Loves Music, Loves to Dance Page 15

  Dubonnet for Darcy and Nona. A beer for Vince.

  Darcy and Nona decided on the red snapper. Nona said crisply to Vince, “You’ve got to eat sometime.”

  He ordered the corned beef and cabbage.

  Vince got back to Darcy’s other date. “I want to know about everybody you met. You’ve already seen two who admitted knowing Erin. Please let me decide on who is or isn’t important.”

  She told him about David Weld. “He’s an executive from Boston with the Holden chain. I gather he’s been back and forth to New York for the last few years as they opened new stores.” She felt as though she could read Vince D’Ambrosio’s mind. Back and forth to New York for the last two years. Darcy said, “The one thing that did strike me is that he’s been a shoe buyer.”

  “Shoe buyer! What’s this guy’s name?” Vince made a note in his book. “David Weld, Box 1527. Believe me, we’ll check him out. Darcy, Nona told you about the shoes that were returned to the parents of the girl from Lancaster?”

  “Yes.”

  He hesitated, glanced around, and saw that the people at the next table were absorbed in their own conversation. “We’re trying to keep this one quiet. Another pair of mismatched shoes were delivered yesterday. They were the mates of the ones Nan Sheridan was found wearing fifteen years ago.”

  Darcy gripped the table. “Then Erin’s death may not be a copycat crime.”

  “We just don’t know. We’re digging to see if anyone who knew Claire Barnes also knew Nan Sheridan.”

  “And Erin?” Nona asked.

  “That would of course clinch the fact we have another Ted Bundy who’s been getting away with serial murders for years.” Vince put down his fork. “I’ve got to tell it to you straight. A lot of people who answer these ads turn out to be a far different cry from the way they describe themselves. All the young women our computer targeted as being possible serial-killer victims are in your age bracket, in your intelligence bracket, in your looks bracket. In other words, our killer may date fifty girls and then one turns him on. I know I can’t dissuade you from answering these ads. Frankly, you’ve turned up some mighty interesting people for us to investigate. Nevertheless, you’re not trained to be a decoy. You’re a thoroughly nice, vulnerable young woman who doesn’t have the ability to protect herself if she suddenly finds that she’s painted into a corner.”

  “I don’t intend to let myself get painted into a corner.”

  * * *

  Vince had a quick coffee and left. He explained that his son, Hank, was coming in on a train from Long Island and he wanted to be in the apartment when he arrived.

  Nona’s eyes followed him as he stopped to pay the check. “Did you notice his tie?” she asked. “Today it was a blue and black check with a brown tweed jacket.”

  “So? Surely that doesn’t bother you.”

  “No, I like it. Vince D’Ambrosio is so determined to find whoever killed these girls that I swear he blocks out anything unimportant. I happened to call the Barnes home in Lancaster just after they opened the package with the shoes and I tell you, hearing them broke my heart. Today I called Nan Sheridan’s brother to ask him to be on the program. I could hear that same pain in his voice. Oh, Darcy, please God, be careful.”

  XII

  SUNDAY

  March 3

  On Sunday morning at nine o’clock, Michael Nash phoned. “I’ve been thinking about you, even worrying about you. How’s it going?”

  She had slept reasonably well. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Up to a drive to Bridgewater, New Jersey, and an early dinner?” He did not wait for her to answer. “In case you haven’t looked out the window, it’s a beautiful day. Really feels like spring. My housekeeper is a great cook and has to be treated for frustration if I don’t bring company home at least once over the weekend.”

  Somehow, she had dreaded this day. If they didn’t have other plans, she and Erin had often met for brunch on Sundays and spent the afternoon at Lincoln Center or in a museum. “That sounds fine.” They arranged that he’d pick her up at eleven-thirty.

  “And don’t get all gussied up. In fact, if you like to ride, wear a pair of jeans. I’ve got a couple of darn good horses.”

  “I love to ride.”

  * * *

  His car was a two-seater Mercedes. “Very fancy,” Darcy said.

  Nash was wearing a turtleneck sport shirt, jeans, a herringbone jacket. The other night at dinner, she’d had the impression of how kind his eyes were. Today they were still kind, but there was something else. Maybe, she told herself, just the look a guy got when he was interested in a woman. Darcy realized that the thought pleased her.

  The drive was pleasant. As they progressed south on Route 287, the suburbs disappeared. Houses that could be glimpsed from the road were now farther and farther apart. Nash talked with affectionate warmth about his parents. “To paraphrase that old commercial, ‘My father made his money the old-fashioned way, he earned it.’ He was just starting to hit it big when I was born. For ten years we moved every year, one house larger than the other, until he bought the present place when I was eleven. As I told you, my tastes are somewhat simpler, but God he was so proud the day we moved in. Carried my mother over the threshold.”

  Somehow it was easy to talk with Michael Nash about her famous parents and the Bel-Air mansion. “I always felt like a changeling there, as though the princess daughter of the royal couple must be living in a cottage and I was an impostor in her place.” How ever did two such stunning people manage to produce that mousy-looking child?

  Erin was the only one who knew about that. Now Darcy found herself telling Michael Nash. Then she added, “Hey, this is Sunday. You’re off duty, doctor. Be careful, you’ve got a way of being too good a listener.”

  He glanced at her. “And when you grew up, you never looked in the mirror and realized what an outrageous statement that was?”

  “Should I have?”

  “I would say so.” He was steering the car off the highway, through the quaint town, along a country road. “The fence starts the property.”

  It was a full minute before they turned into the gate. “My God, how many acres do you have?”

  “Four hundred.”

  At the Le Cirque dinner he had said the house was too ornate. Darcy silently agreed but nevertheless decided that it was an imposing and substantial mansion. The trees and plants were still bare of leaves and flowers, but the evergreens that edged the long driveway were full and luxuriant. “If you decide you’ve enjoyed yourself and come back next month, the grounds will be worth the trip,” Nash commented.

  * * *

  Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper, had prepared a light lunch. Sandwiches quartered with the crusts cut off—chicken, ham and cheese—then cookies, coffee. She looked approvingly at Darcy, severely at Michael. “I hope this is enough, miss. Doctor said that since you’ll be having an early dinner I mustn’t overdo now.”

  “It’s perfect,” Darcy told her sincerely. They ate in the breakfast room off the kitchen. Michael then gave her a quick tour of the house.

  “Interior-decorator picture perfect,” he said. “Don’t you agree? Antiques that cost a fortune. I suspect half of them are fakes. Someday I’ll change everything, but for now it just isn’t worth the effort. Unless I’m having guests I live in the study. Here we are.”

  “Now this is a comfortable room,” Darcy said with real pleasure. “Warm. Lived-in. Wonderful view. Good lighting. It’s the kind of look I try to give a place when I refurbish.”

  “You really haven’t told me much about your job. I want to hear, but how about that ride now? John has the horses ready.”

  Darcy had begun riding when she was three. It was one of the few activities she had not shared with Erin. “She was afraid of horses,” Darcy told Michael as she swung onto the coal-black mare.

  “Then riding won’t be memory lane for you today. That’s good.”

  The air, fresh and clean, seemed to at last cle
anse the scent of funeral flowers from her nostrils. They cantered across Michael’s property, slowed the horses to a walk as they went across town, joined other riders whom he introduced as his neighbors.

  * * *

  At six o’clock, they had dinner in the small dining room. The temperature had dropped. A fire was blazing, the white wine chilling, a decanter of red wine on the sideboard. John Hughes, now in uniform, served the beautifully prepared meal. Crabmeat cocktail. Veal medallions. Tiny asparagus. Roast potatoes. Green salad with pepper cheese. Sherbet. Espresso.

  Darcy sighed as she sipped the coffee. “I can’t thank you enough. If I’d been home by myself all day, it would have been pretty rough.”

  “If I’d been here alone all day, it would have been pretty boring.”

  She could not help overhearing Mrs. Hughes comment to her husband as they were leaving, “Now there is one lovely girl. I hope Doctor brings her back.”

  XIII

  MONDAY

  March 4

  On Monday evening, Jay Stratton met Merrill Ashton in the Oak Bar of the Plaza. The bracelet, a band of diamonds in a charming Victorian setting, won Ashton’s instant approval. “Frances is just going to love that,” he enthused. “I’m sure glad you convinced me to order it for her.”

  “I knew you’d be pleased. Your wife is a very pretty woman. That bracelet will look lovely on her arm. As I told you, I want you to have it appraised when you get home. If the jeweler tells you it’s worth one cent less than forty thousand dollars, the deal is off. In fact, he’ll undoubtedly tell you that you drove a hard bargain. But the fact is that I’m hoping that next Christmas you’ll think of another piece for Frances. A diamond necklace? Diamond earrings? We’ll see.”

  “So this is your loss leader for me?” Ashton chuckled as he reached for his checkbook. “That’s good business.”

  Jay felt the peculiar thrill that came with taking risks. Any decent jeweler would tell Ashton that at fifty thousand the bracelet would still be a bargain. Tomorrow he had a lunch date with Enid Armstrong. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her ring.

  Thank you, Erin, he thought as he accepted the check.

  Ashton invited Jay to have a quick bite before he left for the airport. He was taking a 9:30 plane home to Winston-Salem. Stratton explained that he was meeting a client at seven. He did not add that Darcy Scott was hardly the kind of client he wanted. He had a check in his pocket for seventeen thousand five hundred dollars; the twenty thousand from Bertolini less his commission.

  Effusive good-byes. “Give my very best to Frances. I know how happy you’ll make her.”

  * * *

  Stratton did not notice another man quietly leave a nearby table and follow Merrill Ashton into the lobby.

  “If I may have a word with you, sir.”

  Ashton accepted the card that was offered to him. Nigel Bruce, Lloyd’s of London.

  “I don’t understand,” Ashton sputtered.

  “Sir, if Mr. Stratton comes out, I don’t want to be observed. Would you mind if we step into the jewelry shop right over there? One of our experts will meet us. We’d like to have a look at the jewelry you just purchased.” The investigator took pity on Ashton’s bewildered expression. “It’s routine.”

  “Routine! Are you suggesting that the bracelet I just bought was stolen?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, sir.”

  “The hell you’re not. Well, if there’s anything funny about this bracelet, I want to know right now. That check isn’t certified. I can have payment stopped in the morning.”

  The investigative reporter for the New York Post had done his job well. Somehow he managed to learn that a package had been delivered to Nan Sheridan’s home and that it contained the mates of the mismatched shoes she’d been wearing when her body was found. Nan Sheridan’s picture; Erin’s picture; Claire Barnes’s picture. Splashed side by side on the front page. SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE.

  Darcy read the paper in a cab on the way to the Plaza.

  “Here we are, miss.”

  “What? Oh, all right. Thank you.”

  She was glad that she had had wall-to-wall appointments that day. Once again, she had brought clothes to the office. This time she changed into the red wool Rodeo Drive ensemble. As she got out of the cab, she remembered that she’d worn this outfit the last time she spoke to Erin. If only I’d seen her just once more, she thought.

  It was ten of seven, a bit early for her meeting with Jay Stratton. Darcy decided to pop into the Oak Room. Fred, the maître d’ of the restaurant, was an old friend. Ever since she could remember, when she and her parents had come to New York they had stayed at the Plaza.

  Something Michael Nash had said yesterday was gnawing at her. Hadn’t he been suggesting that she was still harboring a child’s resentment at a careless, even cruel remark that had no present validity? She found herself looking forward to the next time she saw Nash. I suppose it’s like getting a free consultation, but I’d like to ask him about it, she acknowledged as a beaming Fred rushed to greet her.

  * * *

  Promptly at seven she went next door to the bar. Jay Stratton was at a corner table. The only other time she had met him had been at Erin’s apartment. Her first impression had been distinctly unfavorable. He’d been angry about the missing Bertolini necklace, then after it was found switched to a display of anxiety over the missing pouch of diamonds. He’d been infinitely more concerned about the necklace than about the fact that Erin was missing. Tonight it was like being with a different person. He was really trying to turn on the charm. Somehow, she was sure she’d seen the real Jay Stratton the first time.

  She asked him where he had met Erin.

  “Don’t laugh. She happened to answer a personal ad I placed. I knew her casually and called her. One of those serendipity things. Bertolini had asked me about resetting those jewels and when I read Erin’s letter I remembered that wonderful piece she did that won the N.W. Ayer award. And so we got together. It was strictly business, although she did ask me to escort her to a benefit. A client had given her the tickets. We danced the night away.”

  Why had he felt it necessary to add “strictly business”? Darcy wondered. And would it have been strictly business for Erin? Only six months ago Erin had said almost wistfully, “You know, Darce, I’m at the point where I’d really like to meet some nice guy and fall madly in love.”

  The Jay Stratton who was sitting across the table, attentive, handsome, able to understand Erin’s talent, might well have fit the bill.

  “What ad of yours did she answer?”

  Stratton shrugged. “Frankly, I place so many of them I forget.” He smiled. “You look shocked, Darcy. I’ll explain to you what I explained to Erin. I will marry a very rich woman someday. I haven’t met her yet, but be assured I will. I meet many women through these ads. It is not very difficult to persuade older women, ever so gently, to relieve their loneliness by treating themselves to a particularly beautiful piece of jewelry or by resetting their own rings, necklaces, or bracelets. They’re happy. I’m happy.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Darcy asked. “I hope it’s not your way of letting me down easily. I didn’t think of tonight as a date. For me, it’s ‘strictly business.’ ”

  Stratton shook his head. “God forbid I should be so presumptuous. I’m telling you exactly what I told Erin after she explained to me her purpose in answering the ads. Your producer friend’s documentary, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What I’m trying to say and probably not doing it very well is that there was no romantic spark between Erin and me. The next point I’d like to make is to profoundly apologize for my behavior the first time we met. Bertolini is a valued client of mine. I’d never worked with Erin before. I didn’t know her well enough to be totally sure that she wouldn’t go away on a whim and forget the deadline for delivery. Believe me, I’ve had very uncomfortable moments of communing with myself and realizing the impression
I must have made on you when you were heartsick with worry about your missing friend and I was talking client deadlines.”

  A wonderful speech, Darcy thought. I should warn him I’ve lived most of my life with two of the best actors in this country. She wondered if it would be appropriate to burst into applause. Instead she said, “You do have the check for the necklace?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know how to make it out. Do you think ‘Estate of Erin Kelley’ will be appropriate?”

  Estate of Erin Kelley. All the years Erin had cheerfully done without the things that most of their friends considered essential. So proud that she could keep her father in a private nursing home. Just on the threshold of major success. Swallowing over a lump in her throat, Darcy said, “That will do.”

  She looked down at the check. Seventeen thousand five hundred dollars made out to the Estate of Erin Kelley, drawn on Chase Manhattan Bank, and signed by Jay Charles Stratton.

  XIV

  TUESDAY

  March 5

  On Tuesday morning when Agent D’Ambrosio entered Sheridan Galleries, he took a quick look around before he was ushered upstairs to Chris Sheridan’s office. The furniture reminded him of the contents of Nona Roberts’s living room. Funny. One of the things that had always been on his list was to take courses in art and antique furniture. The Bureau’s Art Theft program had only whetted his appetite in that area.

  In the meantime, Vince thought as he followed a secretary down the corridor, I live with Alice’s mistakes. At the time of the divorce he’d gotten tired of expecting a fair shake from her. “Take what you want if it’s so important to you,” he’d offered.

  She’d certainly taken him at his word.