I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [6]
But then shortly thereafter Alvirah read on Page Six of the Post that the tragedy-haunted Zan Moreland had gone back to work full-time at her interior design firm, Moreland Interiors, on East Fifty-eighth Street. Alvirah immediately informed Willy that their apartment needed to be redone.
“I don’t think it looks so bad,” Willy had observed.
“It’s not bad, Willy, but we did buy it furnished six years ago, and to tell you the truth, having everything white, curtains, rugs, furniture, has made me feel sometimes as though I’m living in a marshmallow. It’s a sin to waste money, but I think in this case it’s the right thing to do.”
The result was not only their transformed apartment, but also a close friendship with Alexandra “Zan” Moreland. Now Zan called them her surrogate family and they saw her frequently.
“Did you ask Zan to have dinner with us tonight?” Willy asked now. “I mean, this has got to be a horrible day for her.”
“I did ask,” Alvirah replied, “and at first she said yes. Then she phoned back. Her ex-husband wants to be with her, and she didn’t think she could refuse. They’re meeting at the Four Seasons tonight.”
“I could see where the two of them might be some comfort for each other on Matthew’s birthday.”
“On the other hand, that’s a pretty public place, and Zan is too hard on herself about letting her emotions show. When she talks about Matthew, I wish she’d let herself cry once in a while, but she never does, not even with us.”
“I’ll bet there are many nights when she cries herself to sleep,” Willy said, “and I agree it won’t do her any good to be with her ex tonight. She told us that she’s sure Carpenter has never forgiven her for allowing Matthew to go out with such a young babysitter. I hope he won’t bring that up again on Matthew’s birthday.”
“He is — or was — Matthew’s father,” Alvirah said, then more to herself than to Willy added, “From everything I’ve ever read, in a case like this, even if they’re not present, one parent takes the blame for the situation, be it a careless babysitter, or being away when he or she had wanted to stay home that day. Willy, there’s always blame, more than enough to go around when a child is missing, and I just pray God that Ted Carpenter doesn’t have a couple of drinks and start in on Zan tonight.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, honey,” Willy cautioned.
“I know what you mean.” Alvirah debated then reached for the other half of her toasted bagel. “But, Willy, you know it’s true that when in my bones I feel trouble coming, it always does come. And I know, I just know, that impossible as it seems, Zan is going to be hit real hard with something more.”
4
Edward “Ted” Carpenter nodded to the receptionist without speaking as he strode through the outer room of his thirtieth-floor suite on West Forty-sixth Street. The walls of the room were filled with pictures of his current and former celebrity clients covering the past fifteen years. All were inscribed to him. Usually he made a left turn into the large room where his ten publicity assistants worked. But this morning he headed directly for his private office.
He had warned his secretary, Rita Moran, not to bring up the subject of his son’s birthday to him and not to bring any newspapers to work. But when he approached her desk, Rita was so absorbed in reading a news story on the Internet that she did not even see him when he stood over her at the computer. She had an image of Matthew pulled up on her screen. When she finally heard Ted, she looked up. Her face turned crimson as he leaned over her, grabbed the mouse, and turned off the computer. In quick strides, he went into his