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“No. But maybe you’ll get to New York one day, and we could meet. I’ll send you my info.”
“Thank you, Skyler,” he says, and it feels weirdly good to hear him say my name after all these years. “I wish you the best.”
Dropping the phone into my lap, I think for a minute. C.J. might have been at the party but lying low, and that’s why I never saw him. But if he was responsible for Chloe’s death, why leave me the money? Out ofguilt? And how would he have ever found out that I was Chloe’s sister? Did he spot me in the lobby and recognize me from the party and then target me for a seduction? Or did he only put two and two together later? It’s all so sickening, I can barely let myself toy with the questions.
I force myself up again and pace the living room, trying to figure out a next move. I need to determine why C.J. was in Boston twelve years ago and whether he seemed guilt-ridden when he returned. Asking Jane Whaley certainly isn’t an option, and Bradley Kane, it’s clear, will never be forthcoming. No, there’s only one person I have the chance of learning anything valuable from, and that’s Caroline Whaley. I certainly can’t ask her if she thinks her son was a murderer, but I can try to feel her out a little, get a sense if she saw any kind of change in him.
I grab my phone from the couch and tap her number. As far as I know, she’s finishing a late lunch with friends or busy doing something else to keep her grief from rearing its head too high, but to my surprise she answers on the second ring.
“Hello, Skyler,” she says. She doesn’t sound exactly overjoyed to hear from me, but at least I don’t detect any irritation in her voice.
“I’m sorry to bother you again, but... but I guess I didn’t know who else to turn to?”
She sighs. “Is Jane making your life difficult?”
“Someoneis, but I’m not so sure it’s her. I was hoping to speak to you again about Chris. I just feel I need more information.”
“As I told you, my son and I weren’t nearly as close as I would have liked. What makes you think I’d have the answers you’re looking for?”
“It’s more that I’m looking for a sense of him, one that I thought you’d have.”
“Hmm. Well, one tries, even from a distance. What specifically do you want insight on?”
Stupidly I haven’t thought this far ahead, haven’t come up with any questions. And it’s hardly going to be easy over the phone.
“You know what I think,” Caroline says before I can fumble a response. “The two of us should sit down in person again and have a real conversation.”
Yes.Though I have no desire to be in her company again, a one-on-one might make all the difference.
“That would be incredibly helpful,” I tell her.
“It will have to be soon, though. I’m leaving for Palm Beach tomorrow, and I’ll be gone for at least several weeks, maybe longer.”
What she’s saying is that it has to happen today. I quickly lower the phone to check the time on the screen.
“Depending on the train schedule, I could probably be in Scarsdale by late afternoon—and I could meet you in town for coffee.”
“I’m in the midst of packing, so why don’t you come here instead? Take the 4:54 from Grand Central and grab a taxi from the station. I’ll text you the address. We can chat for a bit, and then get you on the train back to the city.”
I think for a second. It means I won’t be able to drop by the police precinct with the sketch today, but that can wait a day. I tell her I’ll see her in a few hours and, after hanging up, kick my ass into gear. I purchase a round-trip ticket online, fix my hair, swipe on some makeup, and dig out my leggings, which I pair with a long, dark gray faux silk blouse that hits below my hips. When I retrieve my boots from the living room, I see that they have not been miraculously restored overnight, so I stuff my feet into an old pair of ballet flats buried in the back of my closet.
As I race to get out the door, I notice a sense of dread creeping through me, cell by cell. I’m desperate to find out if Caroline can shed light on the Boston weekend, but at the same time I’m terrified about what I might learn.
What if I discover that I slept with the man who killed my sister?
35
Now
BY THE TIME I REACH THE RIGHT TRACK AT GRAND CENTRAL, THEtrain is already boarding. Each car looks crowded already, and I’m almost at the end of the train when I finally just pick one. It’s clear that even if I leave my coat and purse on the seat next to me, there’s no way I’m going to maintain a whole row for myself, so I grab an aisle seat, guaranteeing that at least I won’t be boxed in.
Moments later, two chatty, shopping-bag-laden thirtysomething women have slid past me to occupy the other two seats in my row. Their bags are marked with LoveShackFancy, a store I’ve never even heard of. As the train lurches to a start, one of them begins raving above the tuna tartare they had for lunch with the sauce she thinks might have been a ponzu, and then goes on to lament that the dress she bought might have been the wrong choice, that the one with the flutter sleeves was probably cuter on her. It’s as if I’m listening to someone speak a foreign language, the words completely unfamiliar to me—ponzu,flutter,love shack,fancy, even the wordloveall by itself.
Ordinarily this kind of blabber would torture me, but it displaces the throbbing in my head and helps me think more rationally about the encounter in front of me. After today, I might not have another shot with Caroline Whaley, which means I have to tease out all the information I can. And do so without revealing the fears I have about her son.
Play dumb, I urge myself.Don’t show your hand.
It’s almost dark when the train pulls into Scarsdale, and the air feels much cooler than when I left my apartment. I button my coat and flip the collar up. People disgorge quickly from the train, like grains of rice spilling from a bag, and I hurry to keep up, eager to catch one of the taxis that Caroline assured me would be outside the station. But my phone rings inside my purse as I’m rushing down the platform stairs, and as soon as I reach the bottom, I step out of the crowd to check the screen.
