were going off in my head. “Your mother is involved with Karl?”
“If she is, it’s news to me,” Vicki said looking fairly freaked. “And I can tell you I’m not happy about it. That guy is so mean. I can’t stand him!”
I stepped closer. “Mean how? Could he have hurt your dad?”
“Oh, no. I don’t think so. They were good friends. Karl never said much to me when I visited my dad at their place. He mainly kept to himself. It’s the kitten. That’s why he’s mean.”
“What kitten?” Esther asked.
“My dad found a little white kitten a few weeks ago, in an alley—”
“Oh, the kitten!” Alf had told me about the little thing. He’d been forced to sneak it into Karl’s apartment because the building didn’t allow pets.
“I asked Karl to keep the kitten for a short while,” Vicki explained. “My mom won’t let me have a pet at home, but I’m planning on moving into the city in a month or so. Then I’d be able to take care of it. Karl’s refusing to keep it for me until then! He says he’s just going to dump it in the city shelter.”
I scowled. “That is mean.”
Vicki’s hazel green eyes, still red from crying upstairs, began welling once more. “Can you help me again, Clare?”
I nodded. “Of course, I’ll stop by this evening and pay a visit to Karl. I have a cat already—I can certainly take care of another for as long as you like. And anyway, it seems to me Karl Kovic and I have quite a few things to talk about.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“THERE he is. Thanks!”
The second I saw Matt, I paid the cabbie and climbed out of the idling taxi. It was past six o’clock, already dark, and for a few minutes I was actually worried I’d phoned my ex-husband with the wrong location.
Vicki supplied the address, but it wasn’t an address that made sense to me. I mean, in the past Alf had mentioned he lived uptown, but I assumed it was way up, some tiny apartment on the fringes of Harlem where rents were in the realm of being reasonable.
This part of the Upper West Side, just north of midtown and west of Central Park, was dominated by stately historic buildings sandwiched between gleaming new co-op towers and high-rise offices. The whole neighborhood seemed way too pricey for a lowly Traveling Santa to afford.
All around me, young professionals were hurrying home from office jobs. Backslapping businessmen were ducking into bars, socialites were strutting their stuff in designer ensembles, and couples in evening wear were discreetly debating places to have a light bite before attending Handel’s Messiah at nearby Lincoln Center.
In my worn jeans, scruffy sneakers, and old parka, I suddenly felt underdressed. My ex-husband, by contrast, fit right in. Six feet tall with broad shoulders, Matteo Allegro cut a dashing figure in his black-tie formalwear and tailored topcoat. More than one strutting socialite turned her salon-perfected head as she passed him on the sidewalk. I flagged him down with a waving arm, my bag (a new one after the ferry incident) slipping off my shoulder.
“Where were you when I called?” I asked, setting Java’s cat carrier down on the sidewalk to haul my shoulder bag back up my arm. “On your cell it sounded like a party?”
“It was.”
“Well . . .” I gave his designer tux the once-over. “Thanks for coming, Double-Oh-Seven.”
“Very funny.”
“No kidding, Matt. I’m glad you can help me out here.”
He waved a gloved hand. “I wasn’t even at the main event—that’s at eight at the public library. Bree and I were at this pre-party happy hour thing that Dickie Celebratorio is throwing.”
“Celebratorio?” I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were going to the big Dickie party.”
“Neither did I. Bree gets the invitations. I escort her—and since this ‘benefit’ thing is really just a PR stunt for some kiddie holiday movie, Bree’s a VIP guest.”
“Because she’s press?”
“Yep. She assigned a writer and photographer—I think she wants as many shots of the celeb attendees as the event itself.”
“Well, Tucker deserves the coverage. He spent hours rehearsing some kind of Santa’s workshop production number for the thing. Make sure you give him a big hand when the show’s over.”
Matt blew a hot breath into the frosty air. “I doubt we’ll stay long enough to see the show. Bree’s kind of like a shark. She has to keep moving.”
“Moving where?”
He shrugged. “She typically gets to a party, orders one drink, circles the room, and by the