I have a date tonight.”
When Vince left with the package, Darcy went directly to the newly purchased hotel on West Twenty-third Street. Small, a total of thirty guest rooms, rundown, badly in need of paint, it still had tremendous possibilities. The owners, a couple in their late thirties, explained that the cost of basic repairs would leave very little for refurbishing. They were delighted with her suggestion that they decorate in the style of an English country inn. “I can get plenty of sofas and upholstered chairs and lamps and tables in very good condition at private sales,” she’d told them. “We can give this place a lot of charm. Look at the Algonquin. The most intimate bar in Manhattan and you’d be hard put to find a chair that isn’t threadbare.”
She walked through the rooms with them, making notes on their various sizes and shapes, and marking what furniture was usable. The day passed quickly. She had intended to go home and change for her date, but then decided against it. When Doug Fields called to reconfirm, he’d told her that he dressed casually. “Slacks and a sweater are pretty much a uniform for me.”
They were meeting at six at the Twenty-third Street Bar and Grill. Darcy got there exactly on time. Doug Fields was fifteen minutes late. He burst into the bar, clearly irritated and filled with apologies. “I swear I’ve never seen this block so messed up. So many cars, you’d swear it was an assembly line in Detroit. I’m so sorry, Darcy. I never keep people waiting. It’s a thing with me.”
“It really doesn’t matter.” He’s good-looking, Darcy thought. Attractive. Why had he found it necessary to immediately insist that he never kept people waiting?
Over a glass of wine, she listened to him on two levels. He was amusing, self-confident, well-spoken. Extremely likable. He’d been raised in Virginia, went to the University there, dropped out of law school. “I’d have made a lousy lawyer. Don’t have enough of the ‘go for the jugular.’” Go for the jugular. Darcy thought of the bruises on Erin ’s throat. “Switched to art school. Pointed out to my father that instead of cracking the books, I was doing caricatures of the profs. It was a good decision. I love illustrating and do well at it.”
“There’s an old saying, ‘If you want to be happy for a year, win the lottery. If you want to be happy for life, love what you do.’” Darcy hoped she sounded relaxed. This was the kind of guy Erin would have enjoyed meeting, the kind who after a date or two she would have trusted. An artist? The sketch? Was everybody suspect?
The inevitable question came. “Why would a pretty girl like you need to answer personal ads?”
This time the question was easy to parry. “Why would a good-looking, successful guy like you need to place personal ads?”
“That’s easy,” he said promptly. “I was married for eight years and now I’m not. I’m not interested in getting serious. You get introduced to somebody at a friend’s house, take her out a few times, and bingo, everybody’s looking at the two of you waiting for the big announcement. This way, I meet a lot of nice women. Lay the cards on the table just like this and see if it clicks. Tell me, how many dates from ads have you had this week?” “You’re the first one.”
“Last week, then. Starting with Monday.”
Monday I was standing over Erin ’s casket, Darcy thought. Tuesday I was watching that casket being lowered. Wednesday I was home watching the reenactment of Nan Sheridan’s murder. Thursday she had met Len Parker. Friday, David Weld, the mild-mannered, rather shy man who described himself as a department store executive and claimed not to have known Erin. Saturday, Albert Booth, a computer analyst who was enthralled with the wonders of desktop publishing and who knew Erin was frightened of her superintendent.
“Oh, come on, admit you had dates last week,” Doug urged. “I called you Wednesday and you weren’t free until tonight.”
Startled, Darcy realized that a number of times recently, someone had to repeat a question. “I’m sorry. Yes, I did go out a couple of times last week.” “And had fun?”
She thought of Len Parker pounding on the door. “You could call it that.” He laughed. “That speaks volumes. I’ve met some winners too. Now you’ve gotten my life history, how about telling me about yourself?” She gave a carefully edited version.
Doug raised one eyebrow. “I sense a lot of omissions but maybe when you get to know me a bit better, you’ll fill me in.”
She refused a second glass of wine. “I really have to be going.”
He did not argue. “Actually, I do too. When am I going to see you again, Darcy?
Tomorrow night? Let’s make it dinner.”
“I really am busy.”
“Thursday?”
“I’m working on a job that’s going to tie me up. Will you call in a few days?” “Yes. And if you keep turning me down, I promise I won’t persist. But I hope you don’t.”
He really is nice, Darcy thought, or else he’s a heck of a good actor.
Doug put her in a cab, then quickly waved one down for himself. In the apartment, he tore off the sweater and slacks and rushed into the suit he’d worn to the office. At quarter of eight he was on the train to Scarsdale. At quarter of nine he was reading a bedtime story to Trish while Susan broiled a steak for him. She certainly understood how maddening these late meetings were. “You work too hard, Doug, dear,” she had said soothingly when he stamped into the house, ranting about missing the earlier train by a hair-breadth.
Through hours of intense questioning, Jay Stratton remained calm. His only explanation for the diamonds in the bracelet that he had sold to Merrill Ashton was that it must have been a ghastly error. Erin Kelley had been commissioned to create settings for a number of fine diamonds. Stratton claimed that somehow he had made a mistake and inadvertently substituted other fine stones for some of the ones that were meant to be in the diamond pouch he had given Kelley. That was not to say that those others were not of equal value. Take a look at his various insurance policies.
A search warrant revealed no other missing diamonds in his apartment or in his safety deposit box. He was booked on suspicion of receiving stolen goods and bail was set. Disdainfully, he strode from the precinct with his lawyer. Vince had shared the interrogation with detectives from the Sixth Precinct. They all knew he was guilty, but as Vince said, “There goes one of the most convincing con men I’ve ever come across and believe me, I’ve run into a lot of them.”
The crazy thing, Vince thought as he left for his office, is that Darcy Scott ends up being a witness for Stratton. She’d opened the safe for him and would swear that the pouch wasn’t there. And of course the big question was, would Stratton have had the nerve to claim those diamonds were missing unless he knew that Erin Kelley would never show up to say what happened to them?
In the office, Vince snapped out orders. “I want to know everything, and I mean everything, about Jay Stratton. Jay Charles Stratton.”
XV WEDNESDAY March 6
Chris Sheridan studied Darcy Scott, liking what he saw. She was wearing a leather jacket belted at the waist, tan slacks that disappeared into scuffed but fine leather boots, a knotted silk scarf that accentuated the hollow in the nape of her neck. Her brown hair, darted with blond highlights, was soft and loose around her face. Hazel eyes, soft brown flecked with green, were framed by dark lashes. Charcoal brows accentuated her porcelain complexion. He judged her to be in her late twenties.
She reminds me of Nan. The realization shocked him. But they don’t look alike, he thought. Nan had been the typical Nordic beauty with her pink and white skin, vivid blue eyes, hair the color of daffodils. Then where was the resemblance? It was in the absolute grace with which Darcy moved. Nan had walked like that, as though if music began to play, she would glide into a dance step.
Darcy was aware of Chris Sheridan’s scrutiny. She had been making some observations of her own. She liked
