I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [73]
It was almost eleven. She turned on the television to the news station just in time to see Zan get out of a car and Charley Shore try to rush her past the media. When Zan stopped and began to speak into the microphone, she could see the dismay on Charley’s face. “Oh, Willy,” Alvirah sighed. “Anyone listening to Zan now would be sure that she knows exactly where Matthew is. She sounds so positive that he’s alive.”
Willy had settled in his club chair with the morning papers, but looked up at the sound of Zan’s voice. “She sounds so positive because she knows where that kid is, honey,” he said emphatically. “I have to say that judging from her performance when Charley brought her here last night, she’s one hell of an actress.”
“How was she when you took her home in the car?”
Willy ran his fingers through his thick mane of white hair and frowned in concentration. “Just the way she was here, like a wounded doe. She said we’ve become her best friends and she doesn’t know what she’d do without us.”
“Then if she’s hidden Matthew somewhere, she doesn’t know it herself,” Alvirah said positively as she pushed the remote to turn off the television. “I’d be interested to know what impression Fr. Aiden had of Zan. When he said he’d pray for her, I heard what she said to him, to pray for Matthew but that God had forgotten she existed. That almost broke my heart. I just wanted to put my arms around her and hug her.”
“Alvirah, I think that dollars to donuts, Zan is going to be arrested,” Willy said. “You might as well be prepared for that.”
“Oh, Willy, that would be awful. Would they let her out on bail?”
“I don’t know. They sure won’t like the fact that she bought a one-way ticket to South America. That could be reason enough to keep her locked up.”
The telephone rang. It was Penny Hammel calling to say that she and Bernie would be thrilled to join the Lottery Winners’ Support Group meeting on Tuesday afternoon.
With her worry about Zan, Alvirah had wished that she had waited to call a Support Group meeting, but the sound of Penny’s cheerful voice lifted her spirits. She knew that she and Penny were kindred spirits in a lot of ways. They both wore size fourteen. They both had a good sense of humor. They both had preserved their lottery windfall. They both were happily married. Of course, Penny had three children and six grandchildren and Alvirah had never been blessed with a child. However, she considered herself a surrogate mother to Willy’s nephew, Brian, and surrogate grandmother to Brian’s kids. Besides that, she had never wasted time wishing her life away for something she could do nothing to change.
“Solved any crimes lately, Alvirah?” Penny asked.
“Not a one,” Alvirah admitted.
“Have you been watching television and seeing that Zan Moreland kidnapped her own kid? I’ve been glued to the set.”
Alvirah did not intend to get into a discussion with the loquacious Penny about Zan Moreland, nor admit she knew her well. “It’s a pretty sad case,” she said, carefully.
“I’d say so,” Penny agreed. “But I’ve got a funny story to tell you when I see you next week. I thought I was on my way to uncovering a drug deal or something sinister like that, and then I realized that I was getting excited about nothing. Oh well, I guess I’ll never write a book about solving crimes like you did. Did I ever tell you that I thought the title From Pots to Plots was downright inspired?”
Every time I see you, you tell me that, Alvirah thought indulgently, but said, “I’m pretty happy about the title myself. I think it’s catchy.”
“Anyhow, maybe you’ll get a laugh when you hear about the crime that didn’t happen. My best friend in town is Rebecca Schwartz. She’s a real estate agent.”
Alvirah knew it was impossible to cut off Penny without seeming abrupt. Carrying the phone, she walked across the living room to the club chair where Willy was now attempting to solve the daily puzzle and tapped him on the shoulder.
When he looked up, she mouthed the