When we got back to Wooster Street, Angela was still hard at work.
“Hello, my dears,” she called. “I’m nearly finished. Do entertain yourselves for a bit.”
She was gluing small sculptural fragments together with a syringe, the kind I’d seen her use to attach strands of real hair to the full-size figures. She wore a filtered mask that made her look like a surgery nurse. At least she had installed, at her own expense, a hooded fan to suck the resin fumes upward and disperse them from the rooftop—just one more toxin in the SoHo air.
“Where’s the computer now?” I asked Melissa.
“In my goodies box,” she said. “Want to see?”
We went into her room, away from the studio smells and glare. Melissa shut the door, and the light diminished by half. She plotzed on the unmade bed, among the tossed girl things, and reached underneath for the laptop.
“Come on, sit down,” she said. “I won’t bite.”
I sat beside her on the mattress, leaning close enough to see the screen as she booted up.
“I guess this is the part you’re looking for,” she said as she clicked on the “My Letters” icon.
“Exactly right, as usual.”
“Don’t tease me, Uncle Jack. I learned all about flattery last week. ‘When a person is confident, he or she doesn’t need to exaggerate.’ That’s what Mrs. Dorfman says.”
“She should know. Bradford pays her to be sure of herself.”
I reached over and flicked the keyboard with my fingers, scrolling down. The evidence of Melissa’s fib glowed at us both, a long trail of communiqués that ended mid-morning on the day Amanda was killed.
“I see you were wrong about when the laptop left Mandy’s place,” I said. “Unless you’ve been imitating her online for fun.”
Melissa laughed and began to close down the computer. As she folded the screen, the hem of her dress slid minutely above her knees. The black fabric was a little too light for the weather, slightly out of sync with reality, like the room itself.
“I just did what Paul asked,” she said.
“Be careful.”
“Of what?”
“Favors for Paul.” My hand brushed back a few stray strands of hair from her temple. “I put great faith in you, Missy.”
“You should. I’m very trustworthy.”
“When’s the last time Paul asked to see the laptop?”
“A few days ago. He keeps wanting to come over when Mom’s away, but I won’t let him.”
“Good for you.”
“He’s cute and mostly nice, but kind of scuzzy somehow.”
“More than you know.”
She looked at me expectantly.
“We’ll talk all about him some other time,” I said. “But right now I need the computer.”
“All right, just don’t tell.”
“It will be our little secret. You like secrets, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.” She lifted her head. “You know, that’s what Paul asks me, too.”
“Does he?”
Her voice grew softer. “You look kind of funny,” she said. “Are you OK?”
“Melissa, if Paul did something really bad, would you help me catch him?”
“Bad how?”
“I can’t tell you yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever you say, Uncle Jack. Just ask me nice.”
Standing, I slipped the laptop into its black cover and told her that I had to go.
“What’s wrong?” the girl asked. “Don’t you want to hang out?”
“I wish I could.”
“So, do. I’ve got tons of games and stuff here.” She put a newly manicured hand on my sleeve.
“I’m not feeling my best.”
“That’s silly. Why are you worried—because it’s a school night?”
“Yes, something like that.”
“I did my homework already.”
“Good. Now I have to work, too. With the laptop.”
“Just stay for an hour. You’re grown up; you can do whatever you want.”
I looked at her teasing eyes. “No, Missy, that’s just why I can’t.”
“Scaredy cat.”
“I am, yes. Sometimes, kiddo, fear is the best thing we’ve got.”
She curled her legs under herself and smiled, refusing to escort me to the door.
“Sometimes, but not always?”
Melissa frightened me in more ways than one, not least with her ease at deception. I was impressed how beautifully she had lied. Her style contained an implicit promise that, with a few well-chosen words, reality could turn into anything you wished.
I went to the door and pushed it open. “This time,” I said, “fear wins.”
Missy heaved an exaggerated sigh.
Turning, I walked quickly across the loft and let myself out with a small unacknowledged wave to Angela, masked and focused, still bent fastidiously over her handiwork.