Loves Music, Loves to Dance Read online

  Chris Sheridan had moved the phone from Nona’s desk to the windowsill. Absently, he fingered the dusty plant. Darcy wasn’t home. When he’d called her office, her secretary had been evasive. Something about expecting to hear from her later. “A very important meeting had come up.”

  His intuition was pounding at him. Something was wrong.

  He knew it.

  Darcy wasn’t supposed to wait any longer than six o’clock. She stayed until six-thirty, then decided to give up for tonight. Obviously the woman who called hadn’t been able to meet her. She paid for the Perrier and left.

  She stepped out onto the street. The wind had stirred up again and seemed to cut through her body. I hope I can get a cab, she said to herself.

  “Darcy. I’m so glad I caught you. Your secretary said you’d be here. Hop in.”

  “Oh, you’re a lifesaver. What luck.”

  * * *

  Len Parker huddled in a doorway across the street and watched the vanishing taillights. It was just like last time when Erin Kelley came out and someone called her from that station wagon.

  Suppose this was the same person who had killed Erin Kelley? Should he call that FBI agent? His name was D’Ambrosio. Len had his card.

  Would they think he was crazy?

  Erin Kelley had walked out on him and Darcy Scott had refused to have dinner with him.

  But he’d been mean to them.

  Maybe he should call.

  He’d spent a lot of money on cabs following Darcy Scott these last couple of days.

  And the phone call would only cost a quarter.

  Chris turned from the window. He had to ask. Vince D’Ambrosio had just come back into the room. “Do you know if Darcy is answering another one of those damn ads tonight?” he demanded.

  Vince saw the concern on Sheridan’s face and ignored the belligerent tone. He knew it was not directed at him. “I understood from Nona that Darcy was planning an early night.”

  “She was.” The smile vanished from Nona’s face. “When I called her office, her secretary said she was going straight home from that hotel she’s redoing.”

  “Well, something changed her mind,” Chris retorted. “Her secretary sounds very mysterious.”

  “What’s her office number?” Vince grabbed the phone. When Bev answered, he identified himself. “I’m concerned about Miss Scott’s plans. If you know what they are, I want to hear them.”

  “I’d really rather let her get back to you—” Bev began, but was interrupted.

  “Listen, miss, I have no intention of interfering with her private life, but if this has to do with a personal ad, I want to know. We’re getting very close to solving this case but no one is in custody.”

  “Well, promise not to interfere—”

  “Where is Darcy Scott?”

  Bev told him. Vince gave her Nona’s number. “Ask Miss Scott to call me immediately when you hear from her.” He hung up. “She’s meeting a woman who claims she saw Erin Kelley leave Eddie’s Aurora in the Village the night she disappeared, and can describe the man she met outside. This woman hasn’t come forward because she was with a guy who wasn’t her husband.”

  “Do you believe it?” Nona asked.

  “I don’t like the sound of it. But if Darcy meets her in that bar, it should be okay. What time is it?”

  “Six-thirty,” Dr. Weiss said.

  “Then Darcy should be phoning her office any minute. She was only supposed to wait until six for that caller to show up.”

  “Didn’t the same thing happen to Erin Kelley?” Chris demanded. “As I understand it, she went to Eddie’s Aurora, was stood up, left, and disappeared.”

  Vince felt the skin on the back of his neck start to crawl. “I’ll phone there.” When he reached the bar, he fired rapid questions, listened, then slammed down the receiver. “The bartender says a young woman answering Darcy’s description walked out a few minutes ago. Nobody showed up to meet her.”

  Chris swore under his breath. The moment when he’d found Nan’s body fifteen years ago today filled his mind with sickening clarity.

  An escort from reception tapped on the half-open door. “Mr. Cizek from the FBI says you’re expecting him,” she told Nona.

  Nona nodded. “Show him in.”

  Cizek was pulling the thick guest list for the Playwrights’ gala from a bulging manila envelope as he came through the door. It was stuck. When he tried to yank it out, the clip fell off and the pages scattered. Nona and Dr. Weiss helped to retrieve them.

  Chris was clenching and unclenching his fists, Vince noticed. “We have two strong suspects,” he told Chris, “and we have a tail on both of them.”

  Dr. Weiss was examining one of the pages he picked up. As though he was thinking aloud he commented, “I’d have thought he was too busy with his personal ads to go to parties.”

  Vince looked up quickly. “Who are you talking about?”

  Weiss seemed embarrassed. “Dr. Michael Nash. Forgive me. That was an unprofessional comment.”

  “Nothing is unprofessional at this point,” Vince said sharply. “It could be very important that Dr. Nash was at the benefit. You sound as if you don’t like him. Why?”

  All eyes were on Martin Weiss. He seemed to be debating with himself, then said slowly, “This must go no farther than this room. One of Nash’s former patients, who now consults with me, noticed him in a restaurant with a young woman she knew. The next time she saw that young woman she teased her about it.”

  Vince felt his nerves tingling the way they always did when he sensed a break in the case. “Go on, Doctor.”

  Weiss looked uncomfortable. “My patient’s young friend said that she had met the man when she answered his personal ad and wasn’t surprised to learn that he had lied about his name and background. She felt distinctly uneasy with him.”

  Vince sensed that Dr. Weiss was deliberately choosing his words. “Doctor,” he said, “you know what we’re up against. You’ve got to level with me. What is your candid opinion of Dr. Michael Nash?”

  “I consider it unethical for him to do research for a professional book under false pretenses,” Weiss said cautiously.

  “You’re hedging,” Vince told him. “If you were on the witness stand, how would you describe him?”

  Weiss looked away. “Loner,” he said flatly. “Repressed. Pleasant on the surface but basically antisocial. Probably has deep-rooted problems that began to manifest themselves in childhood. However, he’s a natural dissembler and could fool most professionals.”

  Chris felt blood pounding in his temples. “Has Darcy been seeing this guy?”

  “Yes,” Nona whispered.

  “Doctor,” Vince continued rapidly, “I want to get in touch with that young woman immediately and find out what ad he placed.”

  “My patient brought it in to show me,” Weiss said. “I have it in my office.”

  “Would you remember if it began ‘Loves Music, Loves to Dance’?” Vince asked.

  As Weiss said, “Why yes, that’s right,” Vince’s beeper went off. He grabbed the phone, dialed, and barked his name. Nona, Chris, Dr. Weiss, and Ernie waited in absolute silence as they saw the lines on Vince D’Ambrosio’s forehead deepen. Still holding the receiver he told them, “That Len Parker looney just phoned in. He was following Darcy. She came out of that bar and got into the same station wagon Erin Kelley drove off in the night she disappeared.” He paused, then said tersely, “It’s a black Mercedes registered to Dr. Michael Nash of Bridgewater, New Jersey.”

  You have a different car.”

  “I mostly use this one in the country.”

  “You got back early from the convention.”

  “The speaker I was to replace felt well enough to come after all.”

  “I see. Michael, you’re sweet, but I think I’d just as soon go home tonight.”

  “What’d you have for dinner last night?”

  Darcy smiled. “A can of soup.”

  “You lea
n your head back and rest. Sleep if you can. Mrs. Hughes is going to have a fire blazing, a terrific dinner, and then you can sleep all the way home.” He reached over and gently stroked her hair. “Doctor’s orders, Darcy. You know I like taking care of you.”

  “It’s nice to be taken care of. Oh!” She reached for the car phone. “Is it all right if I call my secretary? I promised to check in with her.”

  He placed his hand over hers and squeezed it. “I’m afraid it will have to wait until we get to the house. The phone is broken. Now you just relax.”

  Darcy knew Bev would be there at least a few more hours. She closed her eyes and began to drift off. She was asleep by the time they went through the Lincoln Tunnel.

  We’ll have Nash’s apartment checked,” Vince said. “But he’d never take her there or to his office. The doorman would see them.”

  “Darcy told me his place in Bridgewater is a four-hundred-acre estate. She’s been there a couple of times.” Nona was gripping the sides of the desk to steady herself.

  “Then if he suggested going there with him tonight, she wouldn’t be suspicious.” Vince felt growing anger at himself.

  Ernie returned from the next office. “I’ve checked surveillance. Doug Fox is home in Scarsdale. Jay Stratton is at the Park Lane with some old broad.”

  “That lets them out.” It makes sense, Vince thought furiously. Nash left word on Erin’s answering machine to call him at his apartment the night he drove off with her. I never thought to check that out. He leaves a phony message with Darcy’s secretary and probably acts as though the secretary told him where to find Darcy. We know Darcy trusts him. Sure, she gets into his car. And if that weirdo Parker hadn’t been trailing her, she’d have vanished into thin air too.

  “How are we going to find Darcy?” Chris asked desperately. Agonizing fear that made it hard to breathe was crushing his chest. He knew that sometime in this past week, he had fallen hard for Darcy Scott.

  Vince was on the line snapping orders to headquarters. “Alert the Bridgewater police,” he was saying. “Have them meet us there.”

  “Be careful, Vince,” Ernie warned. “We have absolutely no proof of anything, and the only witness is certifiably nuts.”

  Chris spun on him. “You be careful.” He felt Weiss grip his arm.

  “Get directions to Nash’s place,” Vince was saying. “And have a chopper at the Thirtieth Street pad in ten minutes.”

  * * *

  Five minutes later, they were in a patrol car, lights flashing, sirens screaming, racing down Ninth Avenue. Vince was in the front seat with the driver, Nona, Chris, and Ernie Cizek in the back. Chris had flatly declared that he was going with Vince. Nona had looked at Vince, her eyes begging.

  Vince did not share the chilling information received from the Bridgewater police. Nash’s estate had a number of outer buildings scattered over the four hundred acres, including some in wooded areas. A search could take a long time.

  And every minute we lose, the clock is running out for Darcy, he thought.

  We’re here, sweetheart.”

  Darcy stirred. “I did fall asleep, didn’t I?” She yawned. “Forgive me for being such boring company.”

  “I was glad you were sleeping. Rest heals the spirit as well as the body.”

  Darcy looked out. “Where are we?”

  “Only ten miles from the house. I have a little retreat where I get my writing done and I forgot my manuscript the other day. You don’t mind if we stop for it? As a matter of fact, we can have a glass of sherry here.”

  “As long as we don’t stay too long. I do want to get home early, Michael.”

  “You will. I promise. Come on in. Sorry it’s so dark.”

  His hand was under her arm. “How did you ever find this place?” Darcy asked as he opened the door.

  “Pure luck. I know it doesn’t look like much outside, but the interior is quite nice.”

  He pushed the door open and reached for the light switch. Beneath it, Darcy noticed a button marked “Panic.”

  She looked around the large room. “Oh, this is handsome,” she said, taking in the seating area by the fireplace, the open kitchen, the polished floors. Then she noticed the big-screen television and elaborate Stereo speakers. “That’s magnificent equipment. Isn’t it wasted in a writing retreat?”

  “No, it isn’t.” He was removing her coat. Darcy shivered even though the room was comfortably warm. There was a bottle of wine in a silver holder on the coffee table by the sofa.

  “Does Mrs. Hughes take care of this place?”

  “No. She doesn’t know it exists.” He walked the length of the room and switched on the stereo.

  The opening bars of “Till There Was You” sounded from the wall speakers.

  “Come here, Darcy.” He poured sherry into a glass and handed it to her. “On a cold night this tastes wonderful, doesn’t it?”

  He was smiling at her affectionately. Then what was wrong? Why did she suddenly sense something different? His voice seemed slightly blurred, almost as though he’d been drinking. His eyes. That was it. There was something about his eyes.

  Her instinct was to run for the door, but that was ridiculous. She searched frantically for something to say. Her eyes rested on the staircase. “How many rooms do you have upstairs?” To her own ears the question sounded abrupt.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Just a smallish bedroom and bath. This is one of those really old-fashioned cottages.”

  The smile was still there, but his eyes were changing, the pupils widening. Where were his computer and printer and books and all the usual trappings of a writer?

  Darcy felt perspiration form on her forehead. What was the matter with her? Was she going crazy suspecting . . . what? It was just nerves. This was Michael.

  Holding his sherry, he settled in the large chair opposite the sofa and stretched out his legs. His eyes never left her face.

  “Let me look around.” She walked aimlessly through the room, pausing as though to examine one of the few pieces of bric-a-brac, running her hand over the countertop that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. “What beautiful cabinets.”

  “I had them made, but I installed them myself.”

  “You did!”

  His voice was genial but a hard edge came into it. “I told you my father was a self-made man. He wanted me to be able to turn my hand to anything.”

  “He did a good job teaching you.” There was no way she could stand here any longer. She turned, walked toward the sofa, and stepped on something solid that was almost covered by the fringe of the rug in the seating area.

  Ignoring it, Darcy sat down quickly. Her knees were shaking so much she felt as though they would buckle under her. What was the matter? Why was she so afraid?

  This was Michael, kind, considerate Michael. She did not want to think about Erin now, but Erin’s face was looming in her mind. She took a quick sip of sherry to relieve the dryness in her mouth.

  The music stopped. Michael looked annoyed, got up and went to the stereo. From the shelf above it, he took a pile of cassettes and began to examine them. “I didn’t realize that tape was so close to the end.”

  It was as though he was talking to himself. Darcy gripped the stem of the glass. Now her hands were trembling. A few drops of sherry spilled on the floor. She grabbed the cocktail napkin and bent to pat it dry.

  As she began to straighten up, she noticed that something was actually caught in the fringe of the rug, something that glinted in the light from the lamp beside the sofa. That’s what she must have stepped on. It was probably a button. She reached for it. The tips of her thumb and index finger slipped into hollow space and met. It wasn’t a button, it was a ring. Darcy picked it up and stared unbelieving.

  A gold E on an onyx background in an oval setting. Erin’s ring.

  Erin had been in this house. Erin had answered Michael Nash’s personal ad.

  Sheer horror washed over Darcy. Michael had lied when
he claimed he’d only met Erin once for a drink at the Pierre.

  The stereo suddenly started to blare. “Sorry,” Michael said. His back was still to her.

  “Change Partners and Dance.” He was humming the opening bars with the orchestra as he lowered the volume and turned to her.

  Help me, Darcy prayed. Help me. He must not see the ring. He was staring at her. She clasped her hands together, managed to slip the ring on her finger as Michael came to her, his arms outstretched.

  “We’ve never danced together, Darcy. I’m good, and I know you are.”

  Erin’s body had been found with a dancing slipper on her foot. Had she danced with him here in this room? Had she died in this room?

  Darcy leaned back on the sofa. “I didn’t think you cared about dancing, Michael. When I talked about the classes Nona and Erin and I took together, I didn’t think you were very interested.”

  He dropped his arms, reached for his glass of sherry. He perched on the chair this time, so much on the edge that it seemed as though his legs, planted on the floor, were preventing him from falling.

  Almost as though any moment he might spring at her.

  “I love dancing,” he said. “I didn’t think it would be healthy for you to be thinking about the fun you had taking those classes with Erin.”

  Darcy tilted her head as though considering his answer. “You don’t stop riding in cars because someone you cared about was in an automobile accident, do you?” She did not wait for a response, but tried to change the subject. She examined the stem of the glass. “Lovely glassware,” she commented.

  “I bought a set of these in Vienna,” he said. “I swear they make the sherry taste even better.”

  She smiled with him. Now he sounded like the Michael she knew. The strange look in his eye vanished for an instant. Keep him like that, her intuition warned. Talk to him. Make him talk to you.