Read Online I'll Walk Alone by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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sham, but it’s still terrible on you emotionally. Willy and I know that. Please call us and come over and have dinner tomorrow. We love you.”
Zan listened to the message twice. Then, when the computerized voice instructed, “Push three to save, push one to delete,” she pushed the SAVE button. It’s too early to call Alvirah, she thought, but I’ll get back to her when I’m in the office. It would be good to be with her and Willy tonight. Maybe by then, if Detective Collins can see me this afternoon, all this will be cleared up. And maybe, oh, please, God, if that man from England was snapping photos when someone was taking Matthew from the stroller, Detective Collins will have something to go on.
Somewhat comforted at the thought, Zan reset the coffeepot from the seven-o’clock setting so that it would begin to brew at once. She got into the Jacuzzi and felt the healing warmth of the water begin to deflate the tension in her body. Coffee cup in hand, she dressed in slacks, a turtleneck sweater, and low-heeled boots.
When she was dressed, it was still only a few minutes before seven, but she realized it might be early enough to leave the apartment without running into reporters. That possibility made her twist her hair into a bun and drape a scarf securely around it. Then she dug into a dresser drawer and found an old pair of sunglasses with a wide, round frame that was a totally different shape from the kind she usually wore.
Finally she grabbed a faux-fur vest from the closet, picked up her shoulder bag, and took the elevator down to the basement. From there she made her way through the rows of parked cars in the garage and exited onto the street at the back of the building. With swift steps she hurried toward the West Side Highway, encountering only the early-morning dog walkers and joggers. When she was sure she was not being followed she hailed a cab and started to give the office address on East Fifty-eighth Street, then changed her mind. Instead she directed the cabbie to drop her on East Fifty-seventh Street. If there’s any sign of the media I can go in through the delivery entrance, she thought.
It was only when she was able to sit back, knowing that at least for the length of the trip uptown she could be sure that no one would shout questions at her or aim a camera in her direction, that she was able to focus on the other problem, the fact that someone was charging clothes and an airline ticket to her name. Will that affect my credit rating? she worried. Of course it will. If I get the job with Kevin Wilson, I’ll be ordering very expensive fabrics and furniture.
Why is all this happening to me?
Zan found herself pushing back against the almost physical feeling of being caught in a riptide, of a fierce current dragging her underwater. She gasped for air, as the sense of not being able to breathe overwhelmed her.
Panic attacks.
Don’t let them come back, she pleaded to herself. She shut her eyes and forced herself to inhale deep, measured breaths. By the time the cab pulled to the corner at Fifty-seventh Street and Third Avenue, she had managed to regain some measure of calm. Even so, her fingers were trembling as she handed the cabbie the folded bills.
It had begun to drizzle. Cold, wet drops brushed her cheeks. The vest was a mistake, she thought, I should have worn a raincoat.
Ahead of her a woman was hurrying a little boy who looked to be about four years old toward a waiting car. Zan rushed to pass them so that she could look into the child’s face. But of course it wasn’t Matthew.
When she turned the corner there didn’t seem to be any sign of the media waiting for her. She pushed the revolving door and went into the lobby. The newsstand was to the left. “The Post and the News please, Sam,” she told the elderly clerk.
There was nothing of his usual friendly smile in Sam’s demeanor when he handed the folded copies to her.
She did not permit herself to look at them until she
Zan listened to the message twice. Then, when the computerized voice instructed, “Push three to save, push one to delete,” she pushed the SAVE button. It’s too early to call Alvirah, she thought, but I’ll get back to her when I’m in the office. It would be good to be with her and Willy tonight. Maybe by then, if Detective Collins can see me this afternoon, all this will be cleared up. And maybe, oh, please, God, if that man from England was snapping photos when someone was taking Matthew from the stroller, Detective Collins will have something to go on.
Somewhat comforted at the thought, Zan reset the coffeepot from the seven-o’clock setting so that it would begin to brew at once. She got into the Jacuzzi and felt the healing warmth of the water begin to deflate the tension in her body. Coffee cup in hand, she dressed in slacks, a turtleneck sweater, and low-heeled boots.
When she was dressed, it was still only a few minutes before seven, but she realized it might be early enough to leave the apartment without running into reporters. That possibility made her twist her hair into a bun and drape a scarf securely around it. Then she dug into a dresser drawer and found an old pair of sunglasses with a wide, round frame that was a totally different shape from the kind she usually wore.
Finally she grabbed a faux-fur vest from the closet, picked up her shoulder bag, and took the elevator down to the basement. From there she made her way through the rows of parked cars in the garage and exited onto the street at the back of the building. With swift steps she hurried toward the West Side Highway, encountering only the early-morning dog walkers and joggers. When she was sure she was not being followed she hailed a cab and started to give the office address on East Fifty-eighth Street, then changed her mind. Instead she directed the cabbie to drop her on East Fifty-seventh Street. If there’s any sign of the media I can go in through the delivery entrance, she thought.
It was only when she was able to sit back, knowing that at least for the length of the trip uptown she could be sure that no one would shout questions at her or aim a camera in her direction, that she was able to focus on the other problem, the fact that someone was charging clothes and an airline ticket to her name. Will that affect my credit rating? she worried. Of course it will. If I get the job with Kevin Wilson, I’ll be ordering very expensive fabrics and furniture.
Why is all this happening to me?
Zan found herself pushing back against the almost physical feeling of being caught in a riptide, of a fierce current dragging her underwater. She gasped for air, as the sense of not being able to breathe overwhelmed her.
Panic attacks.
Don’t let them come back, she pleaded to herself. She shut her eyes and forced herself to inhale deep, measured breaths. By the time the cab pulled to the corner at Fifty-seventh Street and Third Avenue, she had managed to regain some measure of calm. Even so, her fingers were trembling as she handed the cabbie the folded bills.
It had begun to drizzle. Cold, wet drops brushed her cheeks. The vest was a mistake, she thought, I should have worn a raincoat.
Ahead of her a woman was hurrying a little boy who looked to be about four years old toward a waiting car. Zan rushed to pass them so that she could look into the child’s face. But of course it wasn’t Matthew.
When she turned the corner there didn’t seem to be any sign of the media waiting for her. She pushed the revolving door and went into the lobby. The newsstand was to the left. “The Post and the News please, Sam,” she told the elderly clerk.
There was nothing of his usual friendly smile in Sam’s demeanor when he handed the folded copies to her.
She did not permit herself to look at them until she
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