I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [74]
Willy nodded, went to the front door of the apartment, and stepped out into the hall.
“Anyhow, Rebecca rented a house near me to a young woman and I’ll tell you why I thought there was something strange about her.”
Willy rang the bell, keeping his finger on it long enough that Penny would be sure to hear it.
“Oh, Penny, I hate to interrupt but the doorbell is ringing and Willy isn’t in the apartment. I can’t wait to see you next Tuesday. Bye, dear.”
“I hate to lie,” Alvirah said to Willy. “But I’m too worried about Zan to listen to one of Penny’s long stories, and it wasn’t a lie to say you weren’t in the apartment. You were outside in the hall.”
“Alvirah,” Willy smiled, “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. You’d have made a great lawyer.”
47
At eleven A.M. Toby Grissom checked out of the Cheap and Cozy Motel where he had spent the night on the Lower East Side and started to walk to Forty-second Street where he could get a bus to LaGuardia Airport. His plane wasn’t until five o’clock, but he had to be out of his room and anyhow he didn’t want to stay in it any longer.
The weather was cold, but the day was clear and bright and it was the kind of day on which Toby used to enjoy taking long walks. Of course, it had been different since he started getting the chemo treatments. They really knocked the stuffing out of him and now he wondered if there was any point in taking them any longer if all they could do was to keep him out of pain.
Maybe the doctor could just give me some pills or something so I wouldn’t have to be so tired, he thought, as he trudged up Avenue B. He glanced down at his canvas bag to reassure himself that he hadn’t forgotten it. He had put the manila file with the pictures of Glory in it. They were the most recent ones she had sent him before she disappeared.
He always carried the postcard Glory had sent him six months ago folded in his wallet. It made him feel near to her, but ever since he came to New York, his sense that she was in trouble had gotten steadily worse.
That Bartley Longe guy was bad news. You could tell that in a minute. Sure, he wore clothes that any dope could tell were expensive, and he was good looking but in that narrow-nose, thin-lip kind of way. When he looked at you, it was like you were dirt under his feet.
Bartley Longe had work done on his face, Toby thought. Even a run-of-the-mill guy like me would know that. His hair is too long. Not like those rock stars with those wild mops that make them look like a bunch of bums, but still too long. Bet it cost him four hundred dollars to get a haircut. Like the kind of money those politicians pay to barbers.
Toby thought about Longe’s hands. You’d never guess he ever did an honest day’s work in his life.
Toby realized he was gasping for breath. He was walking close to the curb. Slowly, he worked his way through the stream of oncoming pedestrians, until he reached the nearest building and, leaning on it, dropped his bag and took out his inhaler.
After he used it, he took deep breaths to force more air into his lungs. Then he waited for a few minutes until he felt ready to resume walking. While he waited, he observed the passersby. All kinds of people in New York, he decided. More than half of them were talking on cell phones, even the ones who were pushing strollers. Yak. Yak. Yak. What the devil did they have to say to each other? A group of young women, maybe in their twenties, passed him. They were talking and laughing and Toby eyed them sadly. They were dressed nice. They all were wearing boots that went anywhere from their ankles to past their knees. How did they ever wear those crazy high heels? he asked himself. Some of them had short hair, others had hair down past their shoulders. But they all looked as if they’d just stepped out of the shower. They were so clean they glistened.
They all probably had pretty good jobs in stores or offices, he thought.
Toby resumed his walk. I can understand now why Glory wanted to come to New York. I just wish she’d decided to get a job at an office,