for some time, finally turning in the direction of Wayzata,
the community in which she had attended the King and I cast party. Once there
she looked for a small restaurant she remembered passing that night, and took
some comfort in the fact that despite her less than sterling sense of
direction, she found it easily. Maybe I’m finally getting the feel and sense of
this area, she thought. If I’m going to be in the real estate business out here
for any length of time, I’ll definitely need it.

 
          
The
restaurant she had chosen might have been on West Fourth Street in New York’s
Greenwich Village. As soon as she opened the door, she smelled the welcoming
aroma of baking garlic bread. There were about twenty tables, each covered with
a red-and-white-checked tablecloth, and each sporting a candle.

 
          
Lacey
glanced around. The place was clearly crowded. “It looks like you’re full,” she
said to the hostess.

 
          
“No,
as a matter of fact, we just got a cancellation.” The hostess led her to a
corner table that had not been visible from the desk.

 
          
As
she waited to be served, Lacey nibbled at warm, crunchy Italian bread and
sipped red wine. Around her, people were eating and chatting, obviously
enjoying themselves. She was the only solitary diner.

 
          
What
was different about this place?
she
wondered. Why did
she feel different in here?

 
          
With
a start, Lacey realized she had put her finger on something she had either been
avoiding or not recognizing. Here, in this small restaurant, where she could
see whoever came in the door without being immediately seen herself, she felt
safer than she had all week.

 
          
Why
was that?
she
wondered.

 
          
It’s
because I told Mom where I am, she admitted to herself ruefully.

 
          
The
warnings she had received in the safe site echoed in her head. It’s not that
your family would knowingly give you away, she was told.
It’s
remarks they might unconsciously make that could jeopardize your safety.

 
          
She
remembered how her dad had always joked that if Mom ever wrote her
memoirs,
they ought to title it In Deepest Confidence,
because Mom never could keep a secret.

 
          
Then
she thought of how shocked her mother had sounded when Lacey warned her not to
drop anything to Jimmy Landi about where she was living. Maybe it will be okay,
Lacey thought, praying that her mother had taken the warning seriously.

 
          
The
salad greens were crisp, the house dressing tangy, the linguine with clam sauce
delicious, but the feeling of safety was short-lived, and when Lacey left the
restaurant and drove home, she was haunted by the sense that something or
someone was closing in on her.