SIXTEEN

“ONE of Annette Brewster’s pastry chefs recently won a James Beard Award, and you expressed interest in meeting him. Annette surprised you with an invitation to a private cake tasting at her hotel.”

“I knew Annette, then?”

“Not well,” Madame informed me. “But she and I go way back, and I’ve bragged about your accomplishments for years. One day, she stopped by the coffeehouse, claiming she had a problem—don’t ask me what. All I know is that she described her problem as ‘personal and private,’ and she wanted your help to solve it. But first, in a gesture of friendship, she wanted to help solve yours.”

“With a cake tasting? Why?”

“That’s not important,” Matt said.

“No, it isn’t,” Madame echoed.

I could tell they were holding back, but I didn’t want to waste time arguing. “Fine. What happened next?”

“At seven thirty that night, Annette Brewster picked you up in front of the Village Blend in one of her vintage cars.”

“I saw you go,” Esther cut in. “I remember because the ride was really cool, like an old James Bond car. Annette was driving, and there was no one else in the vehicle.”

“So we went to the hotel,” I said impatiently. “Then what?”

Madame shook her head. “There is more than one mystery here, I’m afraid. You see, the two of you didn’t arrive at the Parkview Palace until nine PM.”

“What happened in that hour and a half?”

“With no GPS in Annette’s vintage sports car, the police only know that you drove to New Jersey and back. Toll scans at the Holland Tunnel registered Annette’s license when you left and returned to the city. Unfortunately, you’d forgotten your smartphone—”

“I had one of those fancy phones?”

“Yes, dear. And Annette wasn’t carrying one, so there were no GPS phone signals for the police to trace, either.”

“Global-positioning technology in your phones? You mean these ‘smart’ telephones also tell authorities where you are and who you’re with? There’s no privacy in the future? What kind of world has this become?”

Matt snorted. “The kind where I had to hand out untraceable prepaid phones to everyone in this vehicle for our little adventure.”

Mr. Dante waved his in the air. “I’ve got mine!”

“So Annette Brewster and I spent ninety minutes somewhere in New Jersey?” I mused aloud.

“It’s a big hole the police can’t fill,” Matt said. “But then, in my experience, there are no rocket scientists on the NYPD.”

Madame shot her son a look, as if warning him. Of what? I had no idea. Before I could ask, she continued her story—

“At nine o’clock, you and Annette arrived at the Parkview Palace. You rode the private elevator to the Gotham Suite, where Chef Tomas Fong was waiting. He hosted the tasting himself, which went on until about ten thirty.” She paused. “After that, things turned tragic, for all of us—but for you especially, Clare.”

“Go on.”

“Annette had planned to drive you home. She escorted you down to the parking garage, where an anti-theft camera inside a luxury car captured you both walking into an ambush by an armed and masked assailant.”

“There were no other surveillance cameras?” I pressed.

“Not inside the Parkview Palace. Annette had ordered them all shut down. She said it was necessary. Then she clammed up and wouldn’t tell me why. The only useful camera footage the police could find was from that anti-theft device in a hotel guest’s car—”

“And it didn’t catch much,” Matt cut in. “The recording only showed you and Annette confronted by an armed figure in an overcoat and ski mask. Then everyone moved out of camera range.”

“How do you know all these details?”

Everyone fell silent.

“I know someone,” Madame finally confessed. “He’s, ah . . . Let’s call him a source at the NYPD. He’s not in charge of the investigation, but he talks to the detectives who are.”

“I see.” (All her life, Madame had attracted male admirers, so I wasn’t all that surprised.) “He’s a special friend of yours?”

“He’s certainly a friend of our Village Blend,” she said.

“Is he ever,” Esther blurted. “He’s also in love with—”

“Our coffee,” Madame cut her off with a tight smile.

“Who isn’t?” I said. “Don’t worry. I get it. He’s a cop who likes you, which is why he stuck his neck out and bent the rules. So when did you all realize I was missing?”

“Esther became worried when you failed to return to close our Village Blend that night. She called you several times, not knowing your phone was still in the duplex upstairs, where you’d left it.”

Esther nodded. “I closed the coffeehouse at the regular time, and returned in the morning to open again because I was afraid you weren’t around to do it. On my first break I went up to your duplex and found two very hungry cats—”

“Cats?” I smiled. “I have cats?”

Esther nodded. “Java and Frothy. Don’t worry. The staff is taking turns caring for them.”

Madame continued. “When you didn’t show that night, and Esther couldn’t reach you, she called me, and I called the Parkview. I discovered Annette went missing, too, so I phoned . . . our policeman friend.”

“The next day, the cops found that surveillance video,” Esther said, “and all heck broke loose. For a whole week, we were crazy with worry, and then you magically reappeared—”

“Safe, but not sound,” Matt added as he pulled up to a red light. “A private security camera on Washington Square North caught you wandering into the park at four AM, but the police can’t find any other clear footage that traces backward to show us where you came from. They canvassed the area but came up with nothing. Their latest theory is that you were dropped off by a vehicle, and they’ve been pursuing those leads, with nothing to show for it.”

“Now you know as much as we do,” Madame said, her gaze meeting mine. “It’s not much, but it’s enough for you to make an informed decision. So, choose, Clare. You can wait in the car with Matt, or you can come up to the suite and see what there is to see—and maybe get your memories back.”

Hide from reality huddled with my ex-husband, or face the truth, no matter how painful it might be? I almost laughed. It was no contest.

“If Dr. Lorca is right, if my condition has been caused by some emotional trauma, then I want to face what happened.”

Madame seemed pleased. “You and I will go to the suite. Everyone else can wait in the car.”

“Hold on a minute!” Esther cried. “If Clare is going into that hotel, so am I. She might need more backup—”

“Then I’m going, too,” Mr. Dante insisted. “I want to be there for her.”

I should have been flattered, even honored that Esther and Mr. Dante seemed to care so much about my well-being. But the truth is, I was embarrassed, and a little ashamed, because I had no idea why they felt that way. To me, they were little more than strangers.

Taking in their concerned faces, I could see we must have been close once. I wanted to remember the reasons and feel that kinship again.

One memory did come to me in that moment, but it wasn’t recent. My late grandmother, who ran a little Italian grocery store in Western Pennsylvania (and practically raised me in it) had a saying—

Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.

I faced Esther and Mr. Dante. “Thank you,” I told them sincerely. Then I looked at Madame and even forced myself to include Matt in the rearview. “Thank you all for caring.”

Through the mirror, Matt’s dark gaze held mine. “You’re welcome,” he said in a voice so quiet and mature, I hardly recognized it.

The expression in his eyes was different, too. I’d never seen him look at me that way, with such sad tenderness—and something else. Regret? Or was it hope?

A blaring horn startled us, and Matt tore his gaze away. The light had turned green.

“Okay, I guess it’s settled.” He hit the gas and turned the wheel. “Next stop, the Parkview Palace hotel.”