While My Pretty One Sleeps by Mary Higgins Clark

conversation when she’d demanded that he run an errand for her on Friday and told him not to expect a tip. “I took your advice,” she said, “and kept track of what I spent.”
    He’d rushed over here, sure of his ability to sweet-talk her, knowing that if she dumped him she’d have nobody she could order around. . . .
    When the coffee was ready, Doug poured a cup, went back into the bedroom and dressed. As he knotted his tie, he surveyed himself critically in the mirror. He looked good. The facials he’d started having with the money he pilfered from Ethel had cleared up his skin. He’d also found a decent barber. Thetwo suits he’d bought recently fitted him the way clothes were supposed to fit. The new receptionist at Cosmic had big eyes for him. He had let her know that he was only doing this crummy desk job because he was writing a play. She knew Ethel’s name. “And you’re a writer, too,” she’d breathed in awe. He wouldn’t mind bringing Linda here. But he had to be careful, for a while at least. . . .
    Over a second cup of coffee, Doug methodically went through the papers in Ethel’s desk. There was one cardboard expansion folder marked “Important.” As he flipped through it, his face drained of color. That old windbag Ethel had blue-chip stocks! She had property in Florida! She had a million-dollar insurance policy!
    There was a copy of her will in the last section of the folder. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he read it.
    Everything. Every single dime she had had been left to him. And she was worth a bundle.
    He’d be late for work, but it didn’t matter. Doug restored his clothes to the back of the chaise, made the bed carefully, got rid of the ashtray, folded a quilt, a pillow and sheets on the couch to suggest he’d slept there, and wrote a note: “Dear Aunt Ethel. Guess you’re on one of your unexpected trips. Knew you wouldn’t mind if I continue to bunk on the couch until my new place is ready. Hope you’ve been having fun. Your loving nephew, Doug.”
    And that establishes the nature of our relationship, he thought as he saluted Ethel’s picture on the wall by the front door of the apartment.At three o’clock on Wednesday afternoon, Neeve left a message at Tse-Tse’s answering service. An hour later, Tse-Tse phoned. “Neeve, we just had a dress rehearsal. I think the play is great,” she exulted. “All I do is pass the turkey and say, ‘Yah,’ but you never know. Joseph Papp might be in the audience.”
    â€œYou’ll be a star yet,” Neeve said, meaning it. “I can’t wait to brag ‘I knew her when.’ Tse-Tse, I have to get back into Ethel’s apartment. Do you still have her key?”
    â€œNobody’s heard from her?” Tse-Tse’s voice lost its lilt. “Neeve, there’s something weird going on. That nutty nephew of hers. He’s sleeping in her bed and smoking in her room. Either he doesn’t expect her back or he doesn’t care if she tosses him out on his ear.”
    Neeve stood up. Suddenly she felt cramped behind her desk, and the samples of gowns and purses and jewelry and shoes strewn about her office seemed terribly unimportant. She’d changed to a two-piece dress from one of her newest designers. It was a pale-gray wool with a silver belt that rested on her hips. The tulip skirt barely skimmed her knees. A silk scarf in tones of gray, silver and peach was knotted at her neck. Two customers had ordered the outfit when they saw her wearing it on the sales floor.
    â€œTse-Tse,” she asked, “would it be possible for you to go to Ethel’s apartment again tomorrow morning? If she’s there, fine. Admit you were worried about her. If the nephew is around, could you say that Ethel wanted you to do some extra work, clean out the kitchen cabinets or