killer.”
Vicious.
“What shall I do?” Susan whispered to herself. Her father’s words rang in her ears. “Vicious streak…”
Two years ago when she challenged him about his relationship with the au pair, his face had contorted with rage. The fear she had experienced at that moment swept through her again. As the news ended, Susan finally faced the fact she had never allowed herself to consider. “I thought he was going to hurt me that night.”
Shall we dance? Shall we dance? Shall we dance? On a bright cloud of music shall we fly?… Shall we still be together with our arms around each other, shall we dance? Shall we dance? Shall we dance?
Charley laughed aloud at the sheer exultation of the music. Whirling and stepping in synch with Yul Brynner, he stamped his foot, twisted, twirled an imaginary Darcy in his arms. They’d dance to this next week! Then Astaire! What joy! What joy! It was only seven days away: Nan ’s fifteenth anniversary! On the clear understanding that this kind of thing can happen, shall we dance?
Shall we dance? Shall we dance?
The music stopped. He reached for the remote control and snapped off the video. If only he could spend the night. But that would be foolish. Do what he had come to do.
The basement stairs creaked and he frowned. Must take care of that. Annette had fled down these stairs. Listening to the frantic tapping of the heels on the bare wood had enthralled him. If Darcy tried to escape him that same way, he didn’t want a creaking noise to interfere with the sound of her slippers on their futile flight.
Darcy. How hard it had been to sit across the table from her. He had wanted to say “Come with me” and bring her here. Like the Phantom of the Opera inviting his beloved to the netherworld.
The shoe boxes. Five of them now. Marie and Sheila and Leslie and Annette and Tina. Suddenly he realized he wanted to send them all back at once. Be finished with it. And then there would be only one.
Only Darcy’s package would be here next week. Maybe he’d never return it. He opened the latch of the freezer, lifted the heavy door, and stared down into the empty space. Awaiting a new ice maiden, Charley thought. This one he wouldn’t give back.
XVI THURSDAY March 7
How well did you know Nan Sheridan?” Vince snapped. He and a detective from the Midtown North precinct were taking turns questioning Jay Stratton. Stratton remained unruffled. “She was a student at Brown when I was there.”
“You dropped out of Brown and came back the year she was a sophomore?” “That’s right. I wasn’t much of a student my freshman year. My uncle, who was my guardian, thought it would do me a lot of good to mature a bit. I went into the Peace Corps for two years.”
“I repeat: How well did you know Nan Sheridan?”
How well indeed, Stratton thought. Lovely Nan. To dance with her was to feel a will-o’-the-wisp in your arms.
D’Ambrosio’s eyes narrowed. He had seen something in Stratton’s face. “You haven’t answered me.”
Stratton shrugged. “There’s no answer to give. Certainly I remember her. I was there when the whole student body was talking endlessly about the tragedy.” “Were you invited to her birthday party?”
“No, I was not. Nan Sheridan and I happened to be in several classes together.
Period.”
“Let’s talk about Erin Kelley. You were in an awfully big hurry to report those missing diamonds to the insurance company.”
“As Miss Scott can certainly verify, my first response when I spoke with her was irritation. I really didn’t know Erin well. It was her work I knew. When she didn’t keep the appointment to turn over the necklace to Bertolini, I convinced myself that she simply lost track of time. The moment I met Darcy Scott I realized how foolish that was. Her terrible concern made me see the situation clearly.”
“Do you often mix up valuable gemstones?”
“Certainly not.”
Vince tried another tack. “You didn’t know Nan Sheridan well, but did you know anyone who had a crush on her? Besides you, of course,” he added deliberately.
XVII FRIDAY March 8
On Friday afternoon, Darcy went to the West Side apartment where she’d redecorated the room for Lisa, the recuperating teenager. She brought with her plants for the windowsill, some throw pillows, a porcelain vanity set that she’d picked up at a house sale. And Erin ’s much-loved poster. The large pieces were already in; the pewter and brass bed, the dresser, the night table, the rocker. The Indian rug that had been in Erin ’s living room was perfect in this space. Candy-striped wallpaper gave the room a feeling of movement. Almost like a carousel, Darcy thought. The tieback curtains and spread were the same candy stripe as the paper. A starched white cotton dust ruffle picked up the glistening white of the ceiling and trim. Carefully, Darcy positioned the poster. It depicted an Egret painting, one of his early, lesser known works: a young dancer soaring through the air, her arms extended, her toes pointed. He’d called it, “Loves Music, Loves to Dance.” She drove picture hooks into the wall, thinking of all the dance classes she and Erin had taken. “Why jog in the freezing rain when you can get just as much exercise dancing?” Erin would ask. “There’s an old slogan, ‘To put a little fun in your life, try dancing.’”
Darcy stepped back to be sure the poster was hanging straight. It was. Then what was gnawing at her? The personal ads. But why now? Shrugging, she closed her toolbox.
She went directly to Sheridan Galleries. So far, all the poring over the pictures had proven useless. She had come across Jay Stratton’s picture, but Vince D’Ambrosio had already picked his name from the student roster. Yesterday, Chris Sheridan had pointed out that she probably had a better chance of winning the lottery than of having a familiar face jump out at her. She’d been afraid that he might have regretted his decision to let her use his conference room, but that wasn’t the case. “You look wiped out,” he’d said to her late yesterday afternoon. “I understand you’ve been here since eight o’clock this morning.”
“I was able to rearrange some appointments. This seems more important.”
Last night had been Box 3823, Owen Larkin, an internist from New York Hospital. He’d been pretty full of himself. “Trouble with being an unattached doctor is that all the nurses keep offering to have you over for a home-cooked meal.” He was from Tulsa and hated New York. “The minute I finish my residency I’m on my way back to God’s country. You can keep these crowded cities.” Casually, she’d brought up Erin ’s name. His tone confidential, he’d told her, “I didn’t meet her, but one of my friends at the hospital who answers these ads did. Just once. He’s keeping his fingers crossed that she didn’t keep records. The last thing he needs is to be questioned in a murder investigation.”
“When did he see her?”
“Early February.”
“I wonder if I’ve ever met him.”
“Not unless you met him around that time. He’d broken up with his girlfriend and they got back together.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brad Whalen. Say, is this some kind of inquisition? Let’s talk about you and me.”
Brad Whalen. Another name for Vince D’Ambrosio to check out.
Chris was standing at his office window when he saw the cab pull up and Darcy get out of it. He shoved his hands in his pockets. It was windy and he watched as Darcy closed the door of the cab and turned to the building.
