Where Are You Now? by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

commissioner of New York someday, then run for mayor, and I’d bet my bottom dollar that he’ll do both.
    Jackie has always been worried about how little interest I’ve shown in dating. She correctly attributed my lack of interest to the fact that I’ve felt emotionally burned out. Tonight, if the subject came up, I intended to reassure her that I am now actively working to put all that inertia behind me.
    We met at Il Mulino, our favorite pasta place in the Village. Over linguine with clam sauce and a glass of pinot grigio, I told her about Mack’s phone call and the note he left in the collection basket.
    â€œ ‘Uncle Devon, tell Carolyn she must not look for me,’ ” Jackie repeated. “I’m sorry, Carolyn, but if Mack did write that note, it suggests to me that he may be in some kind of trouble,” she said quietly. “If he weren’t under stress and just wanted to be left alone, I think he would have written, ‘Please don’t look for me,’ or simply, ‘Carolyn, leave me alone.’ ”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I’m afraid of. The more I look at the note and think about it, the more I sense desperation.”
    I told Jackie about going to see Detective Barrott. “He practically showed me the door,” I said. “He wasn’t interested in the note. He gave me the impression that if Mack wanted to be left alone, I should respect his wishes. So I started my own investigation by meeting with the superintendents of Mack’s apartment building.”
    She listened to my description of the meeting, interrupting only to query me about Mrs. Kramer. “You say she seemed nervous when you talked to her?”
    â€œShe was nervous, and she kept looking over to her husband for approval, as if she wanted to make sure she had given the right answers. Then they both changed their story in midstream about the last time they saw Mack and what he was wearing.”
    â€œMemory is notoriously inaccurate, especially after ten years,” Jackie said slowly. “If I were you, I’d try to see Mrs. Kramer when her husband isn’t around.”
    I made a mental note, then told her about my second conversation with Detective Barrott. Jackie hadn’t realized that my studio is right next door to the building where Leesey Andrews lived. I told her about Detective Barrott meeting me there and that I felt there was something behind his wanting to stay in touch with me.
    The expression in Jackie’s eyes changed. I could read deepening concern in them. “I’ll bet Detective Barrott wishes he had taken that note from you,” she said vehemently. “I’ll bet he’ll get around to asking you for it soon.”
    â€œWhat are you getting at?” I asked.
    â€œCarolyn, have you forgotten about the missing persons cases that were in the news just before Mack disappeared? That a bunch of Columbia guys, including Mack, were in the bar in SoHo where that first girl who disappeared had been hanging out? That was just a few weeks before Mack himself vanished.”
    â€œI hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted. “But why would that be relevant now?”
    â€œBecause you’ve handed the D.A.’s office a possible suspect. Mack doesn’t want you to find him, which, as I just suggested, could mean that he may be in some kind of trouble. Or it could mean that he is the trouble. He called your mother on Sunday and left the note in the collection basket later in the morning. Suppose Mack decided to check out where you now live, maybe to warn you away again. Your address at the apartment is listed in the phone book. Suppose he came by early Tuesday morning and spotted Leesey Andrews on the street walking home. I’ll bet that’s the way your Detective Barrott is adding things up.”
    â€œJackie, are you crazy?” I began, but the words died in my throat. I was desperately afraid that