Stunner (26 page)

I hop out of the cab and look up at the building. What’s not to like? The huge brick edifice is stately and elegant. And safe. It even provides a doorman to sweep visitors through the imposing, colonnaded front door into an enormous lobby that holds clusters of upholstered furniture.

I give my name at the reception desk and sit down on a huge sofa in one corner of the room. Checking my phone, I find a message from the community college with the chess club faculty advisor’s contact info. I then compose a quick email requesting an appointment. I may find it useful to talk with him. As I hit
Send
, a woman walks over and greets me in a gracious manner.

“Mrs. Lake, welcome to The Hamilton. I’m Madeleine Avery, the manager.”

I stand up. “Hello. So nice to meet you, Mrs. Avery.” We shake hands.

She sits down opposite me. “When my assistant scheduled the appointment, she noted that you wished to inquire about a past resident…” An amused smile plays on her face. “…and not that you wanted to stay here.”

“That’s correct, Mrs. Avery.” I smile back.

“We do respect our residents’ privacy, but how exactly may I help you?”

“I’m trying to locate a distant family member for a reunion I’m planning.” I fold my hands in my lap. “We lost touch with her ten years ago when she lived here at The Hamilton—”

“I’ve been here thirty years, and I make a point to get to know all our young women at The Hamilton.” She tilts her head. “What is her name, Mrs. Lake?”

“Julie Jones. She might have been using her middle name, Terry, instead of Julie.” Here we go again with the little white fibs. “My daughter, Jess, was so fond of her growing up.”

A long pause and I can see Mrs. Avery going through a mental checklist. Then her face lights up. “You mean the very studious Julie? Of course.” She shakes her head. “We have many young ladies who come through The Hamilton, but not many who live here as long as she did. The longer-term residents are easier to remember. Plus, Julie was simply unforgettable.”

The manager pauses, as if making a decision. “Since we’re talking about a resident who left so long ago, I think I can share with you what I remember about Julie.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mrs. Avery.” I cross my feet at the ankles and sit up straighter, as if I’m being interviewed for approval to stay here myself. “I guess Julie was pretty busy taking classes?”

“I would say that if she wasn’t at school, she spent most of her time in this very room studying.” She gestures toward the opposite side of the vast lobby. “See that wing chair over there in the corner?” I nod, and she goes on. “If you were looking for Julie, most likely you’d find her sitting in that chair studying, surrounded by her books, papers spread out on the coffee table, her laptop open.”

“Sounds as if she was a dedicated student,” I say. “Did she make any friends among the other residents?”

“Julie was friendly and helpful to everyone,” Mrs. Avery says. “But I remember she was very private. She kept to herself.”

“How long did she live at The Hamilton?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she answers. “I’d have to look it up.”

“No need—”

“I knew she’d be leaving,” she says, and then her tone becomes wistful. “I just didn’t think it’d be quite so soon.”

I decide to go for the information—gently. “I thought you said she stayed an extended—ooohhh. Right. The baby.” Those words hang in the air for such a long moment that I’m worried I’ve blown it, but then Mrs. Avery sighs.

“I remember when Julie started showing a few months after she arrived. She didn’t attempt to hide it.” She shrugs. “I tried to quietly offer her opportunities to talk about it, in case she needed moral support, but she absolutely would not discuss it with me.”

“I’m sure you did your best, Mrs. Avery.” So, Julie/Juliana was definitely pregnant. “She was fortunate to have you here, even if she didn’t want to talk to you about it,” I say. “How about the father? Did he get involved?”

Mrs. Avery shakes her head quickly. “No. Not at all, as far as I could tell. Julie said nothing about the father and just quietly continued with her studies as her pregnancy progressed.”

“Did she have the baby while she was here?” I ask.

“Oh, no. Julie was finishing up a school term and getting bigger and bigger—she was probably about eight months along—when she gave me notice that she’d be leaving in two weeks,” Mrs. Avery says and looks at me. “At that moment, I must admit to boldly asking her about her plans. You know, would she keep the baby? Or put it up for adoption?”

“It’s a natural question, Mrs. Avery,” I reassure the manager of The Hamilton. “Plus, it would have been tough for Julie to support a child. You know, fulltime student, not much money.”

“Yes, well, she told me she was still working all of that out.” Mrs. Avery taps one of her hands against her leg. She stops. “And then Julie was gone.”

“No idea where she went next?” I ask.

“None.”

“You never saw her again?”

“That’s not the case at all.” Now Mrs. Avery smiles widely. “Ten months later Julie returned. She told me she’d had a little girl and said the baby was with someone who could care for her and give her a lot of love. She even showed me a picture of herself holding the little angel in the hospital.”

So, Juliana did have a baby. I think back to our conversation in the library at Meadow Farm, when she told me she had four stepchildren. She never volunteered that she had a child of her own or whether she gave it up for adoption. But then why would she respond to my curious—OK, nosy—questions?

The apartment manager gazes out a window fronting the busy avenue. “I remember Julie looked just great. Not at all as though she’d recently had a baby. Anyway, she spent a few more years finishing her degree and working, and then she left for good. California, I think.”

“Any forwarding address? I’m really trying to play catch-up here.” I suppose my statement sounds sort of weak.

In fact, Mrs. Avery gives me a funny look, and I can practically see the wheels turning. “How is it your family became estranged from Julie?” she asks. “And why have you been out of touch for so long?”

I pathetically make it up as I go along. “I prefer not to go into all the particulars, since Julie broke it off with us when she was pregnant. Certain family members didn’t approve and were very critical that she didn’t plan to marry the father. She was secretive about all the details, and you know how some people can be quite judgmental. Well, she just washed her hands of us, and I can hardly blame her.” I try my best to look regretful.

Mrs. Avery’s face relaxes, and she looks at me with sympathy. “Family can be tough, even brutal at times. That poor girl.”

“My thoughts exactly, Mrs. Avery. And I want to let bygones be bygones. I thought this family reunion would be a perfect way to knock down any remaining barriers.”

“You’re so right, Mrs. Lake.”

“Plus, I’m dying to meet her daughter,” I add, “and bring them both back into the family.”

We’re quiet, and the silence goes on a little too long. Then the building manager stands up, but before she can speak, I jump in. “While I’m here, may I see a room? I have a niece coming to New York for an internship in the fall. Of course she doesn’t want to live in New Jersey with us, but insists on being here, in the Big Apple. The Hamilton could be the perfect solution, providing you have availability in September.”

Mrs. Avery smiles broadly. “We will have some turnover at that time. Tell you what. I’ll get you a key, and while you look at one of our rooms, I’ll put together a packet of information and an application.” She heads for the office, still looking at me. “I’ll also see if I can find that forwarding address for Julie. Anything to help.”

~~~~~

Exiting the elevator on the twelfth floor, I quickly find room 1226 and unlock the door. Even though The Hamilton Residence façade is magnificent and its lobby plush, the rooms are anything but, if this one is typical of the others in the building.

Room 1226 is modest and dark with its one small window facing a brick wall perhaps fifteen feet away. A twin bed, night stand, dresser, desk, and chair all look vintage 1950s and well worn. These pieces of furniture are stuffed in the small room and make the space feel cramped. Still, the room and its adjoining bathroom are spotlessly clean. Plus, though I haven’t seen the brochure as of yet, you probably can’t beat the price if you’re starting your first job in the city or going to school.

I sit on the bed—it feels firm—and imagine Juliana coming back to this lonely little room after working at Benny’s Bar & Grill in Soho where she made good money. Living at The Hamilton, with its doorman and front deskman, protected from the Bobby Taylors of the world, probably allowed her to save a lot of money. Her growing nest egg most likely made her move to California possible.

My phone sounds a
ping
, and I find an email from the community college chess club advisor. He writes he can’t meet with me for three weeks because of schedule demands. I probably don’t need to talk with him anyway. Reading the college transcript and then speaking with Mrs. Avery has yielded plenty of new information about my brother’s girlfriend, or is it fiancé?

I wonder if Juliana has told Frank anything about this period of her life and, most importantly, having a baby.

Time to go home. I’m done for the day.

Strolling from the dry cleaner to my car, I spot Juliana coming out of the village coffee shop. While depositing my clean clothes in the Mustang and grabbing my hemp shopping bag for the Saturday morning farmers market, I watch her walk in the direction of several boutiques. For a budding P.I., this is a golden opportunity to practice the basic surveillance techniques that Will has been teaching me.

I cross to the other side of the street so I’m now opposite her, which is the preferred strategy when shadowing a target in a residential or uncrowded neighborhood of village shops. I enter a bookstore where I’m able to purchase a newspaper while watching Juliana through the window. She carefully checks out the merchandise displayed in front of the boutiques, but never enters any of the shops.

Juliana continues down the street, and I notice admiring glances from men as they pass her. She could never do surveillance because she stands out too much. No matter how much she’d cover up, I don’t think it would ever be enough to help a woman with her immense beauty blend into the background.

She crosses the street at the train station to visit the farmers market. I head into the station parking lot and do the same, losing her in the throng. I have just broken golden rule number one: Never take your eyes off the target.

Turns out the lapse is only for a moment. I soon spot her at a vegetable stand looking over a display of freshly picked tomatoes. Checking baked goods at a different stand, I select and buy two loaves of multi-grained bread and place them in my bag.

I work on doing better with surveillance rule number one and remain discreet, observing Juliana through my sunglasses. Should she spot me, I’m ready with my cover story, which is rule number… What? Two? You must have a reason for being there if you get
made
, or seen, by your target.

I move on to buy flowers at a different stand, while Juliana stays put, having switched her focus to yellow and green zucchinis. As I place the flowers in my bag, I lift my head slightly, watch Juliana pay for the vegetables and glance around the market in general. That’s when I see him.

Thank goodness for my shades, which hide where I’m looking, because presently I’m staring straight at Bobby Taylor. He sticks out from others milling about the market who look like ordinary locals. In contrast, Bobby’s jeans are worn out and dirty, and he’s wearing the same leather jacket that I’ve noticed before. He pushes at his reflecting shades that hide his eyes and adjusts a grubby baseball cap turned backward over his stringy hair.

I catch a flash of what appears to be a knife handle poking out of Bobby’s jeans near his left hip, and it sends shivers up my spine. Juliana’s sleazy cousin is hanging back, watching her like prey, and she’s oblivious to his presence.

But she’s not oblivious to mine. I’ve been so busy watching him that I again broke rule number one about observing the target. All of a sudden Juliana marches directly up to me, her body language and face full of anger.

“Are you following me? Again?” she hisses.

“Hell, no,” I insist. “I always shop the farmers market.” Cover story delivered with confidence. Will would approve.

“Right,” she says with sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Of course you just happen to be at the farmers market when I’m here. Frank told you to leave us alone.”

“Look, Juliana, don’t flatter yourself.” I show her my market-filled bag. “I grew up here. It’s a small community. Friends and neighbors run into each other all the time around town. I promise you, I am not your problem.” I nod behind her. “Don’t look now, but there’s some creep over there with a knife, who’s been watching you.”

Juliana begins to turn. “Don’t move. You’ll tip him off,” I say. “I believe it’s Bobby Taylor.” She stiffens, and I continue, “And he looks pissed.”

I remember that Will told me a good P.I. is quick thinking and fast to react. In a split second, I come up with a plan. “Juliana, do you have a car nearby?”

“No. Frank is picking me up in an hour.” Her voice is shaky, and she glances around.

“My Mustang’s right up the street, but don’t wait there.” Bobby Taylor moves stealthily among the stands, heading in our direction. “There’s a bookstore not too far from my car. Go inside and wait for me in the back.”

“What are you going to do, Ronnie?” Juliana’s hands shake.

“Create a diversion. Now go!” The moment I push her toward the street, I observe a police officer leaning against his cruiser at the train station on the edge of the market.

Bobby Taylor notices Juliana leaving and picks up speed as he makes his way through the stands. I amble toward him with my head down as if I’m shuffling through my bag that holds the flowers and bread.

I time my movements to reach him just as he passes a display of stacked glass jars filled with homemade preserves. At that moment, I pretend to stumble and crash into him big-time, causing him to fall right into the middle of the jam display. The jars all crash down, shattering, and making an amazing racket.