Alvirah had called Zan’s office and learned from Josh that Charley Shore had taken Zan to the police station for questioning. And then Josh told her about the one-way ticket to Buenos Aires and the orders Zan had placed with their suppliers.
With a heavy heart, Alvirah filled Willy in on that conversation when he returned from his morning walk in Central Park. “Oh, Willy, I feel so helpless,” she sighed. “There’s no mistake about those pictures. Now Zan has bought herself a one-way ticket to Buenos Aires and is ordering stuff for a job she doesn’t even have.”
“Maybe she thinks they’re closing in on her, and is planning to run away,” Willy suggested. “Listen, Alvirah, if she did take Matthew out of the stroller, maybe he’s in South America with a friend. Didn’t Zan tell you that she speaks a couple of languages, including Spanish?”
“Yes. She moved around with her parents a lot when she was growing up. But oh, Willy, that’s as much as saying that Zan is a schemer. I don’t think that’s true. I think the problem is that she has lapses of memory, or is a split personality. I’ve read a lot about people like that. One personality simply has no idea of what the other one is doing. Remember that book The Three Faces of Eve? That woman was three different people and one didn’t know about the other. Maybe Zan, in another persona, took Matthew from the stroller. Maybe she did give him to a friend who took him to South America and in that persona is planning to join him.”
“This split personality stuff sounds like hocus-pocus to me, honey,” Willy said. “I’d do anything for Zan, but I honestly think she’s mentally ill. I just hope that when she was irrational, she didn’t do anything to that little kid.”
While Willy was out on his morning walk, Alvirah had been cleaning the apartment. Even though they had put most of the lottery money they’d won in triple-A bonds and solid stocks so that they had a nice dividend income, she had never been able to bring herself to hire a cleaning woman. Or at least, when she did try one at Willy’s urging, she had immediately realized that she was three times as fast and ten times as thorough as the person they hired to come in once a week.
Now their three-room apartment overlooking Central Park South was sparkling, and the sun that had finally broken through was cheerfully reflected in the shiny surface of the glass-topped coffee table and the mirror on the back wall that reflected the park. Vacuuming and dusting and mopping up the kitchen had helped calm Alvirah, and while she was working she had put on her “thinking cap,” as she called the imaginary head covering that helped her find solutions to problems.
It was almost eleven. She turned on the television to the news station just in time to see Zan get out of a car and Charley Shore try to rush her past the media. When Zan stopped and began to speak into the microphone, she could see the dismay on Charley’s face. “Oh, Willy,” Alvirah sighed. “Anyone listening to Zan now would be sure that she knows exactly where Matthew is. She sounds so positive that he’s alive.”
Willy had settled in his club chair with the morning papers, but looked up at the sound of Zan’s voice. “She sounds so positive because she knows where that kid is, honey,” he said emphatically. “I have to say that judging from her performance when Charley brought her here last night, she’s one hell of an actress.”
“How was she when you took her home in the car?”
Willy ran his fingers through his thick mane of white hair and frowned in concentration. “Just the way she was here, like a wounded doe. She said we’ve become her best friends and she doesn’t know what she’d do without us.”
“Then if she’s hidden Matthew somewhere, she doesn’t know it herself,” Alvirah said positively as she pushed the remote to turn off the television. “I’d be interested to know what impression Fr. Aiden had of Zan. When he said he’d pray for her, I heard what she said to him, to pray for Matthew but that God had forgotten she existed. That almost broke my heart. I just wanted to put my arms around her and hug her.”
“Alvirah, I think that dollars to donuts, Zan is going to be arrested,” Willy said. “You might as well be prepared for that.”
“Oh, Willy, that would be awful. Would they let her out on bail?”
“I don’t know. They sure won’t like the fact that she bought a one-way ticket to South America. That could be reason enough to keep her locked up.”
The telephone rang. It was Penny Hammel calling to say that she and Bernie would be thrilled to join the Lottery Winners’ Support Group meeting on Tuesday afternoon.
With her worry about Zan, Alvirah had wished that she had waited to call a Support Group meeting, but the sound of Penny’s cheerful voice lifted her spirits. She knew that she and Penny were kindred spirits in a lot of ways. They both wore size fourteen. They both had a good sense of humor. They both had preserved their lottery windfall. They both were happily married. Of course, Penny had three children and six grandchildren and Alvirah had never been blessed with a child. However, she considered herself a surrogate mother to Willy’s nephew, Brian, and surrogate grandmother to Brian’s kids. Besides that, she had never wasted time wishing her life away for something she could do nothing to change.
“Solved any crimes lately, Alvirah?” Penny asked.
“Not a one,” Alvirah admitted.
“Have you been watching television and seeing that Zan Moreland kidnapped her own kid? I’ve been glued to the set.”
Alvirah did not intend to get into a discussion with the loquacious Penny about Zan Moreland, nor admit she knew her well. “It’s a pretty sad case,” she said, carefully.
“I’d say so,” Penny agreed. “But I’ve got a funny story to tell you when I see you next week. I thought I was on my way to uncovering a drug deal or something sinister like that, and then I realized that I was getting excited about nothing. Oh well, I guess I’ll never write a book about solving crimes like you did. Did I ever tell you that I thought the title From Pots to Plots was downright inspired?”
Every time I see you, you tell me that, Alvirah thought indulgently, but said, “I’m pretty happy about the title myself. I think it’s catchy.”
“Anyhow, maybe you’ll get a laugh when you hear about the crime that didn’t happen. My best friend in town is Rebecca Schwartz. She’s a real estate agent.”
Alvirah knew it was impossible to cut off Penny without seeming abrupt. Carrying the phone, she walked across the living room to the club chair where Willy was now attempting to solve the daily puzzle and tapped him on the shoulder.
When he looked up, she mouthed the name “Penny Hammel.”
Willy nodded, went to the front door of the apartment, and stepped out into the hall.
“Anyhow, Rebecca rented a house near me to a young woman and I’ll tell you why I thought there was something strange about her.”
Willy rang the bell, keeping his finger on it long enough that Penny would be sure to hear it.
“Oh, Penny, I hate to interrupt but the doorbell is ringing and Willy isn’t in the apartment. I can’t wait to see you next Tuesday. Bye, dear.”
“I hate to lie,” Alvirah said to Willy. “But I’m too worried about Zan to listen to one of Penny’s long stories, and it wasn’t a lie to say you weren’t in the apartment. You were outside in the hall.”
“Alvirah,” Willy smiled, “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. You’d have made a great lawyer.”