I listened to her go down the stairs and out the door, then, feeling almost dizzy and with a lump in my throat, dropped onto the edge of the bed. She hadn’t told me to pack a bigger bag, but she hadn’t told me not to. I had to make this right. I had to climb back out of this hole, to—

The phone rang.

I glanced at the digital readout, didn’t recognize the number, and picked up. “Hello?”

“Mr. Walker? Zack Walker?”

I thought I knew the voice, but wasn’t sure. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry for calling you at home, but when I called the Metropolitan, they said you were on a leave or something. But there was only one Z. Walker in the phone book, so I took a shot.”

“Who’s this?”

“Brian Sandler. From the city health department.”

Sandler? I suddenly felt my guard go up. The last time we’d spoken, he’d implied any number of threats. “What is it?”

“I—I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“I think I may have crossed some sort of line when I was talking to you yesterday. I think you might have taken what I said as a threat.”

I wondered what sort of game he was playing here. “Okay,” I said.

“Look, I think I’m ready to talk. I need to tell someone what’s going on.”

“Talk about what? What’s going on?”

“I can’t talk to you about it on the phone. Could you meet me someplace?”

I shoved a pair of rolled-up socks that I’d tossed onto the bed into my bag. “I’m heading out of town for a day or two,” I said.

“When are you leaving?”

“Pretty soon.”

“I could meet you in the next hour. You know Bayside Park?”

“Sure,” I said. I hadn’t even picked up my rental car yet. I might have to grab a cab if I was going to meet him within the hour.

“I’ll be in a blue Pontiac. In the parking lot that faces the lake.”

I was curious, and thought, What the hell. “Okay. In an hour.”

“Don’t bring anyone with you.”

“What is this, Sandler? Are you setting me up for something?”

“God no, just do it, okay?”

I ran my hand across the bedspread, feeling the texture of it on my fingers. “An hour,” I said, hung up, and instantly wondered whether I had done the right thing.

What if this was some kind of trap? What if Sandler was setting me up for a meeting with Mrs. Gorkin and her charming daughters? Maybe they planned to rearrange my face, fit me with concrete overshoes, or even worse, make me eat one of their burgers.

Was it smart to go into something like this alone?