Close to You (23 page)

But the
Daily News
sent him seething.

N
EW
L
OVE FOR
E
LIZA
B
LAKE.

He stared at the grainy picture. Eliza couldn't be interested in that uptight-looking guy who stared like a deer caught in the headlights at her side. Jerry steamed about it all morning and into the afternoon, eating almost an entire box of Devil Dogs. Then, pumped by all the sugar in his system, he spent half an hour lifting his hand weights. Up and down, up and down. The pressure grew as perspiration broke out on his forehead. Finally, at two o'clock, he could contain himself no longer.

He dialed the New York number and waited as he was transferred to Eliza's office.

“I read about you in the papers today, Eliza. I'm glad that you came to your senses and moved out of the city. You'll like it much better out here.” Jerry's voice cracked as he continued. “But you better not be taking up with that stiff. He looks
way
too boring for you. I can give you the excitement you need, baby. Give me a try.”

He was about to hang up, but there was something else he thought he should add. Something that would make her know for certain that he was not fooling around.

Jerry hissed out his last words, as Drake began to bark in alarm. “Listen to me, Eliza. Listen to me good. Because if you don't, I'm going to come and take your little girl.”

Abigail felt satisfied after she finished her early Sunday-morning session with her trainer. She wished she could show off the washboard abs she'd worked so hard to get If only Eliza would give her the chance.

By the time Abigail showered and dressed, the gym was starting to get crowded. She stuffed her sweats into her bag and hurried out Monica Anderson bumped into her on the sidewalk. Abigail said hello and muttered something about being late to meet a friend for brunch. But Monica was determined to have a conversation.

“Abigail, guess what?” Monica didn't wait for an answer. “KEY News is doing a story on Linda's disappearance. My mother is all excited. She's convinced a national news story will bring new attention to the case. Maybe someone out there will see it and come forward with some fresh information.”

“That's great, Monica,” Abigail answered without enthusiasm.

“My mother and I thought that you might have had something to do with KEY doing a story on Linda. Did you suggest it?”

She could lie and Monica would probably never find out. But why bother?

“I wish I could say I did, Monica, but it wasn't me who came up with the idea. Who is doing the story?”

Monica bit her Up as she tried to recall the name her mother had mentioned. “I can't recall the producer Mom spoke to, but he did say that the story was being done for the
Evening Headlines.
Eliza Blake might be coming to our house for an interview.”

As Abigail walked down Broadway, she wondered why the Linda Anderson story was being done now, after all this time. Why would the
Evening Headlines
want to dredge all that up again? It was old news.

But the fact that Eliza would be doing the story on Abigail's old friend's disappearance struck her as destiny. Another sign that Eliza's and Abigail's lives were meant to be intertwined.

Finally, a promising break. Promising, but most alarming.

Paige had listened to the call first thing Monday morning and transferred it downstairs immediately. “Don't mention it to her, Paige,” the security chief instructed. “I'll talk to Eliza about it.”

Saturday afternoon was not an extremely busy time for the switch-board at the Broadcast Center. Records of calls made around two o'clock would help the telephone-company computers winnow down the suspect list.

Connelly listened to the call again and made entries on his computer.

The caller had said he lived near Eliza's HoHoKus home.

The caller read the northern New Jersey newspaper as well as New York City's
Daily News.

The caller had a dog.

The caller had taken it to a new level now. He had threatened Eliza's daughter.

Beads of perspiration broke out on Joe Connelly's creased forehead.

“I think it's time we get a security team guarding your house.”

Eliza gripped the armrests of her office chair, stunned at the enormity of what Joe had just told her.

Janie.

She was at school right now. Some maniac could walk right in with a machine gun and take her. Or worse. How many times had she reported a story like this? Eliza couldn't catch her breath and she closed her eyes tight, as if the darkness would make the terror that filled her go away.

“This is no time to panic, Eliza.”

Joe was right. She couldn't clutch now. She had to keep her wits about her. Janie's life could depend on it.

“I'll make the phone calls and set things up,” she heard Joe say. “We'll have security on your house by this afternoon.”

Eliza nodded numbly. “I should call the school and Mrs. Garcia,” she murmured.

“I can do that,” offered Joe.

With every fiber of determination that she possessed, Eliza straightened in her chair. “No, I'll call.”

Some sick lunatic was not going to take over her life.

To hell with that security jerk
Meat didn't have to bother anymore with going into New York and camping out on the sidewalk in front of the Broadcast Center anyway. Eliza had moved into his own backyard.

Well, almost his backyard. HoHoKus may have been in the same county as Moonachie, but it was a world away in terms of lifestyle. The
Record
called it an “upscale” community. Meat's hometown certainly wasn't that.

He dressed carefully, selecting his only pair of khaki pants and that ridiculous sweater with the polo player embroidered on the front. When his mother had given the maroon sweater to him last Christmas in an attempt to spiff him up, he had sworn to himself that he would never wear it. Now he was glad that he hadn't tossed it. The sweater was just the type of thing those HoHoKus swells wore.

He drove his beat-up Escort north on Route 17 and watched for a HoHoKus exit. Taking the Hollywood Avenue ramp, he crossed back over the highway, noting the names of the intersecting streets. Lloyd, Elmwood, Lake-wood, Fairview. After he drove less than a mile, he turned left into the HoHoKus business district.

Business district! That was a laugh. What a sleepy little
burg this was. Cruising slowly along the main drag, he craned his neck, looking for the local barbershop. He needed a haircut. But, more importantly, the town barber always knew the local gossip.

Meat spotted the red-and-white-striped pole and continued down the block, parking in a spot he was certain could not be seen from the barbershop. When he walked to the front door, he saw the sign.
CLOSED.

What an idiot! It was Monday. Of course the barbershop was closed. Meat cupped his hands, pressed them to the window and gazed through. Though no lights were on, he could see someone inside. He tapped on the window and hastily concocted his story.

“Hi there. I just moved into town and my in-laws are coming to see the house for the first time today. My wife sent me out for a haircut and she'll kill me if I don't come back with one. Any chance you could possibly take me?”

The barber glanced at his watch. “Well, I'm going to play some golf, but my tee time isn't until after lunch. I guess it's all right Come on in.”

“You're a lifesaver, pal,” said Meat as he headed to the barber's chair.

“Good thing I left my wallet here, or you never would have caught me in today.” The barber switched on the overhead lights. “Where did you move to?”

“We bought a house on Lakewood.”

“Lakewood? I don't remember hearing about any house on Lakewood being on the market.”

Meat thought quickly. “It was a private sale.”

“You're lucky. Everything that comes on the market here lately is snapped up before the Realtors even get a chance to show it.” The barber snapped the giant bib around Meat's neck.

“Yeah. My wife had her heart set on this town. She was beside herself when she read in the paper this weekend that Eliza Blake had moved in, too. Do you know where she lives?”

The barber took out his sharp scissors and began to snip.
“She bought the Richardses' place on Saddle Ridge Road. A big brick colonial.”

“I'll have to take my wife for a drive-by. Is it the only brick colonial on the street?”

The barber stopped combing and cutting to consider. “I'm not sure. I know there's been some new construction over there recently. But Eliza Blake's house is on the right-hand side when you turn in from East Saddle River Road. It's right where the road bends.”

A tall vase with two dozen perfect pink roses arrived at the Broadcast Center on Monday afternoon. When Paige brought up the cellophane-wrapped arrangement from the lobby and placed it on Eliza's desk, her boss barely looked up.

“Do you want me to read the card?” Paige asked.

“Go ahead,” Eliza said dully.

Paige slipped open the small white envelope. “ ‘Thank you for helping me realize that there is still enjoyment left to be had. Samuel.' ”

The assistant looked expectantly at her boss, hoping the romantic gesture would boost her spirits.

“That's nice,” was all Eliza could muster. She rose from her chair and walked over to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. “God, Paige, I just want this day to be over so I can get home.”

“Are the security men there yet?”

“Yes. I just talked to Mrs. Garcia. Two of them are on watch outside.”

“And Janie?”

“She's fine. She doesn't realize what is going on.”

“That's good,” said Paige.

Eliza pounded her clenched fists against the glass in desperation.
Why can't the phone company and Joe Connelly catch these nuts?

The pouch destined for the London bureau was picked up by a courier at the Broadcast Center by five
P.M.
each weekday in order to make the night flight to the U.K. At four-thirty, Abigail hurried to the Traffic Desk carrying a gray interoffice envelope marked for Mack McBride and dropped it in the bright yellow mesh shipping bag along with all the other envelopes and small packages already inside. You were supposed to register your entry on the clipboard that hung beside the pouch, but Abigail didn't bother.

Why not share the misery?

On the other side of the Atlantic, Mack would open the envelope and find only the copy of the
Daily News
picture. He would never know who had sent it his way.

What could it hurt?
If Mack knew Eliza was already seeing someone else, that she was moving on, perhaps it would discourage him from trying to make things right between them again.

Abigail had not given up. Despite Eliza's protestations, Abigail hoped she might still come around. She did not want Mack coming back into Eliza's life.

Another call came in after midnight. Against Joe's advice, Eliza demanded that he play it back for her. Her face paled as she listened to the whispered words.

“Eliza, you are beautiful, even without your makeup. I dream of waking up beside your scrubbed face each morning. Your daughter can join us in our bed and we will all snuggle together.”

Without her makeup? Who had seen her without her makeup? Was he looking in her windows, watching her as she played with Janie out in the yard? Had he seen her come into the Broadcast Center one morning when she hadn't had time to apply her makeup?

Eliza felt physically ill. She ran down the hallway and vomited.

 

She had to do her job. She had to.

Keith wanted to go over the
FRESHER LOOK
shooting schedule. Could they go to the Bronx Zoo this weekend, interview the bat expert there and get man-on-the-street sound bites about how people felt about bats? The weather was expected to be good over the Columbus Day holiday weekend and there would be plenty of zoo-goers.

Eliza tried to think. There was absolutely no way on God's green earth that she was going to leave Janie this weekend.

“I'll do it, Keith, but I'm bringing Janie with me,” she said firmly.

If the producer was surprised, he didn't show it. Actually Keith hoped that he would be as devoted to his baby when it finally arrived.

“Sure, Eliza. That sounds great. I hear they have some Halloween things going on there. Janie should love it.” Keith looked at his clipboard. “Now, about the Linda Anderson story. We can go out and interview Mrs. Anderson next Tuesday. Will that work for you?”

Eliza was having a hard time thinking past this afternoon. “Check with Paige. If I'm open, fine.”

Keith's research had convinced Range that the Linda Anderson story would make good TV. Though Eliza had been uncomfortable when Range insisted that they do it as a
FRESHER LOOK
, she now felt almost compelled to face it head-on. Linda Anderson had resembled Eliza, she had a similar job and, because of Linda's high profile and large audience, the police thought almost anyone could have become obsessed with her.

People who had known Linda for years were called in and questioned after she disappeared. Co-workers, friends and acquaintances. The police conducted over four hundred interviews and followed up on twelve hundred leads. In the end, though, the authorities were convinced that an obsessive fan had targeted Linda as an object of desire. The very phenomenon that had helped Linda in her career—the fact that even if you had never met her, you felt you knew her—had led to her death. And all the investigations, manhunts and cadaver dogs had turned up nothing.