“Sorry,” Mick cut in. “A family situation has arisen.” Mick plucked the business card from Detective Kostas’s fingers. “I have to run.” He was already jogging backward. The sense of urgency was building. He waved the card over his head. “Will call and reschedule as soon as I sort it out.” Mick pivoted, sprinted through the lobby, out the doors, and spilled onto the street, flagging down a taxi while he punched the hotel number into his phone. “Hello, yes. Room 4207 please.”

“I’ll connect you,” a woman’s voice said. “One moment, please.” A taxi pulled to a stop. Mick climbed in as he listened to the phone ring and ring. No answer. Shit. Hopefully, she was in the shower. “Four Seasons Hotel, Fifty-Seventh Street,” he said, his mouth dry as dust. Her name was pounding like a pulse. Sarah . . . Sarah . . . Sarah . . . All the while praying this feeling was a case of frayed nerves. Praying she was safe.

53

Sarah drifted in and out of sleep. It was very restful. She had reclined her comfortable seat. Music was playing softly. Tommy Dorsey and his Orchestra, “Cocktails for Two.” Very civilized. She pried her heavy eyelids open. Her vision was a little blurry but not so much that it was worrisome. The pain was gone, and she felt such a sense of pleasure and well-being. She could see greenery zipping past the window. Made her laugh softly to herself. No wonder she couldn’t hear the sounds of the city anymore. “Where are we?” she asked, turning her head, stifling her yawn.

Phillip glanced over. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said cheerily. There was an excited, happy twinkle in his eyes. “You were sleeping so soundly, and then I thought, to heck with dining at some stuffy restaurant. A picnic would be much more fun. I called your auntie Jane on the car phone—had to turn the volume way down so I wouldn’t wake you. She was over the moon yesterday to hear that you were alive, safe and sound, and wouldn’t you know it, she insisted on seeing your dear face with her own two eyes. So! I decided to zip you out to our country home in Westchester.”

“That will be nice,” Sarah said, feeling a little dreamy. It had been so long since she’d last seen Auntie Jane. When was it? Oh, at Mother and Father’s funeral. The buoyant feeling abated slightly, but the grief wasn’t as intense, was just a wistful sort of numbness. Funeral. No, that’s wrong. I saw her at the hospital after the miscarriage. But there’s something else I’m supposed to remember . . . And then the image of Vicki’s contorted body with her gaping mouth slammed into Sarah’s consciousness. Oh shit.

“Uncle Phillip,” she said. “Before we get to Auntie Jane’s house, there is something I need to tell you.”

“Yes, dear?”