Helen knew that anyone watching her behavior might conclude it was certifiably crazy. Certainly Joe wouldn’t argue with that. He had told her she was nuts to be going out in the middle of the night just to deliver an envelope to someone who wasn’t even home.
Helen pulled the collar of her jacket up around her neck. The evening, or early morning actually, had turned cold and whirlwinds traveled down the deserted street, swooping up discarded papers and fallen leaves. She sighed. One of these days, she had to learn to control her impulses. Maybe after this case was over. Right now, she was on a roll—if running all over town like a nut job and avoiding the mob while trying to solve a case counted as being on a roll.
Helen exited the cab in front of Laurel’s apartment building on East Sixty-Sixth Street with the aforementioned envelope tucked under her arm, thinking about just what she was going to tell the doorman so he wouldn’t think she was some sort of terrorist sneaking in to deliver a letter bomb to one of the tenants in the dark of night.
She’d left voicemail messages for both Laurel and Aaron but hadn’t heard back from either. It was frustrating, especially since she desperately wanted to speak with Laurel and relate everything she learned about that bastard, Matt Kuhn. The problem was it had all become just a little bit too tricky, since Aaron had no idea about Matt being part of the investigation. Unless, of course, Laurel disregarded Helen’s advice to wait until she had the lowdown on Matt and told him everything. Aaron could be very persuasive, as Laurel well knew, when he was after something or someone.
Could Laurel resist the subtle pressure Aaron could apply? Helen had a sneaking suspicion that Laurel, who was not as tough as she wanted people to believe, would find it nearly impossible not to give in to her former lover and blurt out what he wanted to know. If this was the case, Helen was definitely going to get an earful from Aaron when he returned to the city. He’ll be truly pissed, if only because I encouraged Laurel to mislead him.
Helen could only hope for the best and pray Laurel wouldn’t cave in under pressure. The thought brought a smile to her face as she remembered her earlier suspicion when she couldn’t reach either of them on the phone. What was I thinking? They’re probably ready to kill each other by now.
In the meantime, here I am outside again in the middle of the night when I could be home in bed, well, in Joe’s bed, sleeping. The thought of Joe waiting in his apartment caused another unsettling thought to flit across her already overloaded brain. Her mind told her it was safer to stay at his place, but her emotions told her it really might not be such a great idea. They were very close for a long time and were still best friends. Helen didn’t want to jeopardize their relationship in any way. Being back at his place, in his bed—only technically, since he was sleeping on the couch—made her remember how nice it was to cuddle with him, then wake up to him bringing her a steaming espresso in the morning. Given the current situation and her budding feelings for Mike Imperiole, that just made everything even more confusing. And if Mike found out he’d be hurt. She didn’t want that to happen. Better get this over with, instead of standing out here worrying about my so-called love life.
As Helen moved toward the building’s entrance, she nearly collided with a man. “Sorry.” He stepped back unsteadily and allowed Helen to enter first.
“S’not a problem,” he hiccupped in her direction.
“Hope I didn’t mess up your pizza.” Helen nodded toward the Original Ray’s Take-Out Pizza box. He grunted a nearly inaudible reply and she turned back to look at him over her shoulder. He was gently bobbing and weaving in place, the pizza box tilting back and forth like a boat at anchor. A typical thirty-something New Yorker who had one shot too many of tequila, dressed for a big night on the town as well, in his baggy jeans, baseball cap pulled down over his face, and those sunglasses. Oh yeah, bet whoever he’s bringing that pizza to can’t wait for him to get there. He must be a friend of someone in the building.
“S’okay.” He nodded at her, keeping his voice low and his head bent downward. She noticed a patch of white skin on the back of his hand. A scar of some kind. A burn mark, perhaps? He continued to move back and forth, matching the motion of the box in his hands, waiting behind Helen for his turn to speak with the doorman stationed at the building’s entrance.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” The young night doorman nodded to the man behind her, indicating he’d be right with him.
“Hi. I’d like to leave this envelope for Laurel Imperiole. I know she’s out of town but please see she gets it as soon as she returns.” Helen handed over her package. “It’s important.” Helen hoped she sounded professional and in charge, rather than like some type-A personality who couldn’t wait till a normal hour to get the job done.
“No problem.” The doorman moved away from the door and walked to the desk in the center of the lobby. “May I have your name, please?” He bent down to record the receipt of the envelope in a small computer sitting on the desktop. “So I can tell Ms. Imperiole who dropped this off?”
“Tell her it’s from Helen McCorkendale. Thanks.”
Helen turned to go and smiled at the person she now thought of as Pizza Man, who was still wobbling at the front door, waiting for the doorman to get to him and call up to whoever he was visiting. “Hope you enjoy your pizza while it’s hot.” She walked past him and out of the building.
Helen paused for a minute, thinking about pizza. I didn’t know the pizza place stayed open this late. A slice would hit the spot. She turned toward First Avenue and the Ray’s Pizza a few blocks away. She walked to the corner, then reconsidered, stopping to check her watch. I should get back to Joe’s. If he’s still awake, he’ll be worried. If he’s asleep and I call to tell him I’ll be even later because I’m getting pizza, he’ll kill me.
Helen turned, retraced her steps on Sixty-Sixth Street and headed toward Second Avenue, where she could hail a cab downtown. As she passed Laurel’s apartment building, she looked into the lobby. Pizza Man was gone, probably sitting in a friend’s apartment scarfing down a nice hot slice with extra cheese. Helen’s stomach rumbled and she quickened her pace, scanning the intersection for a taxi home to Joe and his full refrigerator.
* * *
The man waited until Helen left the building. “Hey,” he nodded a sloppy greeting to the doorman and slurred his words. “I’m meeting some friends of mine at Nicky Kentworth’s. It’s apartment Seven H. Yeah, that’s it … Seven H.”
The doorman seemed perplexed. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no one named Kentworth in this building. Are you sure your friends gave you the right address?” The man figured he probably dealt with plenty of visitors who had a few too many and became a little confused.
“Yeah, yeah,” the man garbled his words, “Three Ten East Sixty-Seventh Street, Seven H.”
The doorman laughed. “You’re off by a block, sir. This is Sixty-Sixth Street.”
“Jeez, guess I wasn’t paying attention while I walked over.” He swayed slightly, tilting the pizza box again. “Gotta go around the corner. G’night. Take care.”
“No problem. You, too,” the doorman said.
If the doorman remembered him, he’d remember a pleasantly inebriated guy who couldn’t find his way to the party. The man dumped the empty pizza box in a trash can a few doors down from Laurel’s building and strode quickly across the street.
He couldn’t believe his luck. He had arrived at the building with the intention of getting into that bitch’s apartment and making her pay, not knowing she was out of town. Now, thanks to that smiling woman who almost knocked him over, he hadn’t blown his chance. Laurel Imperiole wasn’t here. He’d have to wait a little longer to get his hands on her.
He stood in the shadows of a deeply recessed doorway that concealed his presence. His baseball cap and sunglasses were tucked into a pocket, and he was thinking about what to do next. He looked over the parked cars toward the lobby across the way, a bright tableau framed by darkness like one of those Edward Hopper paintings. There she was again. Smiley was passing by and walking west. What did she say her name was? Helen something. He slipped out of the doorway and keeping well behind, paralleled her progress. Helen McCorkendale. That was it. He removed a small notebook from his jacket pocket and wrote it down. He wouldn’t forget Helen. Oh, no. After all, she must be a really good friend to come out this late to deliver that envelope.
The man laughed out loud. You could always count on friends, couldn’t you? Well, any friend of Laurel Imperiole was definitely a friend of his.