He didn’t answer. She reached only the automated voice asking that she leave a reply.
“Garrett, please call me,” she said. “I know you did what you said you would. I realize we’re not supposed to discuss the case, but I’d like to just touch base.”
The evening passed with no return call. Five hours later, as she switched off the light on the bedside table, she was pretty sure there wouldn’t be one—tonight or ever.
And though Kelman would be out of her life, the crisis he’d instigated would continue to cast its pall over everything. She’d be looking over her shoulder for as long as she could imagine.
chapter 22
She tried to stay busy over the next two days, fixating on work, but it grew harder again. There was only so much she could accomplish holed up at Baby’s, and many of her files and supplies were back at the office. She decided that on Thursday, after her presentation to Barry was out of the way, she would sneak downtown to her apartment. She’d pick up fresh clothes, as well as the stuff she needed for work, and the ton of mail that must have accumulated.
The idea of going home, even for a short while, frightened her. As far as she knew, people from Ithaka were keeping an eye on her place, banking on the fact that at some point she’d have to return. She called Andre, her super, and asked if he could meet her there at ten on Thursday and hang around while she let herself into the apartment. That would at least provide an ounce of security.
Wednesday was a good day for business. Holt called to confirm meeting her in Tribeca Thursday night to view the loft he was interested in. She smiled in relief, anxious to hold on to the assignment. Because the building had no doorman, he suggested she wait at a nearby coffee shop and that he’d call when he was close. That suited her just fine. It meant she wouldn’t be left alone in the foyer of a strange building.
The bronzed hotel man finally returned Baby’s call and asked for a Friday appointment. He wasn’t expecting a presentation at this point, he said, just more discussion. Baby suggested that on Thursday afternoon she and Kit spend at least an hour brainstorming so that they had a few ideas to dazzle him with.
The meeting with Barry that night went off perfectly. He arrived exactly at six, went wide-eyed when Baby’s housekeeper entered the room hoisting a silver tray of sparkling cocktail glasses, the famed almond-crusted salmon ball ringed with water crackers, and a silver bowl of multicolored olives. He looked even more stunned as Baby swept in a moment later in a cream-colored caftan, parts of it billowing like sails on a schooner.
Kit and Baby exchanged amused glances when they realized that Barry was wearing a tie in a fabric practically identical to one Kit was suggesting for a throw pillow. She took that as a good omen, and it turned out to be one.
“Well, this was certainly worth the wait,” he told her after he’d reviewed the presentation. “It’s fantastic. When can we get started? This is my busiest season, but I don’t want to delay.”
“We’ll begin immediately,” Kit said. A lot of shopping would have to be farmed out, but he didn’t have to know that.
After he departed, she sighed and turned to Baby.
“Well, there’s one down at least.”
As soon as she woke on Thursday morning, she could feel her apprehension start to build, like the distant roar of a train that would soon come tearing through a tunnel. She’d be heading downtown, and not only would she be exposed, but she’d also have to face the place where Avery had died.
At least Andre was good to his word and was waiting in front of the building when her cab pulled up. As Kit stepped out, she quickly scanned the area. The only people around were the types she was used to seeing in the neighborhood day in and day out—black-clad, unhurried-looking Nolita residents and a cluster of tourists with a huge city map.
Andre greeted her, opened the door to the lobby, and immediately pointed out the security camera he and his son had installed.
“It’s such a terrible thing, the murder of that girl,” he said as she dug out the letters and catalogs jammed in her mailbox. “The police—do they have any suspects?”