While My Pretty One Sleeps by Mary Higgins Clark

Author:Mary Higgins Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

9|

Sometime during the night the wind had shifted, and the low-hanging clouds were blown out over the Atlantic. Saturday dawned with a welcoming golden sun. But the air was still unseasonably cold, and the CBS weatherman warned that the clouds would be back and there might even be snow flurries in the afternoon. Neeve bounded out of bed. She had a date to go jogging with Jack at seven-thirty.

She pulled on a sweatsuit, her Reeboks, and tied her hair back into a ponytail. Myles was already in the kitchen. He frowned.

“I just don’t like you jogging alone this early.”

“Not alone.”

Myles raised his eyes. “I see. Moving fast, aren’t we? I like him, Neeve.”

She poured orange juice. “Now, don’t get your hopes up. You liked the stockbroker too.”

“I didn’t say I liked that one. I said he seemed respectable. There’s a difference.” Myles dropped the bantering. “Neeve, I’ve been thinking. It makes more sense for you to go to Rockland County and talk to those detectives before you sit down with our guys. If you’re right, the clothes Ethel Lambston was wearing came from your shop. So that’s the first thing we establish. My guess is that after that you should go through her closet with a fine-tooth comb and see exactly what else is missing. We know homicide is going to zero in on the ex-husband, but you can’t assume anything.”

The intercom rang. Neeve picked up the receiver. It was Jack. “I’ll be right down,” she told him.

“What time do you want to go to Rockland County?” she asked Myles. “I really have to go to work for a while.”

“Midafternoon will be fine.” At her surprised expression, Myles added, “Channel Eleven is covering Nicky Sepetti’s funeral live. I want a front-row seat.”

• • •

Denny had taken up his position at seven o’clock. At seven-twenty-nine he saw a tall guy in a running suit go into Schwab House. A few minutes later, Neeve Kearny emerged with him. They started jogging toward the park. Denny swore silently under his breath. If she’d only been alone. He had cut through the park on the way over. It was almost deserted. He could have wasted her anywhere. He felt for the pistol in his pocket. Last night when he’d gone back to his room Big Charley had been parked across the street waiting for him. Charley had rolled down the car window and handed out a brown paper bag. Denny had taken it, and his fingers had felt the outline of the gun.

“Kearny is starting to cause real trouble,” Big Charley told him. “It don’t matter no more if it looks like an accident. Get her any way you can.”

Now he was tempted to follow them into the park, to hit the two of them. But Big Charley might not like that.

Denny began to walk in the opposite direction. Today he was wrapped in a bulky sweater that hung to his knees, torn chinos, leather sandals, a stocking cap that had once been bright yellow.

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