know it must be upsetting to think about, but who do you think killed Nathan Fox?”
Lorraine’s washed-out blue eyes filled with tears. “I wish I knew. I wish I knew.”
When Faith got to work, Josie was up to her elbows in
“We’re not behind, but we’re not ahead,” she told Faith, who was hastily changing into some work clothes.
“Any calls?”
“About ninety from someone named Emma. Left them on the machine, and we’ve chatted a number of times since. I believe it to be the concerned lady who didn’t want to bother you at work. You recall?” Faith did and raced to the phone.
Emma was home and picked up on the first ring.
“Emma, hi. It’s Faith. I don’t really have much—”
“Tell me everything. Were there a lot of speakers?
Was it crowded? Oh, I should have taken a chance and gone. How about the press—were they there?”
“Yes, yes, and yes. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.
We have to do a dinner tonight on Gramercy Park and—”
“Faith, I got a call. From them.”
“Oh God, Emma. You have
What did they say? When was it?” If it was during the time of the service, that eliminated a whole bunch of people.
“I don’t know when. It was on the machine and I didn’t get back until around two o’clock. I left about ten. Hair, manicure, Christmas shopping, a lunch
meeting—it should be one or the other, a meeting or lunch.”
She was rambling on, her distraught voice making the prosaic words a litany of fright.
“Emma! What did they say!”
“ ‘We’ll be in touch.’ That’s all. ‘We’ll be in touch.’ ” Her voice was dead calm now, leaden.
“A man or a woman?”
“Impossible to tell. Strange, kind of squeaky, high-pitched.”
“Take the tape out and put a new one in. If I can convince you to go to the police, they’ll want it, and mean-while, I want to listen to it.”
“I erased it,” Emma said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just hit the delete button.”
“Look, we’ll meet for breakfast, okay? Don’t worry about it. It was a natural response. What are you doing tonight? Is Michael home?”
“Yes, he’s not going away again until January, and I’m going with him. Someplace in the Caribbean. And tonight? I think it’s the opening of
Michael knows.”
“Just don’t go anywhere by yourself. Stick with him,” Faith knew that Emma wasn’t going to take any solitary walks—not in this subzero weather and not when she was this terrified—but Faith was nervous.
Easy enough to get the Stansteads’ number. It was listed. At breakfast tomorrow, she’d try again to convince Emma to tell someone—maybe even Poppy.
Meanwhile, Faith had many hours to fill with trying to figure it all out. A murderer and a blackmailer, or two separate crimes?
After arranging to meet at 8:30 the following morning at the Maximilian Cafe at Fifty-eighth and Seventh Avenue, Faith hung up and turned, to find Josie staring at her, a guarded, worried expression on her face. “Is this something you want to talk about? Because, girl, it sure sounds like something you
Faith pulled a stool from under the steel countertop and sat down, cupping her chin in one hand.
“I wish I could, but it’s not my story to tell, and I’ve sworn that I won’t.”
Josie came up alongside. She looked straight at Faith. “Remember I’m here. And I thought I had heard it all, but apparently . . .” She smiled and coaxed one from her boss. “Apparently, I was wrong. Just don’t go starting something you can’t finish. I need this job.”
“Me, too.” Faith gave her a hug. “Now, what are we doing for dessert? French apple cake? [See the recipe on page 283.] The host’s allergic to chocolate, right?”
“Now, that’s someone with a real problem.” Yes, thought Faith—and Emma, uptown, opening her closet, laying out what to wear tonight for yet another dinner party, gallery opening, or benefit, would be ecstatic to trade for a problem like this.
Faith was drinking coffee, sitting by the window at Maximilian’s, drumming her fingers impatiently on the red-checkered tablecloth. Like the coffee shop yesterday, the creperie was bedecked with garlands spelling out good cheer—except JOYEUX NOEL had been added, and here the poinsettias were real. Outside, a Salvation Army Santa was vigorously ringing his bell, the little red collection pot swinging merrily on its tripod. Saint Nick had a boom box and Faith
could hear “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town” faintly through the glass. Every once in a while, someone would stop and slip some money in the pot. But only once in a while. Most people were streaming out of the subway and off the buses, single-mindedly heading straight for work, not so eager for the day’s toils as to escape the freezing cold.
There were less than two weeks until Christmas.
Faith wished the events of the last week either far into the future or far into the past. It was
“Sorry, sorry, sorry. No cabs.” Emma ordered coffee immediately, then glanced at the menu, adding, “An English muffin, butter on the side.” She looked at Faith. “I know it’s a French place, but I like English muffins.”
“I’ll have a plain omelette and whole-wheat toast,” Faith said. She had the feeling she was going to need sustenance today.
“Any more messages?” she asked her friend as soon as the waitress left. The sidewalks were packed, but the restaurant was almost empty.
Emma shook her head. “If there’s another, I’ll save the tape.”
“There’ll be another,” Faith said pointedly. “Do you have any idea, any idea at all who could be doing this?”
Emma looked woebegone. “I’ve thought and
thought, but the only person I can think of is Lucy. You know what she’s like, and she’s been even more horrid since I got married.”
“Jealous, of course. I would be more than happy to confront her with you.” Faith brightened. Something concrete to do.
The food arrived. Emma put a millimeter-thick coat-ing of butter on her muffin. “But if I’m wrong, then she’ll know things she didn’t know before. We can’t just say, ‘Are you blackmailing me, Lucy, and if so, cut it out,’ without her wanting to know why, and then I’ll never have a moment’s peace again for the rest of my life.”
“Which you might not have unless you ask her,” Faith pointed out logically.
“But it’s likely that if it isn’t Lucy, she’ll blackmail me over having something someone could blackmail me about.” Emma broke off a tiny piece of her muffin and raised it halfway to her mouth. “How can this be happening to
