Farewell, Dorothy Parker (31 page)

“If it wasn’t for
you,
she wouldn’t want to run away in the first place.”

The terror in Sandra’s eyes told Violet everything she needed to know—this grandmother
did
think it was her own fault. That was why
her defenses were on high alert. But Sandra would do anything to keep from admitting that to anyone…especially herself.

Violet heard someone open the front door, which she had left unlocked for the police officers.

“Hello?” It was Malcolm’s voice.

“We’re in the kitchen!” Violet said.

He rushed in, holding up a pill bottle.

“Why are you here?” Sandra said. “You’re supposed to be home. What if she turns up?”

“Rita is there,” he said, referring to his sister, whom Violet had met a few times.

“Rita!” Sandra said, and rolled her eyes, implying that she was the most ridiculous choice Malcolm could have made.

“What’s this?” he said, showing Sandra the pill bottle.

“You know what it is,” she said. “It’s Delaney’s medicine.”

“Why doesn’t she have it? She’s supposed to carry it with her, just in case.”

“Where did you find that?” Sandra demanded.

“Where you hid it,” Malcolm said. “On the top shelf behind the Metamucil.”

“You
hid
Delaney’s medicine?” Violet said.

Sandra stood. “For her own good! Don’t gang up on me!”

“How is hiding her medicine for her own good?” Violet demanded.

“She’s very responsible about taking it,” Sandra said. “I just…I thought if she couldn’t find it she wouldn’t run away.”

So this was the terrible truth Sandra had been hiding. It was worse than Violet had imagined. She looked at the clock. It was just a few hours until Delaney was due for her next dose. If she didn’t take it, her heart could go into atrial fibrillation again. And without immediate attention she could pass out, or worse—have a deadly stroke.

Violet’s flesh prickled in fear as she ran out of any shred of
sympathy for Sandra. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” she said.

Malcolm rattled the pill bottle at his wife. “You shouldn’t have hid this!”

“You really thought hiding her medicine would stop her from running away?” Violet asked.

“I’m doing my best!” Sandra said. “Which is more than I can say for you—taking her to nudie shows and putting ideas in her head. Who
knows
where she went off to after the kind of things you expose her to?”

“Don’t put this on me!” Violet said. “You’re the one who drove her away, and you’re the one who hid her medicine. And guess what? I
do
think you’re stupid!”

“And I think you’re
dangerous
!”

“Don’t talk to me about dangerous when you’re the one who hid her heart medication! If she strokes out, it will be
your fault.
”

“I was only trying to protect her!”

“From what?” Violet said.

“From
you
!”

“Liar! You
know
she belongs with me, but you’ll do anything to keep that from happening.”

“Of course!” Sandra said. “I don’t want her living with a single woman who’s never even raised a child.”

Violet went cold. “What are you saying?” she asked quietly.

“I’m saying that a woman whose baby died before it even had a chance to be born can’t be much of a mother.”

Violet was aghast. There was no longer any way to contain her fury. “No wonder Delaney hates you!”

“She might hate me,” Sandra said, “but at least I can provide a stable, two-parent household.”

“With a husband who cheats,” Violet said.

“What?”

“Go ahead—ask him! Ask him who he goes to visit when Delaney is taking her piano lesson! Your husband is cheating on you, Sandra. So much for a stable household!”

Sandra turned to Malcolm. “Is this true?”

Malcolm’s face reddened beneath its orange glow. “Uh…no. Of course not.”

“Then whose house is he parked at every Sunday?” Violet asked.

“I thought you just drove around,” Sandra said. “You told me you just drove around.”

“I…uh…Why are we talking about this now?” Malcolm said. “Delaney is
missing.
”

“Oh, my God!” Sandra said. “It’s true! Who is she?”

“It doesn’t matter. I mean…we can’t do this now. Sandra—”

“How could you! How could you do this! Is that what the manicures are about? And the tanning? And the teeth? Oh, God!”

Violet heard the front door open again, and the two police officers entered the kitchen.

“We’ve got a lead,” Goncalvez said. “A girl matching Delaney’s description was seen at the Smithtown train station.”

The train station? Violet shuddered. Delaney could be anywhere.

Chapter 35

Sandra and Malcolm agreed on a temporary détente and accompanied the officers to the depot to show Delaney’s picture to everyone they could. Meanwhile, the detective on the case was reviewing security tapes, and Violet stayed behind to make more phone calls.

She had sent several text messages to Delaney, but of course there had been no response. She tried again:

She hit send and stared at the screen. Nothing.

Poor Woollcott was at the front door, whimpering, as she still hadn’t taken him out. Violet stuck her charged cell phone in her pocket and grabbed his leash.

As they walked down the block, Violet tried to focus on where Delaney might have gone by train. Almost everyone who boards at a Long Island station is headed to Manhattan. But would Delaney have done that? And if so, where was she going? Did she have any favorite spots? A museum? A restaurant? Did she have a friend in the city Violet didn’t know about? Had she met someone online?

Please, God, Violet thought, don’t let it be that.

Her cell phone rang, and Violet grabbed it from her pocket. It was an unfamiliar number.

“Is this Violet?” a woman asked.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“My name is Sherry Pierce. I live about four blocks from the Webers, and my daughter gave me your number. She said all the kids are texting about Delaney. Are you still looking for her?”

“Yes!” Violet said, her heart racing. “Did you see her?”

“I don’t know what time it was. Late morning, maybe? I remember thinking it was strange that she wasn’t in school. I saw her walking down Redwood toward the train station. Someone probably reported this already, right?”

Violet sighed. “Yes, but thank you. Thank you very much. It’s good to have it corroborated.”

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I would have asked her where she was going, but since she was with an adult—”

Violet stopped walking. “She wasn’t alone?”

“No, she was with a petite woman with dark hair. A teacher, I figured.”

Woollcott tugged on the leash, but Violet remained frozen. It couldn’t be, could it? “What was she wearing?”

“The woman? A dress, I think. Yes, definitely. Definitely wearing a dress—something old-fashioned. And she was carrying a box.”

Dorothy Parker! Dear God, what was she doing with Delaney? And was this good news or bad?

Violet thanked Sherry Pierce and rushed back home, certain Mrs. Parker and Delaney had headed into the city. Beyond that, she had no ideas. But she knew she had to locate them before the Webers got
wind that Delaney had been seen with Violet’s strange friend. Once that happened, Violet would be suspected of masterminding some kidnapping scheme. And she was damned sure no one would believe her explanation of who the strange woman really was.

Violet grabbed her car keys, determined to drive into the city and find a troubled thirteen-year-old girl and a mischievous older woman. But where should she look? Manhattan was a big place, and they could be anywhere. Think, Violet coached herself. Would they have gone someplace Delaney wanted to go? Or would Mrs. Parker be the tour guide?

Delaney had wanted to go to the screening, but that wasn’t possible. She had no idea where it was and wouldn’t be able to get in without Violet’s pass. Mrs. Parker had mentioned there was still one place she wanted to visit—her old haunt, the Algonquin. Violet shuddered. It was the last place she wanted to show her face again. There had to be a more likely spot she could check first.

The only other place that made sense was the screening. Could the partners in crime have found a way to get in? Perhaps Mrs. Parker sneaked back into Violet’s office, found the pass, and took Delaney to the private showing. Yes, that made some sense. She would start there.

Just after Violet merged onto the Long Island Expressway heading west toward the tunnel into Manhattan, her cell phone rang. The caller ID showed that it was the Suffolk County police.

“Miss Epps? This is Detective Diehl.”

He was the lead investigator on the case, and Violet had spoken to him by phone earlier, before the Webers left for the train station. He had a deep voice, and a careful, measured way of speaking.

“Is there any news?” Violet asked.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“I’m in my car, why?”

“We’d like you to come down here and look at these security tapes.”

Uh-oh.

“Why? What did you see? Is Delaney in danger?”

“She was seen with an individual who was identified as someone you might know.”

Shit.

“Really? Who?” Violet’s stomach was in a knot. She hated lying, especially when the man on the other end of the phone was trained to know when people were being dishonest.

“I’d like you to come down and take a look for yourself.”

“When? Now?”

“As soon as possible,” Detective Diehl said. He gave her the address of the Suffolk County police headquarters and told her to ask for him at the front desk.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Violet said. Then she got off the phone and continued west toward New York City.

“It’s in progress, Ms. Epps,” said the young intern at the desk situated in the hallway in front of the screening room. The girl wore a name badge that said
BROOKE
, and Violet remembered her from previous screenings. She had been working for the studio for several months, and did a good job memorizing the critics’ names.

“I know,” Violet said. “I’m not here officially. I think it’s possible my niece sneaked into the theater. By any chance did you see a girl about thirteen years old go inside?”

Violet hoped Brooke might remember seeing someone that young, as there weren’t many kids at these things. Critics were entitled to bring a guest, but they rarely brought children. Sometimes, when there was a family feature, the studios gave out promotional passes to the public and a few kids might be in attendance, but this wasn’t one of those films.

Brooke shook her head. “I haven’t been here the whole time. Taryn was at the desk, but she had to leave early.”

“Can I peek in and look around?”

“It’s in
progress.
”

“I know, but…this is practically life and death.” Violet paused, wondering if Brooke would take that as hyperbole. She was having a hard time believing it herself. But the chill that prickled Violet’s skin reminded her it was very, very real. “The kid ran away without her medication,” she said.

“Oh, shit. Okay, go in, but watch out for Buzz.”

“Buzz?” Violet asked.

“Security.”

“Right,” Violet said. There was always one very serious security guard at these screenings, as the studios were paranoid about pirated copies of the films being sold. So a guard stood off to the side, watching the people watching the movie, making sure no one was surreptitiously recording it. If you even took out a cell phone during the screening, you got thrown out.

Very quietly, Violet opened the door to the dark room. She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust, hoping for a brightly lit scene that might illuminate the auditorium enough to look around.

The space was smaller than a regular theater, with plush, oversized chairs upholstered in leather. Violet could make out a very tall figure leaning against the opposite wall toward the front of the room. No doubt that was Buzz, who must have been at least six five. His arms were folded, and while she couldn’t make out his face, Violet felt sure he was staring at her.

She glanced at the screen. Two characters were talking in a darkened alleyway—a scene that threw virtually no light into the room. She watched and waited. An off-camera siren sounded, and Violet felt certain she knew what would happen next. Sure enough, a police car pulled
into the narrow passage and the scene cut to the headlights from the characters’ point of view. This instantly lit the screening room.

Violet rushed along the wall toward the front so she could scan the seats for Dorothy Parker and Delaney. Before she could turn around, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. It was Buzz.

“Can I help you, miss?” he whispered.

“Looking for someone,” she said, trying to peer around him. He was blocking her view with his massive frame.

“You have to leave.”

“I’m a movie critic,” she said.

“Then take a seat.”