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“I wasn’t far off. She had this Aaron’s full name—it’s Applebee. He works for the London Times, lives in Chelsea. Both parents married or cohabbed multiple times, but not currently with each other. Got a brood of half- and stepsibs.”
“Which might put a man off the idea of marriage or family.”
“Might. Reporters have a lot of sources. If he’d wanted to find Tandy, it seems he could and would have. Maybe he decided he wanted the kid, and they’re just off playing kissy-face. Or maybe he found out she was having it when he thought she wasn’t, and he came over pissed. Or he’s just at home, sleeping
off a Saturday Night Special and not answering his ’link.”
“Or, it’s still possible she just walked away. She’d done it before, leaving London.”
“Yeah, there’s that.” And the probability run she’d done on that angle had given her a near fifty-fifty. “But I’m betting when she left London, she packed her things, all nice and neat. She gave her landlord and her employer notice. I already know she did none of those things here. No, she didn’t work all day, leave the shop, and decide somewhere between Madison and Fifth to just keep walking.”
“No.” Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder and rubbed. “She didn’t.”
“So.” She struggled with a yawn. “You getting anywhere with the numbers?”
“A couple of interesting things. I want to come at them from another angle, then I’ll put it together for you.”
“Sounds like a plan. Look, why don’t you pack it in for now, go on to bed? I’ll just wait for the Italian, then head in, too.”
“Not a chance. If I leave you on your own, I’ll come back in a few hours and find you facedown at your desk, snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Wake the dead.”
“I do not.” Did she?
He only smiled, then wandered off to study the Willowby side of the board. “You’ve gathered quite a bit in a short amount of time.”
“Nothing that points to where she is and why. In the Italian case, they never found the woman, or the kid.”
“They didn’t have you.” Nor had his mother, he thought. She’d had no one, and there was nothing that could change it. He turned to Eve. “Look at you. You’re running on empty, and pushing at two fronts.”
“It may already be too late for her.” She nodded at Tandy’s photo. “Pushing’s all I can do.”
When her ’link signaled, she spun around to answer. “Dallas.”
“Triveti. I am returning to you.”
His accent was thick and exotic, his face lean and handsome. “Thank you for getting back to me so quickly, Inspector.”
“I am pleased. My English, scuzi, it is small.”
“My Italian’s smaller.” She glanced toward Roarke. “I have someone with me who can help if we get in a bind. You investigated a Missing Persons case a couple years ago. A pregnant woman.”
“Sophia Belego. You have the same.”
“Tandy Willowby,” she told him, and gave him the bones of the case, with Roarke refining some of the details in Italian when the Inspector expressed confusion.
“Like yours, my Sophia, she had no close family, no ties to the city where she disappeared in. She left her—momento—her, ah banking account. It had not been used, or her credit cards, since the time of her disappearing. Her clothes, her possessions remained in her apartment. In this place, her neighbor speaks to her that morning when she is leaving. The statement says that Sophia was—what is lieto?”
“Happy,” Roarke translated.
“Si, she is happy and full of excite. She is going to see her dottore.”
“Doctor,” Roarke translated.
“And she will shop for the baby. She sees the dottore, and is well. Healthy. Her spirits are good, and she makes the appuntamento?”
