his eyes blank, his face devoid of expression.
“Tell your friend to get out. Now.” He hadn’t raised his voice once since entering the house, but his flat monotone was terrifying. It was completely devoid of affect and Faith realized that this was true of the rest of Harvey, as well. He hadn’t even glanced at her once. Never addressed her directly. The two women were objects, like the furniture in the room. He picked up the remote, put his feet, clad in heavy motorcycle boots, on the coffee table, and switched the television on, flicking through the chan-nels until he came to MTV.
Faith had no problem with leaving. Lorraine looked as if she would have liked to go, too—at least for a cup of coffee. As Faith went out the door, Lorraine said good-bye, added something about Harvey being tired, then leaned forward and whispered, “Come back during the morning. Early. He never comes then. Come Wednesday.”
Faith nodded and thankfully made her way back to Manhattan. If every foray out of the city was going to be like the last two, she’d just as soon stay within the confines of the borough for the rest of her life. Maybe a trip or two to someplace like Provence, but definitely she was never going to live anywhere except the Big Apple.
Back at work during the rest of the afternoon, Faith struggled to shake off the sense of deep fear Harvey had provoked. Suddenly, all her other theories were
tumbling houses of cards. Whatever Lorraine knew, Harvey knew—and Lorraine knew where Fox had been living, probably knew about Emma. Most certainly after Emma’s upstate visit. Emma’s visit with Todd. Had it been Harvey on the other end of the phone? Faith hadn’t heard enough to be sure. Had they pooled their knowledge and come up with the plot to extort money, a great deal of money, from Emma? It was hard to gauge Harvey’s intelligence, but it didn’t take much to be a blackmailer—and none at all to kill.
Josie and Jessica had had things under control, but Faith still worked at a fever pitch to get all the party platters and several buche de Noel done and delivered.
Howard, who served as van driver when necessary, returned from the last load at six.
“Any changes in the schedule this week? Tomorrow night, we’re on, Thursday night’s your relative’s party, right? Then there’s the weekend. That’s filled, yes?”
“No changes, but with more platters to do and several takeouts, it’s about all we can handle until we move to the new place,” Faith answered, adding silently, Until I take care of this Emma business. Until my life veers from the schizophrenic course it’s on.
The phone rang, and it was the lady herself.
“Don’t be mad, but I had to give them their money again. Yesterday.” Uncharacteristically, she came straight to the point.
Faith’s heart sank. It wasn’t the money—though watching Emma bleed tens of thousands of dollars was gut-wrenching. It was another opportunity lost. If Emma had told her she was going to pay up, Faith could have lurked in the doorway of a nearby building
and watched the pickup. Watched Harvey—or Todd—
search the Dumpster? She had to find out what time Emma had made the drop. She had to explain this all, but with her staff in full earshot, it was impossible now.
“Can you meet me for a drink? Or I could come by the apartment?”
“You can’t talk now. You’re working, of course!
How stupid of me. I shouldn’t have interrupted you!” Emma was contrite.
“No, interrupt me anytime, please. We’re
Faith emphasized the word
“I have to meet Michael at the opening of Geoffrey Beene’s new boutique. It’s not that Michael’s so interested in fashion, but they go way back. Mother Stanstead won’t wear any other designer, and Lincoln told Michael he’ll be there. Michael wants to talk to him about some fund-raiser.”
Making a swift and firm resolve never to call anybody “Mother” anything, except possibly when referring to the nursery rhyme, Faith tried to think when she could sit Emma down and find out what had happened.
Both of their schedules were typical New York nightmares. Lincoln was Lincoln Kirstein, the cofounder of the New York City Ballet, and it sounded as if the Beene opening was going to be as luminous as the Milky Way. She wished she was catering it.
“How about tomorrow—lunch?” Emma asked. “It’s my Doubles holiday lunch at the Sherry-Netherland and someone canceled at my table.”
Faith thought it was extremely unlikely that they would be able to chat about blackmail and murder at the private club’s well-known and much-sought-after festivity.
“It’s always very noisy and gay. Nobody will pay any attention to what we’re talking about.” Emma could be right. Faith had certainly been to enough gatherings of this sort to know that people barely listened to one another, let alone a conversation on the other side of a table. The important thing was to see and be seen.
“All right. I can take off for lunch, but I may have to leave early. Meet you there.”
“You’re an angel, Faith. See you.”
Faith wasn’t sure what was particularly angelic about going to lunch, but then every encounter with Emma from the very beginning had had unintended and often incomprehensible results, so lunch with the members of the Doubles Club and their guests should be no different.
She decided to call Richard. The idea of going back to her apartment alone was unsettling. Here, with her staff bustling about her, she’d had a hard time keeping Harvey’s face from her mind. Home alone, the image of this poster boy for sociopaths would be a waking nightmare. Besides, tonight would be her last free evening for a while, and she might as well make the most of it.
“Got anything special on for tonight? Sweet Richard?” Josie asked as she was putting on her coat.
Josie herself was determined to remain unencumbered until she got her restaurant going, but she’d explained to Faith that that didn’t mean she had to take any vows. She’d changed from her work clothes and looked terrific in a deep claret-colored velvet sheath that brought out the rosy glow in her warm brown skin. She wore her hair very short—“Don’t want to fuss with it,” she’d said. It fit her head like a cap, em-168
phasizing her high cheekbones. When she did have her restaurant, she was going to be as much of a draw as her food, Faith predicted.
“If Richard’s busy, I may go to a party.” People, noise, safety in numbers.
“Go to the party,” Josie advised. “Things are getting entirely too intense lately.” She raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question—a question she knew Faith couldn’t answer.
“You may be right.” She’d get dressed up and lose herself in a merry holiday party. It was decided. She could even drop in on the Beene opening. Mother Stanstead wasn’t the only one who favored the designer.
But first she tried Richard. Richard
“I left a message for you at your apartment,” he said.
“Didn’t want to bother you at work.”
“Bother me. Really. If I can’t talk, I’ll tell you.”
“Okay. Anyway, can I see you tonight? I have to leave town for a few days and won’t be back until the weekend.”
“I was about to call you.” Why was she relieved that he was leaving town? One less thing to think about?
Or was it getting harder and harder not to confide in him? Or, she admitted reluctantly, was it that she had no idea how she felt about him and wanted some time apart?
“Nice words. What had you planned to say?”
“The same thing. Except I’m not leaving town.”
“Excellent—on both counts.”
They arranged to meet at the party and then think of what to do afterward once they were together.
Faith went home and tried on several different out-169
