woman and dog, back toward the waterfront. On Pike Street, where the road was paved with worn red bricks and merchants offered every sort of fish, fresh vegetable and pastry from open stalls, they bought bagels and cream cheese.
On the Sound, a passenger ferry sounded its horn, as if to remind all and sundry that no storm could stay it for long.
Mallory drew a deep, salt-scented breath. “We’ll go home today,” she said, as much to herself as to Cinnamon. “All of us.”
Cinnamon yipped, as if in celebration, and then strained at her leash as a tame sea gull ventured too near, waddling over the brick street in search of scraps. Mallory was restraining the dog when she felt a hand come to rest on the sleeve of her Windbreaker.
She turned, smiling, expecting a friend or someone who had been following her misadventures on the soap. Instead, she met the snapping azure gaze of Diane Vincent.
After a moment, Diane allowed her eyes to sweep contemptuously to the dog, who still wanted to investigate the intrepid sea gull foraging nearby. “Hello,” she said, her voice trimmed in sweet malice. “Out walking your—dog?”
“Obviously,” Mallory replied.
Diane smiled acidly. She did look splendid, though, in her casual tweed blazer, yellow silk blouse fetchingly open at the throat and tailored designer jeans. “Let’s have coffee, Mallory. How long has it been since we really talked, you and I?”
Not long enough. Mallory managed a stiff smile, though she couldn’t have said why she made the effort. “I really don’t have time, Diane.” She patted the shopping bag resting in the curve of one arm, still holding Cinnamon’s taut leash in the other hand. “When Nathan wakes up, he’s going to be hungry, and—”
Diane tossed her head, so that the sun caught in her magnificent hair. “He’s still sleeping—well, after last night, that figures.”
Mallory visualized headlines in her mind. SOAP OPERA VILLAINESS MURDERS REAL-LIFE RIVAL….
“Diane,” she said at length, and with commendable control, “if you’ve got something to say about last night, why don’t you just say it?”
Nathan’s beautiful press agent shrugged, and a hint of a malicious smile curved her lips and then shifted to her eyes. “We’ll get together another time, Mallory,” she said. “Give my regards to Nathan.”
With that, the woman turned and walked away, leaving Mallory to stare after her, all her questions unanswered.
5
W hen Cinnamon began to tug anxiously at her leash, probably bored with the sea gull and ready for breakfast, Mallory, stunned, snapped out of her mood and started off in the direction of the apartment complex. When she reached the building, her earlier high spirits still tarnished by the encounter with Diane, Mallory found that the lobby was uncommonly crowded.
“What’s going on, George?” she asked of the harried doorman, who was scowling at the bevy of reporters and photographers milling about.
George’s suspicious glance turned to one of worried recognition. “Ms. O’Connor—they’ll recognize you—” Before she could find out more, Mallory was being shuffled into the building manager’s cluttered office, out of view, Cinnamon following cheerfully behind.
Inside, Mallory frowned and set her shopping bag down on the desk usually occupied by the woman Nathan retained to look after the building. “Where’s Marge? George, what in the world—?”
“They’re after Mr. McKendrick, from what I gather,” George confided, looking very much like a beleaguered general barely able to stave off attack. “Marge is upstairs, talking to Mr. McKendrick.”
Annoyed, Mallory reached for the telephone on Marge’s desk and punched out the number for the penthouse. Oddly, it was Marge who answered. “Yes?” she demanded coldly.
“Marge, this is Mallory—I’m downstairs. Will you put Nathan on, please?”
“Are you in my office?” Marge blurted after a sharp intake of breath. “For God’s
On the Sound, a passenger ferry sounded its horn, as if to remind all and sundry that no storm could stay it for long.
Mallory drew a deep, salt-scented breath. “We’ll go home today,” she said, as much to herself as to Cinnamon. “All of us.”
Cinnamon yipped, as if in celebration, and then strained at her leash as a tame sea gull ventured too near, waddling over the brick street in search of scraps. Mallory was restraining the dog when she felt a hand come to rest on the sleeve of her Windbreaker.
She turned, smiling, expecting a friend or someone who had been following her misadventures on the soap. Instead, she met the snapping azure gaze of Diane Vincent.
After a moment, Diane allowed her eyes to sweep contemptuously to the dog, who still wanted to investigate the intrepid sea gull foraging nearby. “Hello,” she said, her voice trimmed in sweet malice. “Out walking your—dog?”
“Obviously,” Mallory replied.
Diane smiled acidly. She did look splendid, though, in her casual tweed blazer, yellow silk blouse fetchingly open at the throat and tailored designer jeans. “Let’s have coffee, Mallory. How long has it been since we really talked, you and I?”
Not long enough. Mallory managed a stiff smile, though she couldn’t have said why she made the effort. “I really don’t have time, Diane.” She patted the shopping bag resting in the curve of one arm, still holding Cinnamon’s taut leash in the other hand. “When Nathan wakes up, he’s going to be hungry, and—”
Diane tossed her head, so that the sun caught in her magnificent hair. “He’s still sleeping—well, after last night, that figures.”
Mallory visualized headlines in her mind. SOAP OPERA VILLAINESS MURDERS REAL-LIFE RIVAL….
“Diane,” she said at length, and with commendable control, “if you’ve got something to say about last night, why don’t you just say it?”
Nathan’s beautiful press agent shrugged, and a hint of a malicious smile curved her lips and then shifted to her eyes. “We’ll get together another time, Mallory,” she said. “Give my regards to Nathan.”
With that, the woman turned and walked away, leaving Mallory to stare after her, all her questions unanswered.
5
W hen Cinnamon began to tug anxiously at her leash, probably bored with the sea gull and ready for breakfast, Mallory, stunned, snapped out of her mood and started off in the direction of the apartment complex. When she reached the building, her earlier high spirits still tarnished by the encounter with Diane, Mallory found that the lobby was uncommonly crowded.
“What’s going on, George?” she asked of the harried doorman, who was scowling at the bevy of reporters and photographers milling about.
George’s suspicious glance turned to one of worried recognition. “Ms. O’Connor—they’ll recognize you—” Before she could find out more, Mallory was being shuffled into the building manager’s cluttered office, out of view, Cinnamon following cheerfully behind.
Inside, Mallory frowned and set her shopping bag down on the desk usually occupied by the woman Nathan retained to look after the building. “Where’s Marge? George, what in the world—?”
“They’re after Mr. McKendrick, from what I gather,” George confided, looking very much like a beleaguered general barely able to stave off attack. “Marge is upstairs, talking to Mr. McKendrick.”
Annoyed, Mallory reached for the telephone on Marge’s desk and punched out the number for the penthouse. Oddly, it was Marge who answered. “Yes?” she demanded coldly.
“Marge, this is Mallory—I’m downstairs. Will you put Nathan on, please?”
“Are you in my office?” Marge blurted after a sharp intake of breath. “For God’s
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