his strong features, the slight bump on the bridge of his nose, probably the result of a break. The width of his shoulders and an overall impression of disciplined fitness suggested athletic prowess. A few years ago, her mother and father had both had plastic surgery. “A nip here, a tuck there,” her mother had said, laughing. “Don’t look so disapproving, darling Darcy. Remember, our looks are an important part of our stock in trade.” How totally irrelevant to remember that now, Darcy thought. Was she simply trying to escape the delayed shock of opening the package with Erin ’s boot and the dancing slipper? She’d been composed all day yesterday, then woke up this morning at four o’clock to find her face and pillow wet with tears. She bit her lip at the memory, but could not prevent new tears from welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, and tried to sound brisk. “It was good of you to go to Connecticut for the pictures last night. Vince D’Ambrosio told me you had to change your plans.”
“They weren’t important.” Chris sensed that Darcy Scott wanted him to ignore her distress. “There’s an awful lot of stuff,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have it laid out on a table in the conference room. My suggestion is that you take a look at it. If you want to bring everything home or to your office, I can have it delivered. If you want part of it, we can arrange that too. I know most of the people in the pictures. Some, of course, I don’t. Anyhow, let’s take a look.”
They went downstairs. Darcy realized that in the fifteen minutes she’d been in Chris Sheridan’s office, the crowd inspecting the items for the next auction had increased substantially. She loved auctions. Growing up she had regularly gone to them with the dealer representing her parents. They never could go themselves. If either one of them was known to be interested in acquiring a painting or antique, the price shot up instantly. It was hearing her mother and father recite the history of their acquisitions that made her uncomfortable. She was walking next to Sheridan toward the rear of the building when she spotted a cylinder writing desk and darted over to it. “Is this really a Roentgen?”
Chris ran his hand over the mahogany surface. “Yes, it is. You know your antiques. Are you in the business?”
Darcy thought of the Roentgen in the library of the Bel-Air house. Her mother loved to tell the story of how Marie Antoinette had sent it to Vienna as a gift to her mother, the Empress, which was why it had escaped being sold during the French Revolution. This one had obviously been shipped out of France as well. “Are you in the business?” Chris repeated.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Darcy smiled, thinking of the hotel she was refurbishing with garage sale trappings. “In a way you could say that.” Chris raised his eyebrows but did not ask for an explanation. “Down this way.” A wide foyer led to a double-doored room. Inside, a protective cloth covered a Georgian banquet table. Albums, yearbooks, framed pictures, snapshots, and carousels of slides were neatly placed rowlike on the table. “Don’t forget, these were all taken somewhere between fifteen and eighteen years ago,” Sheridan warned.
“I know.” Darcy considered the mass of material. “How much do you use this room?”
“Not that often.”
“Then would it be possible to leave everything here and let me come in and out? The thing is, when I’m in the office I’m always busy. My apartment isn’t large, and anyhow I’m not there very much.”
Chris knew it was none of his business but could not stop himself. “Agent D’Ambrosio told me you were answering personal ads.” He watched the withdrawal in Darcy Scott’s expression.
“ Erin didn’t want to answer those ads,” Darcy said. “I persuaded her. The only way I can possibly atone for that is to try to help find her killer. Is it all right if I come back and forth? I promise I won’t bother you or your staff.” Chris realized what Vince D’Ambrosio had meant when he said that Darcy Scott was going to do what she wanted about the personal ads. “You won’t be any bother. One of the secretaries is always here by eight. The cleaning staff is around until ten at night. I’ll leave word for them to let you in. Better yet, let me give you a key.”
Darcy smiled. “I promise not to make off with a Sevres. Is it okay if I stay for a while now? I have a few hours free.”
“Of course. And remember, I know many of those people. Try me if you want a name.”
At three-thirty Sheridan returned, followed by a maid carrying a tea tray. “I thought you might need a break. I’ll join you if I may.” “That would be fine.” Darcy realized she had a vague headache and remembered she had skipped lunch. She accepted a cup of tea, poured a few drops of milk from the delicate Limoges pitcher, and tried not to look too anxious as she reached for a sugar cookie. She waited until the maid left, then commented, “I know how hard it must have been for you to put all this together. Memory Lane is pretty shattering.”
“My mother did most of it. She surprises me. She fainted when that package of shoes arrived, but now, whatever she can do to track down Nan ’s killer and to stop him from harming anyone else is all she cares about.” “And you?”
“ Nan was six minutes older than I. She never let me forget it. Called me ‘little brother.’ She was outgoing. I was shy. We kind of balanced each other. Long ago I gave up the hope of seeing her killer in court. Now that hope is within reach again.” He looked at the stack of pictures she had separated. “Anyone you know?” Darcy shook her head. “Not so far.”
At quarter of five, she poked her head in his office. “I’m running along now.”
Chris jumped up. “Here’s the key. I meant to give it to you when I came down.”
Darcy pocketed it. “I’ll probably come back early in the morning.” Chris could not resist. “Have you got one of those dates now? I’m sorry. I have no right to ask. I’m only concerned because I think it’s so dangerous.” This time he was glad to see Darcy Scott did not stiffen. She simply said, “I’ll be fine,” and with a half-wave left him.
He stared after her, remembering the one time he had gone hunting. The doe had been drinking water from a stream. Sensing danger, it had lifted its head, listening, poised for flight. An instant later it sank to the ground. He had not joined in the exultant cheers the others in the party accorded the marksman. His instinct had been to shout a warning to the deer. That same instinct was crying out to him now.
How’s the program going?” Vince asked Nona as he tried to find a comfortable spot on the green love seat in her office.
“It is and it isn’t.” Nona sighed. Wearily, she ran a hand through her hair. “The hardest thing is to find a balance. When you wrote and asked me to include a segment about the possible dangers of answering those ads, I had no idea what the next week would bring. I still think my original concept is right. I want to give an overall picture and then end with a warning.” She smiled at him. “I’m glad you called and suggested pasta.”
It had been a long day. At four-thirty, Vince had had a brainstorm. He’d had a list made of the dates the eight young women had disappeared and ordered researchers to start collecting personal ads from New York area newspapers and magazines that had appeared three months previous to those dates. A sense of accomplishment at the new possible lead had made him realize that he was gut-level tired. The thought of going back to the apartment and finding some food in the neglected refrigerator had been depressing. Instead, almost inadvertently, he’d reached for the phone and dialed Nona. Now it was seven o’clock. He’d just arrived at her office and Nona was ready to pack it in.
The phone rang. Nona raised her eyes to heaven, reached for it, and identified herself. Vince watched as her expression changed.
“You’re right, Matt. Always a safe bet that you’ll find me here. What can I do for you?” She listened. “Matt, get it straight. I’m not in the market to buy you out. Not today. Not tomorrow. If you’ll remember, last year when we had a buyer you didn’t think it was enough. The usual. Now I can wait. You can wait. What the heck is the rush? Does Jeanie need braces or something?” Nona laughed as she hung up. “That was the man I promised to love, honor, and cherish all the days of my life. Trouble is, he forgot to remember.” “It’s been known to happen.”
They went to Pasta Lovers on West Fifty-eighth Street. “I duck in here a lot when I’m by myself,” Nona told him. “Wait till you taste the pasta. It would drive anyone’s blues away.”
A glass of red wine. The salad. Warm bread. “It’s the connection,” Vince heard himself saying. “There’s got to be a connection between one man and all those girls.”
“I thought you were convinced that except for Nan Sheridan the connection is the personal ads.”
“It is. But don’t you see? He can’t just happen to have the right-sized slipper for each one of them. Granted, he could have bought the slippers after he killed the girls, but he certainly had the one he left on Nan Sheridan’s foot with him when he attacked her. This type of killer usually follows a pattern.” “So you’re talking about someone
