“He said that he had appraised the jewels. That he had the check written out to present at the party …”

“Do you think Janey’s disappearance has anything to do with all this?”

“Thomas, don’t think like that,” Regan cautioned. “In a few minutes we’ll be in her apartment.”

I’ve got to move now, Mary Ruffner thought. “Regan Reilly!” she called as Regan and Thomas started down the street.

Regan turned. “Yes?”

Mary extended her hand. “My name is Mary Ruffner. I was just having a drink with your mother and father at that terrific crime convention she put together. I recognize you from your picture in the paper today.”

“Oh yes,” Regan said, quickly shaking her hand. “Mary, this is my friend Thomas Pilsner.”

“Hello,” Thomas said.

Regan could tell he was frantic to leave. So was she. “We’re in kind of a rush …”

“I don’t want to bother you. I’m actually a reporter for the New York World, and I wanted to do a story on the Settlers’ Club for its one hundredth anniversary.” She looked at Thomas. “Aren’t you the president?”

“Yes,” Thomas said in a guarded tone. “Can I call you later? Or tomorrow?”

“Later would be better,” Mary said crisply. She handed him her card. “It’s easiest to reach me on my cell phone. I’m very anxious to talk to you.” She turned to Regan. “Will you be coming to any of the lectures at the conference?”

“I’m going to try,” Regan said honestly.

“Good. Then I hope to be seeing you both very soon.”

Regan and Thomas said their good-byes and hurried a couple of blocks south, toward Janey’s apartment. She lived on the fourth floor of a walk-up. Outside the building, they buzzed 4A. There was no answer. Thomas took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and ran up the steps two at a time. Regan was right behind him.

At the door to Janey’s apartment, Thomas said a silent prayer, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The living room was straight ahead. To the right were the bedroom and the kitchen. There was no sign of Janey anywhere.

“I guess you could say I’m somewhat relieved, Regan,” he said. “But where could she be?”

Regan looked around the small living room. The apartment was neat and orderly. The furnishings were simple but tasteful. Regan could see that some of the framed pictures were of Janey and Thomas. The dinette table was covered with files. Regan went over and took a glance.

“She kept meticulous records about what she cooked for her clients,” Thomas said.

Regan picked up a piece of paper that had been left on the table. It was a list headed “Deliveries made Thursday, March 11th.” A look of surprise came over Regan’s face. “She cooked for Ben Carney?”