I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [91]
Why not? she decided as with quick steps she walked across the sidewalk and turned the handle on the door of the agency. “Bonjour, Madame Schwartz,” she boomed in her best imitation of a French accent. “I am here to buy that beeg, ugly McMansion on Turtle Avenue that has been on the market for two years. I wish to tear it down because it is an eyesore. I am carrying four million Euros in the trunk of my limousine. Do we have what you Americans call a deal?”
Rebecca laughed. “Very funny, but let me tell you something that is nothing short of a miracle. I have a buyer for Sy’s place.”
“What about the tenant?” Penny demanded.
“She has to be out within thirty days.”
Penny realized that she felt a twinge of disappointment and that she actually had been having fun building up a mystery surrounding Gloria Evans. “Have you told Evans that?” she asked.
“I did, and she is one unhappy lady. She hung up the phone on me. I told her I could show her at least five or six places that would be much more attractive and that she could use on a month-to-month basis so that she isn’t stuck with a year’s lease.”
“And she hung up on you anyway?” Penny dropped into the chair nearest to Rebecca’s desk.
“Yes. She was really upset.”
“Rebecca, I just drove past Sy’s place. Have you been inside since she moved in?”
“No. Remember, I told you that I drove by early the morning after she was supposed to arrive and saw her car in the carport, but I haven’t been inside.”
“Well, maybe you should make an excuse to go in. Maybe you can knock on her door and apologize to her about the inconvenience of the sudden sale and tell her you’re sorry she’s so upset. If she doesn’t have the courtesy to invite you to come in, I’d say that it’s proof positive something is going on.”
Warmed up to the subject, Penny searched her mind for possible reasons to spur Rebecca into taking action. “That would be a perfect place for distributing drugs,” she theorized. “Quiet country road. Dead-end street. No neighbors. Think about it. And if the cops ever raided her, who knows what might happen to your sale? Suppose she’s already running from the police?”
Knowing that she had absolutely no basis in fact to support what she was suggesting, Penny said, “You know what I think I’ll do. I won’t wait until Tuesday. I’ll call Alvirah Meehan later on today and tell her everything about Ms. Gloria Evans and ask her for her advice. I mean, suppose Evans is running from the police and there’s a reward for finding her? Wouldn’t that be just too much?”
60
Fr. Aiden O’Brien began his Friday at seven A.M. serving the breadline outside the church. Today, as usual, there had been more than three hundred people waiting patiently for breakfast. Some of them, he knew, had been on line for at least an hour. One of the volunteers whispered to him, “Notice that we’re seeing a lot of new faces, Father?”
The answer was that yes, he had noticed. Some of those people attended the senior citizen activities that were now his principal assignment. He had heard from many of them that it was getting to be a choice between food and the medicines they absolutely needed.
Those concerns were with him always, but today, as he woke up, he had prayed for Zan Moreland and for her child. Was little Matthew still alive, and if so, where had his mother been keeping him? He had seen the suffering in Zan Moreland’s eyes when he took her hands in his. Was it possible, as Alvirah seemed to believe, that Zan was a split personality and didn’t know what was happening in her other persona?
If that were true, was it the other persona who had come to confession and admitted to being part of an ongoing crime and unable to prevent a murder?
The problem was that no matter which one came to