I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [47]
Billy Collins was not impressed. As he stood up, for a split second he remembered what his uncle, a chauffeur for a family in Locust Valley, Long Island, had told him. “There are a lot of smart people in this town, Billy, who have plenty of money they made on their own. I know, because that’s the kind of people I work for. But they’re not the same as the really rich, who have been that way for generations. Those people live in a world of their own. They don’t think like the rest of us.”
It was clear to Billy, as it had been the first time he met her, that Nina Aldrich fit into that category. And she wants to put us on the defensive, he thought. Okay, lady, let’s talk. He opened the conversation. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Aldrich. It’s very accommodating of you to see us on short notice, because it’s obvious you’re having a very busy afternoon.”
From the narrowing of her lips, he could see that she had gotten his point. Without being invited, he and Jennifer Dean both sat down again. After a moment’s hesitation, Nina Aldrich took a seat behind the narrow antique desk opposite them.
“I’ve seen the morning papers and the Internet,” she began, her voice cold and contemptuous. “I can’t believe the way that young woman could have been so flagrant as to kidnap her own child. When I think of the sympathy I felt for her and the caring note I wrote to her, I am simply outraged.”
Jennifer Dean opened the questioning. “Mrs. Aldrich, when we spoke to you hours after Matthew Carpenter disappeared, you verified that you had an appointment with Alexandra Moreland, and that she was with you when I first phoned her to tell her that her child was missing.”
“Yes, that was about three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“What was her reaction to our call?”
“Looking back, after having seen those photos, I can tell you that she’s quite a marvelous actress. As I told you at our previous meeting, after speaking to you, Ms. Moreland went white as a sheet and jumped up. I wanted to call a cab, but she ran out of the house and raced to the park on foot. She left all her books with her fabric and paint samples and pictures of antique furniture and lamps and carpets and so forth scattered here.”
“I see. The babysitter took Matthew to the park between 12:30 and 12:40. From my notes I see that your appointment with Ms. Moreland was at one P.M.,” Jennifer continued.
“That’s right. She called me on her cell phone to say that she’d be just a few minutes late because of the babysitter problem.”
“You were here.”
“No. I was in my former apartment on Beekman Place.”
Billy Collins was careful to keep his expression from showing his excitement. “Mrs. Aldrich, I don’t think you told me that the first time we spoke. You said that you met Ms. Moreland here.”
“That’s the way it turned out. I told her I didn’t mind her being a little late, but then when an hour passed, I called her back. By then she was sitting in this house.”
“Mrs. Aldrich, you are now telling me that when Alexandra Moreland spoke to you after two o’clock that you still hadn’t seen her?” Billy persisted.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Let me explain. Zan Moreland had a key to this house. She had been letting herself in while she was preparing to submit her suggestions for the décor. She just assumed we were meeting here. So actually it was closer to an hour and a half before we got together. When we finally did talk, she apologized for the confusion and offered to come to Beekman Place, but I was meeting friends at the Carlyle for cocktails at five so I told her I would come meet her up here. Frankly, by then I was getting pretty irritated with her.”
“Mrs. Aldrich, do you keep a written record of your appointments?” Dean asked.
“Of course I do. I keep them in one of those daily planners.