“Are you still with Pearl?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a detective, too, right?”
“Right.”
“You could always make me laugh, but at the same time, you intimidated me. Still do.”
“Intimidated you?”
“In a good way, if such a thing is possible. Maybe part of it was your size. I was just a kid, so you seemed even larger.”
“Well, there’ll be no more of that intimidation business, and that’s an order.”
She grinned, but what he’d said actually did seem to put her at ease in his presence.
“You must scare the hell out of suspects,” she said.
“ ’Course I do.”
The street door opened and Jody walked in. She saw that Quinn was with someone and started back toward the door.
“Wait a minute,” Quinn said.
Jody turned, cocked her head at him quizzically, and moved toward him and Carlie.
“This is my ex-wife’s sister’s daughter, Carlie,” he said. He turned toward Carlie. “This is Jody.”
Carlie stood up and the two women shook hands. “I’m here to see my Uncle Frank,” Carlie said.
“So you’re Quinn’s niece?” Jody asked.
“We think so,” Quinn said. “She might be once removed or something. I get confused on that kind of thing. Anyway, she’s family.”
Carlie gave Jody an inquiring look. “And you’d be . . . ?”
“Quinn’s daughter,” Jody said.
Uh-oh. Quinn caught a whiff of venom in the air. Still, he couldn’t help being amused and proud. He had come to regard Jody as a daughter, almost as much as his real daughter, Lauri, who was closer with May out in California.
He decided to let the possessive daughter remark pass. Someone—probably Carlie—would straighten Jody out.
“Carlie’s in town as a consultant,” Quinn said. “She’s in retail design.”
“There’s a demand for that,” Jody said. Quinn would have bet she had no idea what retail design was. She looked at Carlie. “So you’re just visiting?”
“Yes. Only for as long as it takes me to lay out and oversee the job. In the few weeks I’ve been here, I’ve somehow managed to get in trouble. I went to the police, but they don’t seem able or willing to help before something happens. That’s why I came to see Uncle Frank.”
Quinn saw Jody wince.
“What’s the something you’re afraid might happen?” Quinn asked.
Carlie sat back down and looked uncomfortable. “It sounds crazy, I know, but I’m afraid I might wind up like that other woman.”
It took Quinn a few seconds to realize whom she meant. “Bonnie Anderson?” And as he asked for confirmation, he suddenly saw himself why Carlie had looked so familiar. It wasn’t only family resemblance. She actually did resemble the dead woman.
“When I see her photos in the papers or on TV,” Carlie said, “sometimes I think I’m looking at myself.”
“A lot of women in New York are thinking that,” Quinn said. “This killer’s got them spooked. Odds are you have nothing to worry about.”
“That’s more or less what the police told me. They didn’t take the fact that I’m being stalked at all serious. To them I’m just another dumb blonde with an overactive imagination.”
“They’ve gotten past the ‘dumb blonde’ thing,” Quinn said. “Really.”
“I thought I had, too.”
“Fact is, in times like this, there are a lot of women contacting the police, asking for help because they’re afraid. And their fear’s not unreasonable. But there are millions of women in this city, Carlie. Hundreds of thousand of them at least somewhat resemble Bonnie Anderson, who’s been hyped by media as the killer’s so-called type.”
“But I do resemble her.”
“Somewhat,” Quinn admitted.
“And I am being stalked.”
Quinn waited, thinking he’d better listen closely.
Carlie said, “I came here a few times but didn’t actually enter. I just stood out on the street, trying to make up my mind. I was nervous.”
“Why?”
She gave a helpless shrug. “I’d heard so much about you, most of it
“Yes.”
“She’s a detective, too, right?”
“Right.”
“You could always make me laugh, but at the same time, you intimidated me. Still do.”
“Intimidated you?”
“In a good way, if such a thing is possible. Maybe part of it was your size. I was just a kid, so you seemed even larger.”
“Well, there’ll be no more of that intimidation business, and that’s an order.”
She grinned, but what he’d said actually did seem to put her at ease in his presence.
“You must scare the hell out of suspects,” she said.
“ ’Course I do.”
The street door opened and Jody walked in. She saw that Quinn was with someone and started back toward the door.
“Wait a minute,” Quinn said.
Jody turned, cocked her head at him quizzically, and moved toward him and Carlie.
“This is my ex-wife’s sister’s daughter, Carlie,” he said. He turned toward Carlie. “This is Jody.”
Carlie stood up and the two women shook hands. “I’m here to see my Uncle Frank,” Carlie said.
“So you’re Quinn’s niece?” Jody asked.
“We think so,” Quinn said. “She might be once removed or something. I get confused on that kind of thing. Anyway, she’s family.”
Carlie gave Jody an inquiring look. “And you’d be . . . ?”
“Quinn’s daughter,” Jody said.
Uh-oh. Quinn caught a whiff of venom in the air. Still, he couldn’t help being amused and proud. He had come to regard Jody as a daughter, almost as much as his real daughter, Lauri, who was closer with May out in California.
He decided to let the possessive daughter remark pass. Someone—probably Carlie—would straighten Jody out.
“Carlie’s in town as a consultant,” Quinn said. “She’s in retail design.”
“There’s a demand for that,” Jody said. Quinn would have bet she had no idea what retail design was. She looked at Carlie. “So you’re just visiting?”
“Yes. Only for as long as it takes me to lay out and oversee the job. In the few weeks I’ve been here, I’ve somehow managed to get in trouble. I went to the police, but they don’t seem able or willing to help before something happens. That’s why I came to see Uncle Frank.”
Quinn saw Jody wince.
“What’s the something you’re afraid might happen?” Quinn asked.
Carlie sat back down and looked uncomfortable. “It sounds crazy, I know, but I’m afraid I might wind up like that other woman.”
It took Quinn a few seconds to realize whom she meant. “Bonnie Anderson?” And as he asked for confirmation, he suddenly saw himself why Carlie had looked so familiar. It wasn’t only family resemblance. She actually did resemble the dead woman.
“When I see her photos in the papers or on TV,” Carlie said, “sometimes I think I’m looking at myself.”
“A lot of women in New York are thinking that,” Quinn said. “This killer’s got them spooked. Odds are you have nothing to worry about.”
“That’s more or less what the police told me. They didn’t take the fact that I’m being stalked at all serious. To them I’m just another dumb blonde with an overactive imagination.”
“They’ve gotten past the ‘dumb blonde’ thing,” Quinn said. “Really.”
“I thought I had, too.”
“Fact is, in times like this, there are a lot of women contacting the police, asking for help because they’re afraid. And their fear’s not unreasonable. But there are millions of women in this city, Carlie. Hundreds of thousand of them at least somewhat resemble Bonnie Anderson, who’s been hyped by media as the killer’s so-called type.”
“But I do resemble her.”
“Somewhat,” Quinn admitted.
“And I am being stalked.”
Quinn waited, thinking he’d better listen closely.
Carlie said, “I came here a few times but didn’t actually enter. I just stood out on the street, trying to make up my mind. I was nervous.”
“Why?”
She gave a helpless shrug. “I’d heard so much about you, most of it
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