I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [45]
Zan tried to smile. “Sounds good to me.”
And it was good, she decided, as the warmth of the comfort food and a glass of red wine made her feel that she was getting her balance back.
She had told Alvirah and Willy about the possibility of decorating the model apartments for the architect Kevin Wilson at his ultra chic building, 701 Carlton Place. “It’s between me and Bartley Longe,” she explained. “I realized that when Wilson read the morning papers, he’d probably believe that I had staged that kidnapping. I went straight to his office and asked him to give me a chance to prove that I couldn’t have taken Matthew that day.”
Alvirah knew she had only a small sense of how much Zan had worked on her designs for those apartments. “Did he give you that chance?”
Zan shrugged. “We’ll see. He let me leave my sketches and fabrics, so I guess I’m still in the running.”
They all passed on dessert, deciding to have just cappuccino. Knowing that Zan would be getting ready to leave, Willy got up from the table, went into the bedroom, and quietly picked up the phone and ordered a car to take her to Battery Park City then bring him back. Just in case they’re hanging around her building, there’s no way I’m letting that girl face a battery of reporters and photographers alone, he decided. I’m going to escort her home and get her upstairs.
“Fifteen minutes, Mr. Meehan,” the car dispatcher assured him.
Willy had just gotten back to the table when the phone rang. It was Fr. Aiden. “I’m crossing the street from the club,” he announced. “If it’s still all right, I’d like to pick up my scarf.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Alvirah assured him. “There is someone here I’ve been hoping you’d arrive in time to meet.”
Zan was finishing the last of her coffee. As Alvirah replaced the phone, Zan said, “Alvirah, I honestly don’t want to meet anyone. Please, let me get away before whoever that is arrives.”
“Zan, this isn’t just anyone,” Alvirah pleaded. “I didn’t say anything but I was really hoping that you’d still be here when Fr. Aiden dropped by. He’s an old friend and he left his scarf here last night, and because he had dinner practically across the street, he’s stopping by to pick it up. I don’t want to interfere with your plans, but I’d love it if you got to know him. He’s a wonderful priest at St. Francis, and I think he could be a real comfort to you.”
“Alvirah, I’m not feeling very religious these days,” Zan said, “so I’d like to just slip away fast.”
“Zan, I called a car. I’m riding home with you. That’s that,” Willy said.
The phone rang. It was the doorman to announce Fr. O’Brien. Alvirah rushed to open the door and a moment later the elevator stopped at their floor.
A smiling Fr. O’Brien was hugged by Alvirah, shook hands with Willy, and then turned to be introduced to the young woman who was their guest.
The smile vanished from his face.
Holy Mother of God, he thought, she’s the woman who’s involved in a crime.
She’s the one who claims she can’t prevent a murder.
32
On the short drive over from Hunter College to the Aldrich town house on East Sixty-ninth Street, Detectives Billy Collins and Jennifer Dean admitted to each other that never for one minute had either of them suspected that Zan Moreland had abducted her own child.
They reconstructed the day Matthew Carpenter disappeared. “All I was thinking was that we were looking for a predator who sized up the situation and acted on it,” Billy said somberly. “The park was crowded, the babysitter asleep on the grass, the little boy asleep in the stroller. I saw