I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [81]
There had been two more deliveries this morning. One contained rolls of wall coverings, the other boxes of table lamps.
Louise did manage to get in one more question. “Do you want any other deliveries from Zan Moreland’s order to be put in the largest apartment? I mean, I could see that some of them were meant for the middle one.”
“Keep it all together,” Kevin said as he reached for his wind-breaker.
Louise hesitated, then said, “Kevin, I know I’m overstepping myself, but I’ll bet the ranch that you’re on your way to Zan Moreland’s office. As your friend, I beg you, don’t let yourself get caught up in anything to do with that girl. I mean, she’s very attractive, anyone with two eyes can see that, but I think she’s mentally ill. When she went into the police station this morning, she told the reporters that her son was alive. If she knows that, she knows where he is, and she’s been putting on a big act for nearly two years. On the Internet, they have links to some of the video that the media posted that day after the child was reported missing in Central Park. They show her in the park by the empty stroller. You can tell she’s the same woman as in the photos that tourist took.”
Louise paused for breath.
“Anything else?” Kevin asked evenly.
Louise shrugged. “I know you’re mad at me, and I don’t blame you. But as your friend as well as your secretary, I hate to see you get hurt. And any kind of involvement with her will hurt you professionally as well as personally.”
“Louise, I’m not getting involved. I’ll tell you where I’m going. It’s to Alexandra Moreland’s office. I spoke to her assistant, who sounds like a nice guy. I’d like to settle all this with as little fanfare as possible. Quite frankly, I don’t like Bartley Longe. You heard him when he called. He’s like the cat who ate the canary, just assuming that I wouldn’t dream of having anything to do with Zan Moreland now.”
Kevin’s hand was on the door, but then he turned and added, “I’ve studied and compared both of their proposals, and I like hers much more. As Zan pointed out, Bartley Longe doesn’t provide a homelike quality to his designs. He’s too damn grandiose. That doesn’t mean I’ll hire Moreland, by the way. But it does mean that I might accept her proposal, use her materials, make some sort of financial deal with her for all the work she’s done, and get someone else to execute it. Does that make sense to you?”
Louise Kirk could not resist a parting shot. “It makes sense, but is it sensible?”
Josh had braced himself for the meeting with Kevin Wilson. He had his story straight. He and Zan believed that a hacker had gotten into their computer, and they were having it checked. As soon as they could validate that a hacker had made the orders, they could insist that the vendors who had delivered any goods pick them up immediately.
That will only buy us a little time, he thought. There’s no hacker. Zan ordered that stuff from her laptop. Who else would know exactly what to order?
She must have written that letter on her laptop, too.
The phone rang. It was the desk saying that Mr. Kevin Wilson was there and was it all right to send him up?
Kevin did not know what to expect, but he was not prepared to find Moreland Interiors to be headquartered in a relatively small office that was packed with rolls of carpet piled almost to the ceiling and covering half the floor space. He noticed that the furniture had obviously been pushed as far as possible toward the opposite wall to make room for all of it. Nor did he expect Josh Green to be so young. Not more than his midtwenties, Kevin thought, as he extended his hand to Josh and introduced himself.
Recognizing the supplier’s name stamped on the heavy paper covering the carpet, he asked, “Is all that stuff intended for my model apartments as well?”
“Mr. Wilson,” Josh began.
“No need for formalities. It’s Kevin.”
“All right, Kevin. This is what happened. A hacker must have