by Cleo Coyle
TWENTY-TWO
“GOOD evening, Ms. Cosi . . .”
Felix Ortiz, the doorman at Leila’s luxury apartment building, was one diplomatic guy. Holding the door for me and Penny, he didn’t even make a crack about my absurd costume.
In the mirrored elevator, I discovered how tactful the doorman really was. With my babushka gone, my hair was a mess, my cheek was smudged, and a leaf was growing behind my ear. I shook out the vegetation, finger-combed my tangles, and spit-cleaned the smudge.
As I pulled off Dalecki’s cape, I realized I’d also lost the top button on my peasant blouse. Matt’s “tavern wench” comment about my costume reared its embarrassing head, but the cape was itchy and hot, so I folded it over my arm.
While composing myself, I couldn’t help comparing my disheveled state to Leila’s oh-so-perfect life: perfect clothes, perfect makeup, perfect husband, and the “right” address. No princess in a fairy tale had it better. Yet Quinn implied his ex was restless and unhappy, which begged the question—
When did the ball end?
Was Quinn wrong? Or was Princess Leila’s enchanted marriage turning to cinders?
Stepping out of the elevator, I saw the carpeted hallway was empty, but I knew Quinn was here. My first clue—his battered NYPD gym bag lodged in his ex-wife’s front door.
By now Penny was so thrilled to be home she could no longer contain herself. The little collie dug her claws into the thick pile and dragged me by her leash through the door. (Anyway that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)
I was now standing in the bone-spare, skull white entryway of Leila’s meticulously minimalist apartment. Devoid of décor, the area’s recessed lighting made me feel as if I’d entered that tunnel of light people describe after a near-death experience. But instead of comforting words from my dearly departed, I heard Leila’s strident voice at the other end of the hall.
“I cannot believe she called you!”
I was about to move toward her screeching complaint when I noticed the woman’s designer handbag yawning open on the console. Next to the bag’s mouth was a small box. Lacquered shiny, the pretty square was painted in shades of purple from light to dark, like the evening sky at twilight.
A note card sat beside it—
As discussed, your key is enclosed.
Invitations to come. ~ BB
If memory served, Leila was married to Humphrey (with an H) Reynolds (with an R), Esquire (with an E)—manager of a roundly successful hedge fund. Not one B, let alone two, in that name.
“So who is BB?” I asked the little collie.
Penny didn’t appear to know or care. Happy to be home, she simply swept her tail back and forth across the supernaturally spotless marble floor.
The letters BB were also engraved on top of the mysterious purple box. I ran my finger lightly over the raised letters and whispered to Penny—
“Let’s keep this between us, shall we?”
Lifting the lid, I spied a golden key nestled in a little coffin of purple velvet. A diamond winked at me from the key’s top, where a clasp connected it to a chain made of silver and gold links in little diamond shapes.
Molly has a chain like that . . .
It had fallen from her pocket in the park. But Molly’s chain had no key attached, only a broken clasp.
“Will you listen?! You’re not seeing my side of it!”
Leila’s piercing voice startled me back into action. I replaced the lid on the box, tightened my grip on Penny’s leash, and continued down the hall—stopping at the narrow archway leading to the living area.
Another keyhole, I thought, like that stone gateway in Central Park. Only this keyhole isn’t leading me to two lost children, just a bickering ex-married couple . . .
Their voices brought me back to those years when I was at war with my ex. (And yes, come to think of it, we did sound a little like lost children . . .)
When Penny nudged my leg, I glanced down. Easy, girl, I thought, patting her head. I’m not eavesdropping. I’m just waiting for the right moment to interrupt . . .
“That woman is not their mother. I am!” Leila cried.
“And I’m their father,” Quinn calmly countered, “which is why Clare believed I had a right to know they were missing—”
From this angle, I couldn’t see Quinn, though I could hear him. His tone might have seemed controlled, but I could tell he was tired and impatient.
“They weren’t missing,” Leila insisted. “The only reason she called you in Washington was to make me look ridiculous and her like a big hero. I was in complete control of the situation, and she had no right to—”
“She had every right,” Quinn shot back. “She cares about them and she was concerned enough about their welfare to tramp through the woods and find them. I hope you thanked her.”
“Thanked her?” Leila’s fingers curled into fists. “That padded pastry pusher is the one who lost them!”
Padded pastry pusher?! Okay, now I’m eavesdropping . . .
I moved forward and peeked around the arch. Quinn stood tall at the far end of the room, arms crossed, frowning down at his ex.
Like her chic entryway, Leila’s silk lounging pajamas were white, her red hair the only splash of color in the pale beige living room. The sight of her twig-thin form made me realize how hungry I was. With that big, red head on top of her sticklike body, all I could think of was a cherry Tootsie Pop.
Every so often, she’d check herself in a Victorian vanity mirror, a prized antique with an ornate frame of gold and silver. It even had its own pedestal.
I could barely hear Quinn’s low reply to Leila’s insult of me. Whatever it was, Leila didn’t like it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
“It means I suspect you’re up to your old tricks . . .”
Old tricks? What old tricks? I took another step closer.
“What I do—or don’t do—is none of your business,” Leila said. “Not anymore.”
“It’s my business when our kids are involved,” Quinn stated. “So listen up because this is your reality check: You took Jeremy’s phone away without telling me. You let the kids run around unsupervised with no way to reach them—”
“I refuse to listen to this!”
“You’re the one who lost the kids, Leila, and you lost their dog, too.”
“My God, Mike. Who cares about that damn dog anyway?”
My fingers tightened around Penny’s leash. But before I could shout out, I do, Twiggy Pop! Quinn replied—
“Jeremy cares. I had to promise him we’d canvas Central Park together at the crack of dawn. He’ll be out there on his own if I don’t go with him.”
“Only because Jeremy wants to be a big hero, like his old man.”
Words like that would make any father proud, but coming from Leila, they sounded like an accusation.
“Molly cares, too,” Quinn said, letting the dig slide. “When I left her, she was still crying.”
Leila flipped her scarlet locks. “I’ll buy Molly a smartphone and she’ll forget all about that mutt.”
“Molly isn’t like you, Leila. She’s . . .”
Not a self-obsessed sociopath? I thought.
Leila’s refined features froze. She blinked a moment. Then twisted her mouth like a crushed tween girl. “You’re . . . you’re picking on me . . .”
Mike shook his head. “Don’t even try it.”
“You’re heartless, picking on me after the ordeal I’ve had . . .” Wailing like an Oscar nominee, Leila threw her arms around her ex-husband’s neck. “Hold me,” she commanded through artfully paced sobs.
Gritting his teeth, Mike rolled his eyes to the heavens for strength then patted his ex-wife’s bony shoulder. “Stop crying, okay? The kids are safe now. We just need to find Penny.”
“Excuse me,” I said, trying my best for a clueless tone. “Did I interrupt something?”
TWENTY-THREE
“CLARE!?”
Quinn nearly bowled over his ex to get to me. He was still dressed in the charcoal suit he’d worn to his former boss’s funeral, and his hard blue eyes widened so noticeably at my attire I feared I’d lost another button or three.
But those Irish eyes were smiling before he crushed me to his chest, and I finally dropped the leash I’d been clutching so tightly.
“Everything okay?” he whispered.
I pressed my cheek against his warm lapel. No. Everything is not okay. Molly’s beloved Pink Princess is lying in a hospital and Matt’s been arrested.
I was tempted to pour out the entire tale right then. But if I spilled it all now, Leila would hear about it, too; and I didn’t trust that woman not to blab it to Molly. That little girl didn’t need to lie awake with trepidation, wondering what had happened to her beloved “Annie.” With any luck, by morning, Anya would awaken and tell us what had happened. So my reply was simply—
“I’m fine . . .”
Meanwhile Penny was yelping and running a swift circle around the room, steering clear of Leila’s precious antique mirror but nearly knocking over an ultrachic chrome pole that passed for a floor lamp.
Leila ignored the dog. Tearful mother act forgotten, she aimed her loaded gaze at me. “Well, aren’t you the perfect little snoop. How did you get in here anyway? Do you pick locks, too?”
Oh, please. “The door was open.”
Leila’s chunky-ringed hand went to her silk-draped hip. She stepped closer, ready to make another accusation. I clenched my fists, prepared to take her on, when her daughter burst in—
“Penny! Oh, look! It’s Penny!”
Jeremy was right behind his sister, wearing his Rangers pj’s, hair mussed by sleep.
The collie ran into Molly’s arms, tail wagging so furiously it cooled the room and (for the moment) the flaring tempers.
Penny licked the girl’s cheeks and pawed her posy-print pajamas.
Jeremy hugged his dog. “See, Mol, I told you Aunt Clare would find Penny.”
With Leila glowering silently, Quinn suggested the kids take Penny to the kitchen for something to eat.
“I’ll go with them,” I said, “and let you two finish your . . . discussion.”
* * *
IN the kitchen, the kids filled Penny’s dish with a can of beefy chow. Then Molly gave me a tight hug.
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Clare, for finding Penny. Thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome, honey.”
Jeremy nodded. Too adult at thirteen to join his sister in a girly hug, he extended his hand. “Good job, Aunt Clare.”
“Uncle Matt helped,” I said, giving the boy a firm shake. “We both wanted to see Penny back home safe.”
“I would have helped, too,” Jeremy said, shifting on his feet, “if my mom had let me.”
“I know you would have. But she was right to get you out of the park. It’s no place for kids at night . . .”
While the dog ate heartily, I petted Molly’s hair. “Honey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, Aunt Clare, ask me anything.”
“Do you remember when I first found you both? Something fell out of your pocket—a silver-and-gold chain with diamond-shaped links. It had a broken clasp. Was that your chain, Molly?”
The little girl shook her head. “I found it near the Oak Bridge.”
“We both did,” Jeremy said. “We thought it might belong to Anya.”
“Why is that?”
“She wore a chain like it around her neck,” Molly said. “It must be hers.”
Jeremy nodded. “Since she went into the Ramble, we figured she must have lost it in there.”
“I’m going to give it back,” Molly said, “when she picks me up on Monday after school. I wasn’t going to keep it or anything.”
“I know that, honey, that’s not why I asked. I was wondering because it’s such a unique chain. I might want to get one like it. Tell me, do either of you remember what she wore on that chain? Was it a charm or . . . something else?”
Like a golden key maybe? I silently added.
Jeremy shook his head. “Whatever was on Anya’s chain, she always had it tucked inside her shirt.”
“Not always,” Molly volunteered. “I saw it a few times.”
“Saw what?” I asked.
“The key. She wore a pretty gold key on that chain.”
“But you didn’t find the key, only the chain?”
Both of them nodded and I frowned. Was Anya’s key lost or did someone take it? And why was Leila given one exactly like it? Coincidence? Were they both involved with the same man? Did this “BB” give both of them keys?
“One last question, is that okay?”
“Sure,” they said.
“Do you remember who exactly told you they saw the Pink Princess go into the Ramble?” I held my breath, hoping for a break, like maybe a credible witness with more info. But Molly shrugged and said—
“Just some kids.”
Jeremy nodded. “We didn’t know them—a couple of girls and a little boy. We were asking around and they remembered seeing her pink gown going into the woods, that’s all.”
Penny barked and Molly hugged her. “All done already?” she sang. “You’re really hungry, aren’t you? How about a special treat for dessert!”
As Molly went for the dog biscuits, Jeremy studied me. “Why do you want to know who saw Anya go into the Ramble, Aunt Clare? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine.”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “When you were looking for Penny, did you see Anya?”
“I saw her, yes,” I said carefully. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”
But the detective’s son did worry about it. He glanced toward his sister and back to me, as if to say: You don’t want me and Molly to know that something is wrong, do you?
“I better get going,” I said quickly. “It’s getting late. Have a good night’s sleep, both of you. I’ll see you soon . . .”
* * *
THOUGH I managed to avoid more questions from Jeremy, hurrying back to the living room failed to put me in the clear. Like an underfed predator, Mike’s ex-wife couldn’t wait to pounce—
“And here she is again, our dog savior! You and Mike were made for each other, you know that, Clare? The big cop hero and the wannabe heroine. Well, now that you’re both reunited, you can go save the day somewhere else.”
God, the woman was awful, and I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be somewhere else, but this was my chance to ask about Anya. So I swallowed my pride and stepped forward—
“Look, Leila, I think we got off on the wrong foot today.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“Yes, I do. I’m sure if your ‘mother’s helper’ had been with you, none of this would have happened.”
“Trying to skirt blame, Clare?”
“The young woman’s name is Anya, right?” I pressed.
“Brilliant memory.”
“Did you know she was a part-time model when you hired her?”
Leila crossed her arms. “What does Anya’s résumé have to do with anything?”
“I was just wondering if the girl came with good references, and from what agency—”
“Just wondering? You’re not just wondering. You’re poking around where you don’t belong!”
“Don’t get defensive, all I want to know is—”
“Enough butting in! You delivered the dog, now it’s time for you to go!”
Leila rushed me, manicured claws thrust out. Luckily, Quinn stepped between us, saving me from acrylic impalement.
“Clare and I are leaving,” he said. “Get a grip and get some rest. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to take the kids to brunch.”
Leila threw up her hands. “Oh, so now you suddenly have time to—”
“Tomorrow.” Like Father Frost, Quinn’s icy look apparently froze the woman’s larynx because she finally shut up.
TWENTY-FOUR
QUINN stopped in the kitchen to hug his kids and say good night, but after we left the apartment, he didn’t say a word. Jaws clenched, he stewed in quiet fury.
As we rode the elevator in deafening silence, I pulled out my phone. No messages.
I knew the lawyers were working their legal magic to free Prince Matt from evil Endicott’s clutches, and there wasn’t much I could do, but waiting for word wasn’t easy. I wanted to discuss the situation with Quinn, get his advice, even his help. But he didn’t appear to be in the talking mood.
When we crossed the building’s grand lobby, I wished the doorman a good evening. A scowling Quinn barely noticed.
On the sidewalk outside, I stopped him. “Are you all right?”
He looked ready to punch the No Parking sign. “Leila should have thanked you,” he bit out. “Instead, she nearly attacked you. You did not deserve to be treated like—”
“Calm down. Leila and I don’t get along. That’s the way it is. What matters is those kids. How were they when you spoke to them?”
Quinn shook his head, loosened his tie.
“Jeremy was afraid I’d be angry, but he did the right thing. He remembered the Oak Bridge was a well-lighted area, so he followed the downhill paths until he saw the lights. Then he kept Molly calm and safe, watching the ducks, while he waited for a police officer or park worker—someone he could trust.”
“Jeremy’s a smart kid.”
“He’s a good kid. I’m proud of him.”
“They’re both good kids, Mike, and they have good hearts.”