Look Closely (26 page)

No postcards from friends, of which he had few, no magazine clippings or journals.

I went through his Rolodex and his address book, but there were no numbers for Dan or Caroline that I could see. Nothing that mentioned Portland or Albuquerque or New Orleans. I pawed through the rest of his drawers distractedly, wondering if he was about to come home any minute, dreading the talk I planned on having with him. One of the bottom drawers was difficult to view, since I’d turned on only the smal desk lamp. I moved the lamp over to see in the drawer more clearly. Nothing exciting, just stacks of legal pads and some other office supplies.

I sat up, glanced around the desk once more, feeling achy and tired from too much driving, too much thinking, and the adrenaline rush of the alarm scare. I was about to move the lamp back, when I noticed a scrap of paper about one inch long and three inches wide. It must have been under the lamp. I lifted the scrap and read the number printed there in black ink. It was a phone number, one which began “504.” New Orleans. I’d had a trial expert there last year, and I’d dialed his number often enough to remember the area code. There was no name on the paper, but I knew my dad had written it. I recognized the way he put the little slash through the seven, the flat top he gave his threes.

I started to feel hot, my scalp itchy. A scribbled number on a scrap of paper might have been an everyday occurrence for many people, but it was completely unlike my father. He always carried around a smal notebook in his jacket pocket, and every desk he owned had its own address book. And he wasn’t the type to meet women at bars, especial y ones who lived in New Orleans. Or was he? What did I
really
know about him anymore?

I lifted the phone and dialed the number. It took an eternity before it began ringing. Agitated, I stood from the desk and paced with the cordless phone. The ringing continued, unanswered. I jiggled my leg. I blew my bangs away from my forehead. Final y, I sighed and sat back in my father’s chair. After nine or ten rings, I hung up and tried again, just in case I’d dialed incorrectly. Same thing. A distant, ringing phone with no answer, no machine.

I felt deflated, tiredness overtaking me. I copied the number on a Post-it and careful y tucked the scrap of paper back under the lamp. I stood from the chair, surveying the room in case I’d missed something. Then I heard the rumble of the garage door. My father was home.

My first reaction was to hide. I switched the lamp off and ducked under the desk, tucking myself into a bal and pul ing the chair in to conceal myself.

I held my breath, safe for the moment. But then a rush of panic swooped in. He would notice that thealarmhadbeenturnedoff!Ialmostcrawledout, but then it dawned on me that he might simply wonder whether he’d forgotten to arm it. I heard him entering through the kitchen and walking the rooms. I heard him flipping light switches.

Just get up,
I told myself.
Talk to him, like you promised Matt you would.
But I reminded myself that what I’d actual y promised Matt was that I would find something, and now I had. This odd scrap of paper with a New Orleans phone number. The words of my niece whispered themselves in my ear—
He went to Orleans.

I didn’t know if this phone number had any connection to Dan, but I did know that my father had already lied to me. I couldn’t believe anything he said anymore. So what would be the point now of asking him? He would lie again, and then if the person who was at that New Orleans number had anything to do with my mother—or my brother or sister—he would tel them to run. I might never find out if it was Dan at that number. I would never find out if the piece of paper meant anything at al .

My father’s footsteps approached the study. I prayeditwastoolateforhimtowork.Butthenthe overhead lights blazed on. I imagined the meticulouswayhestoodthere,lettinghiseyesroamover theroomforanythingamiss.Itriedtoenvisionthe hammerhead.HadIputitbacksquarelyinthecenter of those faxes? And the University of Chicago cup—had I moved it back to the right place?

The front of the desk, where I was crouched, faced the far wal , so he couldn’t see me. If he decided to make a cal , though, or take some notes, it would be over. The blood began to pound in my ears as I waited, listening to him. This was so bizarre, but I didn’t trust him anymore.

Suddenly, he shut off the lights and moved down the hal way. A moment later, I heard his light footsteps on the stairs up to his bedroom.

If I ran out now, the alarm would go off again the minute I opened the door. And if I disarmed it, he would hear those tones, too. Either way, he would know someone had been in the house. Despite everything, I hated to think of his jolt of fear when he heard the alarm, but I wasn’t prepared to face him, not now when I had a smal piece of information that might get me somewhere. I waited until he was surely in his bedroom, then I slowly pushed out the chair. In the dark, I tiptoed out of the study, past the living room and into the marble foyer again. The tapping of my shoes sounded inordinately loud. I waited for a moment, straining my ears toward the upstairs, and I heard the sound of running water.

I put my hand on the front door, saying a silent
I’m sorry.
I opened the door then and ran down the street, the persistent warning bleat of the alarm fol owing me.

20

“I’m here to see Madeline Kennedy,” I said to the

doorman.

“Name, please.”

“Hailey Sutter.” I smoothed my hair, trying to look composed, trying not to sound out of breath, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being chased.

I had cal ed Maddy from the car, and once again, she didn’t answer her cel or her home phone. I was desperate to talk to someone. I actual y cal ed Ty at Long Beach Inn, but got only a night receptionist, and final y I’d come to Maddy’s apartment on Eighty-sixth and Lexington, hoping that she would come home sometime tonight.

The doorman dialed the house phone. He listened for a few moments. “Ms. Kennedy,” he said. “There’s a visitor here for you. Ms. Sutter.” A pause. “I’l send her right up.”

Maddy opened the door in her pajamas. Her dark curly hair was wet, her cheeks flushed, and she had an unmistakable glow. “Hey!” she said.

I stepped into her apartment. “Did you just have sex?”

She winked. “He just left.”

“Wel ,” I said. “At least one of us is having fun these days.”

“Oh, yes, I’m having fun.” She gave me a hug. “But I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

“New relationship. I understand.”

“I’m glad you came over, because I have those sandals I bought you at Saks. But what are you doing here on a Sunday night?”

The main area of Maddy’s apartment was shaped like a long, rectangular box. The kitchen, which was at the far end, was inexplicably bigger than the minuscule living room, and yet the kitchen was cold and impersonal with its black-and-white tiles and white paint layered a thousand times over. Maddy’s bedroom, on the other hand, was the coziest room in the place, the one where we always hung out. She led me in there now, and I curled up on the overstuffed chair she had in the corner. She stood at the mirror over her bureau, combing gel into her long curls. In the center of the room, her ivory sheets were twisted and shoved aside.

“I think I’m going crazy over this stuff with my mom,” I told her. “I don’t know if I’m paranoid or

smart or just a complete freak.”

“Ivoteforfreak,”shesaid,smilinginthemirror.

“Thanks. Do you have any wine?”

“Sorry. Grant and I finished the last bottle.” She grinned again, and I was happy to see her so content. “Now, tel me what happened,” she said.

“Oh, God, Maddy, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. This whole thing is making me insane. I’m not even sure that there’s anything to find out, but I’m running around like a nutcase. I even broke into my dad’s place today.”

“What?” She spun around from the mirror. “What happened?”

I told her about New Mexico and about Annie. I told her how my niece seemed to be clinging to my mind. And I told her about the police records, my visit to Crestwood Home, and final y my covert trip to my dad’s house and the New Orleans phone number I found there.

“Wow, hon,” Maddy said. “You’ve got to take a step back. I mean, I was al for New Mexico and everything, but sneaking into your dad’s, and running out without talking to him? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that he knows something!” My voice got loud. “He definitely knows
something
and not only won’t he tel me, he’l hide it.” I dropped my forehead onto my hands. “God, I’ve got a headache.”

“I’l get you some aspirin.” Maddy went around the corner into her bathroom. “Have you cal ed that New Orleans number again?” she cal ed out.

“Not yet.” I rubbed my head some more, and then reached out and began playing absently with the stuff on Maddy’s nightstand—her big silver watch, her tiny diamond earrings—things obviously taken off before she and the new boyfriend had twisted up the sheets.

“Wel , keep cal ing the number and al ,” she said, “but you’ve got to concentrate on work, too. You’ve got partnership elections coming up.”

“Iknow.”IpickeduponeofMaddy’srings,spinning it around my index finger, thinking about my niece, about how she said her dad was in Orleans.

As Maddy came back into the room with my aspirin and a glass of water, I went to put the ring back on the nightstand, but for the first time, I real y looked at it. It wasn’t one of Maddy’s after al . It was a man’s ring. I raised it closer, and I felt that pounding of blood in my ears again.

The ring was gold and oval, with the shape of a black diamond on its face.

“Hailey,” I heard Maddy say, but I couldn’t look at her. I kept staring at the ring, and I saw it in my memory, resting on my mother’s blue shoulder, while she stood at the door. The hand gripped her shoulder tighter, the man who wore it murmured something to her. My mother swayed, pitched sideways. The man caught her, the back of his dark hair bending over her.

“What’s up?” Maddy said.

“Where did you get this?’

“It’s Grant’s.”

“What? Are you sure?” I turned it around and around in my hand.

“Of course. He took a shower before he left, and he forgot it. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Maddy, this is the ring,” I said, ignoring the water and aspirin she was stil holding.

“What ring?”

“That ring I saw on my mom’s shoulder. Remember, I told you?” I was talking fast. “That night before she died, she had on the blue suit. She was talking to a man at the door, and he had a ring on just like this.”

Maddy sighed and put the glass down on her nightstand.“Girl,youaregettingwaytoointothis.”

“No, I’m serious. It was exactly like this.”

“Wel , so what?” She took the ring out of my hand. “This ring could be any man’s. It’s not that complicated.”

“But that’s exactly like the ring I saw. This could be the same one.”

She sighed again. “Seriously, you’ve got to take astepback.Imean,c’mon,you’regettingparanoid.”

“Maybe.” I had only been a kid, after al and I’d been yards away from my mom. I took the ring from Maddy’s hand and held it close to my face. The gold back, the black diamond design

—it was exactly how I remembered. In the center, there were four little etches, facing out, details I couldn’t have seen that night because of the distance.

“I think this could be it,” I said again. “Where did Grant get it?”

“Honey,please.You’vegottotakesometimeoff.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Hailey…”

I groaned. “I guess I am going crazy.”

“Just a little.” She took the ring and sat on her bed. “Listen, I think I know what this is about. I haven’t been around as much since I’ve been dating Grant, and I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not that. I want you to be happy, I want you to spend time with Grant. I’d like to
meet
him for once.”

Maddy laughed. “That’s fair. Look, I’l find out when he’l be back in town. The three of us wil go out, we’l give him his ring, and you can see for yourself. You can get to know him. How does that sound?”

She flipped her wet hair over her shoulder, her face ful of hope. She was probably right about me being paranoid. And I owed her—she’d always been there for me.

I nodded, and tried not to look at the ring as Maddy set it back on her nightstand.

On Monday morning, Lev Werner, the head of the partnership-election committee, stuck his shiny bald head in my office just as I was about to dial that New Orleans phone number again. I’d tried it at least five times that morning. Stil no answer. I had even cal ed one of my investigators and told him to find out who’s number it was, the address it was associated with, anything.

“Hailey,” Lev said, “got a second?” There was no mistaking his businesslike tone, making it clear that even if I didn’t have a second, I had better make one.

“Of course.” I put the phone back in the cradle and scooted around my desk, clearing the files from one of my visitor’s chairs. “Have a seat.”

He closed the door as he stepped into the office. Not a good sign.

“How are you?” Lev said, but it seemed a formality of a question.

“Fine, fine.” I took in Lev’s gray suit, half a size too smal as usual. He was one of the few men I knew who often talked about his weight, someone who made no bones about the fact that he struggled with it. That trait made him seem very human to me, unlike so many of the other older partners.

Lev shifted in the chair, as if it was a little tight, just like his suit. “Hailey, you know we have partnership elections coming up very fast here.”

“Of course.” I sat up straighter. “And you know how badly I want to be partner here.” I sounded false, like a beauty pageant contestant talking about world peace.

“Yes, wel .” He coughed. “We stil haven’t received your essay.”

I managed not to groan. I’d started the damn thing on the plane to Portland and never finished it. I was unable to bring myself to write the part about my father, about how I wanted to fol ow in his footsteps.