I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [82]
“Do you know that we’ve had three deliveries so far this morning to 701 Carlton Place?” Kevin asked. Then, seeing the stunned expression on the young man’s face, he said, “I gather you didn’t know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Josh, I know Zan went into the police station with her lawyer this morning. Do you expect her back soon?”
“I don’t know,” Josh said, making no effort to hide the concern in his voice.
“How long have you been working with her?” Kevin asked.
“Almost two years.”
“I chose her to submit a plan for my model apartments based on the fact that I was a guest in a home in Darien, Connecticut, and in an apartment on Fifth Avenue, two separate jobs that she had just finished decorating six months ago.”
“That would be the Campion home and the Lyons apartment.”
“Did you actively work on those jobs?” Kevin asked.
Where is this going? Josh asked himself. “Yes, I did. Of course, Zan is the designer and I’m her assistant. Since we were doing both jobs at the same time, we alternated covering the day-by-day activity of each project.”
“I see.” I like this guy, Kevin thought. He’s a straight shooter. Whatever Zan Moreland’s problems, she designed exactly what’s right for those apartments. I don’t want to deal with Bartley Longe and I don’t like his designs as much. And I can’t start inviting other designers to submit plans. The board is already screaming about the delays in having the model apartments completed.
The door opened behind him. He turned to see Zan Moreland come into the office, with some older man who he guessed would be her lawyer. Zan was biting her lip trying to hold back the sobs that were racking her shoulders. Her eyes were swollen from crying and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Kevin knew he had no business there. He looked at Josh. “I’ll call Starr Carpeting,” he said, “and tell them to pick up all this stuff and deliver it to Carlton Place. If any more deliveries like this come in, don’t accept them. Send them to Carlton Place as well as all the invoices. I’ll be in touch.”
Zan had turned her back to him. He knew she was embarrassed for him to see her weeping. He left without speaking to her, but as he waited for the elevator he knew that, more than anything, he wanted to go back and put his arms around Zan.
Sense and sensible, he thought wryly, as the elevator door opened and he stepped into it. Wait till I tell Louise what I’ve done.
52
Melissa had listened with mounting fury to Ted’s message suggesting that instead of putting up a five-million-dollar reward for information leading to Matthew’s return, she make it a five-million-dollar donation to the Foundation for Missing Children.
“Can he be serious?” she asked Bettina, her personal assistant.
Bettina, a savvy, sleek forty-year-old with a cap of gleaming black hair, had come to New York from Vermont at age twenty, hoping for a career as a rock singer. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that her reasonably good voice would go nowhere in the music world and instead she had become the personal assistant to a gossip columnist. Melissa had noticed Bettina’s efficiency and offered her more money to work for her. Bettina promptly dumped the columnist who, as she aged, had come to count on her.
Now Bettina’s emotions ranged between sharing Ted’s loathing of Melissa and loving the excitement of being part of a major celebrity’s life. And when Melissa was in a good mood, she would grab an extra one of the expensive gift bags that were meant only for the stars at a concert or awards show for Bettina, while she was getting one for herself.
The minute Bettina walked into Melissa’s apartment at nine o’clock that morning, she had known it would be a long day. Melissa had immediately sprung on her the notion of offering the reward for Matthew’s safe return. “You notice I say ‘safe return,’ “Melissa said. “Almost everybody believes that little kid is dead, so I’ll get some nice publicity and it won’t cost me a nickel.”
Ted’s negative response