I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [52]
“If she’s acting.” Kevin was surprised to hear himself defending her.
Startled, his mother looked at him. “What do you mean, if? You saw those pictures, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did, and I don’t know what I mean. Come on, Mom, let’s eat. I’m starved.”
It was later, at their usual table in Neary’s, that Kevin told his mother over coffee that he had been considering hiring Alexandra Moreland to decorate three model apartments.
“Well, of course this ends that,” Catherine Wilson said decisively. “But tell me, what’s she like?”
Her face would haunt you, Kevin thought. Those expressive eyes, that sensitive mouth. “She’s about five eight, I would say. She’s very slender and graceful. She moves like a dancer. Yesterday her hair was loose on her shoulders, the way you see it in the pictures. Today, she had tied it back in a bun or chignon or whatever you call it.” He realized he was describing Zan to himself as much as to his mother.
“My God, you sound as though you have a crush on her,” his mother exclaimed.
Kevin thought for a long moment. That’s crazy, he decided, but there is something about Zan. He remembered the feeling of having her shoulder brush his when she was pointing out some of the aspects in Bartley Longe’s sketches that she felt would put off a prospective buyer. By then she had seen those photos from Central Park and she knew what she was up against.
“She asked me to give her time to prove that those photos are fakes,” he said. “I don’t have to make a decision between her and Bartley Longe yet. And I’m not going to. I’m sticking to my guns and giving her the chance she asked for.”
“Kevin, you’ve always been for the underdog,” his mother said. “But this may be carrying it too far. You’re thirty-seven years old and I was beginning to worry that I would be stuck with an Irish bachelor on my hands. But, for God’s sake, don’t get involved with someone in a hopeless situation.”
Just then their longtime friend Jimmy Neary stopped at their table to say hello. He’d caught Catherine’s last words. “I couldn’t agree more with your Mom, Kevin,” he said. “And if you’re ready to settle down, I’ve got a list a mile long of young ladies who already have their eye on you. Do yourself a favor. Steer clear of trouble.”
35
As he had promised, Willy took Zan home in a hired car. He offered to drop Fr. Aiden along the way, but he did not accept the ride. “No, you go along. I’ll visit with Alvirah for a little while,” he said.
When Fr. Aiden said good-bye to Zan, he looked directly into her eyes and said, “I will pray for you.” Then he reached out and took her hands in his.
“Pray that my little boy is safe,” Zan answered. “Don’t bother to pray for me, Father. God has forgotten that I exist.”
Fr. Aiden did not try to reply. Instead he stepped aside to let her pass into the hallway. “I’ll just stay five minutes, Alvirah,” he promised after the door closed behind Zan and Willy. “I could see that the young woman wanted no part of my company, and I didn’t want to wish it on her even for a short ride in the car.”
“Oh, Aiden,” Alvirah sighed. “I’d give anything if I could believe that Zan didn’t take Matthew out of his stroller that day, but she did. There’s no question about it.”
“Do you think the child is alive?” Fr. Aiden asked.
“I could no more conceive of her hurting Matthew than I could imagine running a knife through Willy.”
“I think you told me that you only came to know Ms. Moreland after her son disappeared,” Fr. Aiden said. Be careful, he warned himself. There is no way you can possibly let Alvirah think that you’ve met Alexandra Moreland before.
“Yes. We became friendly because I wrote a column