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He must notice my movements out of the corner of his eye because he quickly glances over in my direction. It seems to take him a second to put two and two together, but then I see his body jerk a little in recognition.
“What are you doing here?” I call out from a few yards away on the sidewalk. And then it dawns on me: If he’s in the city, he could be the person who followed me today and dropped the note in my bag. If he knows where I live, he could have been the one who searched my apartment, having driven into the city that day after seeing me in the lobby. The timing would have been tight, but he could have pulled it off.
“My name’s Mark Whaley and I need to talk to you,” he says. He makes a slight move in my direction, and I stretch out an arm, signaling for him to stay where he is.
“How did you know where I live?” I demand.
“It wasn’t hard to find out.”
Right. Jane Whaley clearly had my address all along.
“Please, I just need to talk to you,” he adds, taking a step in my direction this time.
“No, get away from me.”
I shift backward, stumbling slightly. There’s a scattering of people on the block—a man walking a bulldog, two girls, arm in arm, talking animatedly—but they all seem to be receding, absorbed into the dusk. I don’t know yet how scared I should be.
“It’s really important,” he insists. “I promise it won’t take long.”
“You followed me around the city today?”
He looks confused. “What?No.”
“Did you stuff that note in my bag? Did you break into my apartment?”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “God, no. I didn’t follow you or leave you a note or break into your apartment. I got here thirty minutes ago and when you didn’t answer your bell, I decided to stick around and see if you showed up.”
“So you just took a wild guess that I’d be coming home now?”
“Well, itisthe time of day when a lot of people get back from work,” he says. “Please, all I want is a few minutes of your time. And then I’ll go. I’m supposed to be in school in Philly now, anyway.”
There’s nothing especially menacing in his tone, just arrogance and the diction of someone who grew up with every need catered to.
I should hear him out, I decide. Maybe he’ll accidentally reveal something about his mother that will be useful to me. “All right.”
His shoulders sag a little, seemingly in relief. “Is there someplace around here we could grab a beer?”
“I don’t want a beer,” I tell him. I cock my chin toward the white brick Catholic church squeezed into the center of the block. “Let’s talk over there, in front of Saint Stanislaus.”
I don’t like the idea of him right in front of my building, but at the same time, I want to stick fairly close. Though he might not look threatening, I can’t be sure.
“Okay,” he says tersely, and I let him get a start ahead of me. Though I’d had a brief glimpse in Scarsdale, I finally have the chance to absorb his appearance once we’re by the front of the church. He has a strong nose, full lips, and his mother’s brown eyes, set in a slightly round, soft face. He’s attractive in his own way, but not nearly as handsome as C.J., in my memory. The dress shirt he’s wearing under the blazer is wrinkled, in the way you sometimes see privileged, private-school guys trying to telegraph:I’m certainly not going to iron it myself.
“So what do you want with me?” I ask.
He blows out a gust of air. “First, let me say I don’t have anything against you. And I’m not passing judgment, either. What went on between you and my father has nothing directly to do with me.”
How very sweet of him. “Can you please get to the point?”
“Okay, okay. Losing my father has been devastating for me and for my sister.”
As he saysfather, his voice catches, and his face creases briefly in what looks like grief. Unless he’s a great actor, he’s sincerely hurting.
“I’m really sorry for your loss,” I say.
“Thank you. I don’t know all the details about you and my father, and frankly I don’t want to. But this whole business with you and my mother is making everything even worse. I came here to ask you to do the right thing.”
“And what do you think the right thing is?” I ask, though I have a pretty good idea where he’s going.
