Eye Candy (10 page)

Keep seeing me. Don't ever say no.

Your life depends on it.

Love, ALWAYS

PART THREE

19

I burst into Ann-Marie's room screaming, “You've got to help me. Someone's been in my room!”

I clicked on the ceiling light. She was sprawled on the bed on her stomach, her arms straight out at her sides, dressed in her top and skirt. She hadn't even managed to take off her shoes.

“Ann-Marie? Ann-Marie? Can you hear me? Are you alive?”

She stirred, raised her head, struggled to open her eyes. “No thanks. I've had enough,” she whispered.

“Ann-Marie, I need help. I've—I've been robbed! Wake up! Please—!”

She raised her head and squinted up at me with one bloodshot eye. “Huh?”

“Someone was in our apartment! I've been robbed!”

Ann-Marie sat up and blinked at me, hair falling in damp tangles over her face. “You're serious?”

“Yes. Come with me.” I tried to tug her to her feet.

“Ohmigod. Lindy, they were in your room? What did they take? Did they get your mother's rings?” She shook herself awake. “Give me a sec. I'll be right there. Oh, wow. Are you okay? You're shaking.”

“I'm scared,” I said. “I mean, he climbed in the window. He was in my room. And the note . . . He left a note . . .” The words caught in my throat. “Annie, he took all my underwear!”

“Huh? Underwear? I have to pee. I'll be right there.” She stumbled to her feet.

I ran back into my room and dropped onto the edge of the bed. I took several deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heartbeats.

I stared at the window. I tried to picture someone climbing in. Someone with a letter for me. Someone carrying a bag or a backpack to carry away my things.

Someone I knew.

Yes. One of the guys I'd been out with.

A chill ran down my back. One of them had sneaked into my apartment. Threatened to kill me.

I don't want to sleep in this room, I decided. I feel so invaded, I don't want to be in this room anymore. I could run away. I could disappear. That would show the sick creep, wouldn't it? All his planning and threatening for nothing.

My eyelids felt heavy. The room began to sway in front of me. I steadied myself on the bed with both hands. Then I picked up the note and read it one more time.

It was so . . . cold. The whole tone of it. The guy who wrote it
hated
me. It was obvious. But then if he hated me so much, why did he want to keep on going out with me?

Was it just a sick power trip?

I pulled myself to my feet and carried the note to the dresser. I dropped it back into the open drawer where I'd found it. Had I touched the drawer handles? Had I ruined any fingerprints the guy might have left? Maybe. I'd touched the window, too.

Police don't really use fingerprints much, do they? Isn't that only on TV?

I knew I wasn't thinking clearly. My panic had given way to total exhaustion. I pulled off my clothes, tossing them onto the floor, and grabbed a nightshirt from my top drawer.

At least the guy left me my nightshirts.

Brad? Colin? Jack?

I pictured their faces as I stared at the empty dresser drawer. A hand grabbed my shoulder. I cried out.

“Sorry,” Ann-Marie said. “Didn't mean to scare you.” She had run cold water on her face, and her mascara had run onto her cheeks. She had tied back her hair. Taken off her shoes and stockings.

“Look,” I said, pointing into the drawer. “All my underwear. Gone.”

“Jesus.” She picked up the envelope. “This is the note?”

I nodded. “It's so . . . horrible.”

Ann-Marie held the note close to her face and squinted at it, frowning, as she read it. She read it twice, then dropped it onto the dresser top. Then she turned and wrapped me in a hug. “Lindy, I'm so sorry. So sorry I got you into this.”

“Oh, it's not your fault,” I said. “I just don't understand—”

“Lou and I got back here a little after one,” she said, backing away from me and pacing the small room. She glimpsed herself in my dresser mirror. “Ugh.” She spun away, rubbing at the mascara stains on her cheeks.

“And did you hear anything at all?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. Nothing. But we had music on pretty loud. And we were . . . kinda out of it. You know.”

I swallowed. “I just can't believe someone I know would do this. He says he'll kill me. He'll kill me if I don't say yes to him.”

Ann-Marie pulled me away from the dresser. “Don't touch anything, Lin. The police will want to check for fingerprints, right?” She glanced at the window. “Did you leave it open when you went out tonight?”

“No,” I said, sighing. “He must have opened it from outside and climbed in.”

Ann-Marie hugged me again. “Sit down. You look very pale.”

I shook my head. “Jack? Brad? Oh shit, Annie. What if it's Colin? What if I slept with a killer?”

Ann-Marie pulled me to the edge of the bed and forced me to sit down. Then she handed me the phone. “Go ahead. Call the police. Tell them someone broke in.”

I hesitated, staring at the phone.

What if it's Colin?

Are you the guy, Colin?

“Should I call them for you?” Ann-Marie asked. “Want me to do it?”

“No,” I said in a whisper. “No no no.”

Because I'd figured it all out.

No need to call the police. It suddenly became clear.

“What's wrong, Lin?” Ann-Marie asked, leaning over me. “Why don't you want to call them?”

I had to force out the words. “Because I know who it was.”

She blinked at me and lowered the phone.

“I figured it out,” I whispered. “I know I'm right.”

“Who?” Ann-Marie asked softly. “Tell me.”

“I'm really sorry, Annie,” I said. “I'm so so sorry. Really. But . . . it was Lou.”

20

Ann-Marie froze. She stared at me open-mouthed. Then she tossed the phone onto the bed and loomed over me. “No way! Are you crazy?”

I climbed off the bed and took a few steps back. “I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

“You've lost it,” she said, balling her hands into tight fists. “Are you stoned, too? How could it be Lou? Why would you even suspect Lou? I was with him all night. Remember? I was with him the whole time.”

My heart raced. My legs were trembling. I didn't want to have this scene. But I knew I was right.

“Do you remember saying goodnight to him?” I asked.

She tilted her head and stared at me as if she didn't understand the question. “Say goodnight? Yes, of course. I mean . . . I mean . . . no.”

“You don't remember,” I said, “because you went to bed. You were already flat out on your bed when I came in.”

“So? What does that mean? Lou and I got a little high. Big fucking deal. And I passed out for a little while. But that doesn't prove anything, Lin. Just because Lou was alone in the apartment? How the hell does that make him a thief and a killer?”

“You . . . don't understand,” I stammered. I didn't want to go ahead with this, but I had no choice. “This is hard for me, Ann-Marie. I . . . I don't want to do this, but—”

“Then don't,” she snapped angrily. “You know I'm here to help you, Lin. I'll do anything I can for you. But if you're going to try to ruin things between Lou and me—”

“Lou came on to me, Ann-Marie.” The words burst from my mouth. “He practically attacked me. He grabbed my breasts and . . . and said horrible things.”

Her eyes darted rapidly from side to side. “Where? When?”

“He was leaving when I got home. He came out of the apartment and cornered me in the hall. He said horrible things. I thought he was going to—”

“He was just high,” Ann-Marie cried. “He didn't mean anything. He was loaded.”

“Listen to me, Ann-Marie. Lou was alone in the apartment. He was the only one who—”

“Why are you trying to hurt me?” she cried, her voice breaking. “Lindy, why are you doing this? The first guy I've been so crazy about? And you want to accuse him with no evidence at all?”

“Annie, please—”

Her features tightened into a cold mask. “What did you do?” she demanded, lowering her voice to a growl. “Did you come on to him? That's it, isn't it. You stuck your tits in his face and came on to him. Why, Lin? I thought I was your best friend. All those guys, and you have to have Lou, too?”

I could see I was getting nowhere. I wished I hadn't brought Lou up at all. I suddenly felt so weary. I knew I was right about Lou. But I had to stop this argument. I had to calm Ann-Marie.

“Sorry,” I whispered. I reached out to her, but she turned away, crossing her arms in front of her. “I guess I took it wrong,” I said. “He was trashed, and I was so tired. I'm sorry. You're right. There's no reason to suspect Lou. I'm just so scared, Annie. Please be understanding. Please—I really need a friend now. Don't be angry. I had it all wrong.”

Her expression softened. “Lou is a sweetheart, Lin. I know he's gruff sometimes. Maybe he's cruder and less sophisticated than your friends. But he's a sweet guy, and I'm crazy about him.”

“Sorry,” I whispered again. “I need to sleep. I know I'll think a lot clearer in the morning. Please forgive me, Ann-Marie. Please. I'm so sorry.”

She nodded, but without warmth.

That was totally stupid of me, I thought. Now Ann-Marie will be up all night, angry at me, wondering about Lou.

The police can wait till tomorrow morning, I decided. I climbed into bed and pulled the sheet and blanket up to my chin.

That was so stupid. So totally stupid.

But I knew I was right.

Why did you do it, Lou?

21

I awoke a little after nine, warm yellow sunlight pouring over my bed. I sat up groggily, knowing I had something to feel uneasy about, not quite remembering.

The open dresser drawer brought it all back.

I showered, put on a pair of baggy, khaki Banana Republic shorts and a turquoise pullover, tugged on a matching turquoise hair scrunchie and fixed my hair into a ponytail.

I checked Ann-Marie. She hadn't moved—still facedown on the bed, breathing noisily. Luisa hadn't come home. Probably hooked up with some guy she met at the bar.

I gulped down a glass of orange juice, drank it too fast. I shut my eyes against the pain in my forehead. When it subsided, I stared at the blank, white refrigerator across the room and tried to make a list in my mind, a list of my thoughts:

It definitely could have been Lou. He opened the bedroom window to make it look as if someone came from outside. But was he carrying a bag or anything?

I never should have told Ann-Marie my suspicion. I should have checked it out first.
Got to confront Lou.
That's the best way to handle it.
But will he only
deny it?

What if I'm wrong? Lou frightened me last night, and said such ugly things, and seems the likely thief. But I've never said yes to him before. Why would he write for me to
keep on
saying yes?

I wasn't thinking clearly last night. Lou might not be the one.

And it couldn't be Shelly. I was with him the whole time last night. He was barely out of my sight for a minute.

So who does that leave?

Last night I'd felt so certain it was Lou, it had been comforting in a way. I had it solved. No problem. But this morning, in the light of day, as they say, I realized I didn't know anything.

Ann-Marie was right. I had no choice but to call the police. I found my phone directory and punched in the number of the Eighty-second Street station.

Tommy came on the line after only a few minutes' delay. He seemed very surprised to hear from me again. “I didn't think the phone message you played for me last week was serious, Lindy. Guess I was wrong.”

Yeah, guess so, Tommy.

Half an hour later, I was sitting in a folding chair in front of his gun-metal-gray desk, watching him scratch his thinning hair as he read the intruder's letter. He was wearing a faded yellow, short-sleeved sports shirt, open at the neck, and khaki Dockers. “I'm not really on today,” he explained when he ushered me inside the cubicle-sized office. “But what the hell? Where else do I have to go?”

I laughed and then realized he didn't mean it to be funny. The hangdog expression and stooped posture were new. When Ben was his partner, Tommy seemed a lot sharper, more alive. Maybe he had just been younger.

He read the letter a couple of times, wrinkling and un-wrinkling his forehead. When he finished, he examined the paper, as if it would reveal some important clue.

“Too bad he didn't handwrite it,” he said. He lifted the cardboard coffee cup off his desk, saw that it was empty, and tossed it into the trash basket next to me. “Sometimes they handwrite 'em, and it's a real help.”

“So, are we taking this one seriously?” I asked. I shifted my weight on the folding chair. I felt awkward sitting there in front of the cluttered desk. I didn't know what to do with my hands.

Tommy nodded. “Well, we have a crime here. We have to take it seriously. It's breaking and entering. And there's a theft. And a death threat. Yeah, that's serious. I'll get a couple crime scene boys over there this morning. They'll do a thorough job.”

He frowned and picked up the letter again. “So the window was wide open onto the fire escape. Check?”

“Check.”

“And the dresser drawer was empty and left open. Check?”

“Check.”

“And what about footprints? You got carpet in that room, right? I seem to remember . . .”

“Yes. It's sort of light red, kind of pink. Almost wall-to-wall, not quite. Pretty thin and faded. It was left there by the last tenant, and I was too lazy to take it out.”

“And the footprints?”

“I didn't see any, Tommy.”

“But it rained last night, right? Actually, it was pouring. So the guy's shoes had to be wet.”

I shrugged. “I'm pretty sure I would have noticed. I didn't see any prints. No mud. Nothing.”

“My guys'll check it out. Anything else in the room get moved?”

“I don't think so.”

He turned to the laptop on his desk and typed for a while. “Just taking notes. You want some coffee, Lindy? A Danish, maybe?”

“Don't all cops eat doughnuts?”

“Ha ha.”

Ben ate doughnuts, I remembered. He was so excited when the Krispy Kreme opened on Seventy-second Street. That night, I thought the box he carried into the apartment contained a pizza. Instead, it was six creamfilled and six custard-filled.

“And do you want to hear the best part?” Ben asked, leaning over the box, practically
inhaling
the doughnuts. “They deliver! I put the phone number on my cell.”

It didn't take much to make Ben happy . . .

“So? Coffee?”

“No thanks, Tommy. My stomach is kind of tied up in knots.”

“Well, this isn't nice,” he said, tapping the letter. “But we'll get the guy. I'm gonna put my best team on it. You already gave me a list of guys.” He pulled a pad out of a desk drawer and began flipping through it. “I have 'em in here. I'll have to enter them in the computer now.”

He stopped halfway through the little notebook. “Hey, what about the window? Was it locked when you left the apartment last night?”

“I . . . don't remember. I know it was closed. I usually lock it.”

“Usually?”

I nodded. “But I might have forgotten. It was hot during the day, right? And the only air conditioner is in the livingroom. So I might have had my window open during the day.”

“But not when you left?”

“No, it was definitely closed.”

“And the window wasn't broken when you found it open last night?”

I bit my bottom lip. “No. The window was fine.”

“No damage of any kind?”

“No.”

“So maybe the window was opened from the inside?”

“Maybe. Maybe Ann-Marie opened it to let in some air.”

“Lindy, did you ask her?”

“No.”

Tommy typed something on the laptop. He had long fingers and they didn't seem to fit on the keys. He kept making mistakes and backing up. “Well, we'll have to ask her if she opened the window.”

I took a breath. “There was one other person in the apartment last night. Ann-Marie's boyfriend. He . . . well . . . I think you need to check him out, too, Tommy.”

“Name?”

“Lou D'Amici.”

Tommy typed the name into his laptop.

“He's Ann-Marie's new boyfriend. Lou was there very late. I bumped into him leaving as I was coming home.”

A thin smile spread over Tommy's face. “And was he carrying a bag of underwear when he left?”

“You are
so
not funny,” I said. “You're not supposed to make me laugh. Someone wants to kill me.”

His smile faded. “So who do you think it is? Tell me. Do you think it's this guy, Lou D'Amici?”

I shrugged again. “Maybe. I don't know.”

He leaned closer. I could smell his Old Spice shaving lotion. Ben wore it, too. “Come on. Think about it. You probably have a hunch. And nine times out of ten, it's right.”

“I really don't know. Honest. Last night . . . I thought it was definitely Lou. But it doesn't make sense. I . . . I'm just totally mixed up, Tommy.”

He nodded. “Any one of the Internet guys pestering you more than the others? You know. Emailing a lot. Calling. Any guy pursuing you more than the others?”

“Well . . . Jack Smith. He emails me every day. And he calls at least twice a day.”

Tommy squinted at his notes. “Jack Smith. Twentyfive years old. Has a condo in Hoboken. Works for Smith-Warner-Conyers Public Relations. His daddy's firm. Never been married. Graduated from Wesleyan with a 2.8. No police record.”

I patted his hand. “You've been doing some homework. Thanks.”

He waved a fly off his stack of files. “I haven't had time to work up profiles on all of them. This guy Shelly . . .”

“Shelly Olsen? You can cross him off the list, Tommy. He's the only one who
couldn't
have done it,” I said.

“And why is that?”

“Because I was out with him last night. He was barely out of my sight from seven-thirty until I got home. No way he could have been in my room.”

I told Tommy how Shelly and I had dinner at the hot dog stand, then went downtown to Whale for hours. The only time Shelly was away from my side was to go buy us drinks at the bar or go to the men's room. He was never gone long enough to go uptown and back.

“Okay, Shelly has a good alibi,” Tommy agreed. He typed some more on the laptop. The phone rang. He answered it, turning away from me to talk. He talked to another cop for a few minutes while I waited with my hands clasped in my lap, thinking about the two remaining guys.

Was there a clue I was missing? Was there something I should have noticed? Something in my room last night? Something one of the guys said?

Tommy finally hung up the phone. He bent to open his bottom desk drawer, pulled out his gun and holster, then climbed to his feet. “Gotta go on patrol. A guy called in sick.”

I stood up, too. I'd had my legs tightly crossed, and my right foot had fallen asleep. I shook it, trying to get the feeling back. “So what do you think, Tommy?”

He strapped on the leather holster, then slid a wrinkled brown sports jacket over his shoulder. “I'm going to work up complete profiles on these three Internet guys. And Lou D'Amici, too. And I'll send my crime scene guys to your apartment this morning to check out your room and talk to your roommate.”

He started to the front of the station, taking long strides. I chased after him, gimpy on my tingling foot. “Hey, wait, Tommy. What should I do if these guys call or email me and ask me out? What should I do?”

He turned at the front desk. “Just say no, Lindy. That's my advice. Just say no to all of them.”

I stared at him. “You mean—?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Lose them,” he said. “Tell 'em all to take a hike. Tell them you got married or something.” He disappeared out the door.

But, wait, I wanted to say,
Tommy, won't that put me
in a lot of danger?