TWENTY-THREE

I tried to press Tiz Bolt for more information as we walked upstairs and through the grand hall to the museum exit.

She had never heard of Tanya Root, didn’t know of any woman in Velly’s orbit with that surname, and wouldn’t give up—if she knew—the names of any of the other women in his life.

Tiz was surprised that I wasn’t aware that the third, fourth, and fifth wives of Wolf Savage were black women.

“African American?” I asked.

“I would have said that, but none of them were American, Alex. I have no idea where they were from, but they were foreign.”

I thought of what the housekeeper who’d found the body had told Mike, Mercer, and me, about babysitting for a woman who’d come from abroad to stay in the suite several times, with a young child she’d assumed was his daughter.

“I have so many things I want to ask you,” I said, certain that Tiz Bolt would have every good reason to turn on me when she found out who I was.

“Another time for that,” she said, skipping down the last few steps to the sidewalk. “I’ve got a dinner date. Have to dress up and put on my face. Ciao, Alex.”

She waved goodbye and walked north on Fifth Avenue. It was dark, and I lost her in the bright headlights of the cars and buses as she crossed the street a block away.

I started to walk south, toward my apartment. I dialed Mike’s cell but it went straight to voicemail.

“It’s me. Call me as soon as you can,” I said. “I’m on my way home. I mean, I went home when you told me to, but I went back out. I walked up to the museum and I ran into this young woman who knew Savage really well. You’ve got to call me. It was a total coincidence—well, almost a coincidence.”

I stayed on Fifth, using all my willpower to avoid any of the other avenues that were lined with restaurants and bars. Mike would be annoyed that I had worked an angle of his investigation alone—even though I had gotten an enviable load of information from Tiz. He didn’t need to find me intoxicated as well.

My nerves were jangly. Mike was probably still debriefing some of the family members about the contents of Wolf Savage’s will, and I was anxious to see how Lily had been treated. The evening’s breaking news was likely to lead with the fact that the famous designer’s death had been declared a homicide, and possibly even include his connection to another murder victim—Tanya Root. And I had just spent a couple of hours misleading a perfectly nice young woman about the reasons for my questions on the Met exhibition. I felt like I was unraveling all over again.

I thought about hailing a cab, but the cold fresh air was helping to clear my head. I went straight down the avenue, turning east on Seventieth Street, passing the Frick Collection building—once the family mansion—and the handsome wrought-iron gates that protected its serene gardens from passersby.

At the corner of Third Avenue, I stopped into PJ Bernstein Deli. I ordered salads and sandwiches for Mike and me in case he came home hungry later, and called Vickee Eaton while I waited on a stool at the counter. Her mailbox was full and not accepting messages.

I took a cup of hot coffee with me, collected the bag of food, and paid the bill.

I was on the short downhill to the driveway that led to the front door of my building. I put up my collar against the wind, balancing the coffee so it didn’t spill onto my hands.

A dog walker with three of my neighbors’ large pets was hugging the side of my apartment, cleaning up after the trio.

I was on the outer edge of the sidewalk, trying to avoid the mess.

The door of a large black SUV with tinted windows swung open and a man shouted my name. “Alex! Alexandra Cooper!”

The hot coffee sloshed around, scorching my hand as it came over the lip of the cardboard container. I dropped the cup and bag of food, trembling as I flashed back to the night of my abduction.

The car was the same make and model, but this time the voice was familiar to me. I started to run anyway, too startled to put the picture together.

A man stepped into my path and smiled at me. “You’d better turn around, Alex. The boss needs to talk to you.”