While My Pretty One Sleeps by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

would be on a manhunt.
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    As Neeve entered the park, she wondered whether it was just coincidence that Sergeant Collins had happened to spot her. Or, she speculated as she walked rapidly along the path, has Myles got New York’s finest playing guardian angel to me?
    There were plentiful joggers, few bicyclers, some pedestrians, a tragic number of homeless resting under layers of newspapers or ragged blankets. They could die there and no one would notice, Neeve thought as her soft Italian boots moved soundlessly along the paths. To her annoyance she found herself glancing over her shoulder. In her teens she had gone to the library and looked up the pictures in the tabloids of her mother’s body. Now, as she hurried with increasingly rapid steps, she had the eerie feeling that she was seeing the pictures again. But this time it was her face, not Renata’s, that covered the front page of the Daily News above the caption “Murdered.”
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    Kitty Conway had joined the riding class at Morrison State Parkfor only one reason. She needed to fill time. She was a pretty woman of fifty-eight, with strawberry blonde hair and gray eyes that were enhanced by the fine lines that edged and framed them. There was a time those eyes had always seemed to dance with an amused and impish glow. When she turned fifty, Kitty had protested to Michael, “How come I still feel twenty-two?”
    â€œBecause you are twenty-two.”
    Michael had been gone for nearly three years. As Kitty gingerly hoisted herself up on the chestnut mare, she thought of all the activities she’d become involved in during these three years. She now had a real-estate license and was a pretty darn good saleswoman. She’d redecorated the house in Ridgewood, New Jersey, which she and Michael had bought only the year before she lost him. She was active in the Literacy Volunteers. She volunteered one day a week at the museum. She’d made two trips to Japan, where Mike Junior, her only child, a career army officer, was stationed, and had delighted in spending time with her half-Japanese granddaughter. She’d also resumed piano lessons without enthusiasm. Twice a month she drove disabled patients to doctor appointments, and now the latest activity was horseback riding. But no matter what she did, no matter how many friends she enjoyed, she was always haunted by the feeling of aloneness. Even now, as she gamely fell in with the dozen other student riders behind the instructor, she found only profound sadness in observing the aura around the trees, the reddish glow that was a promise of spring. “Oh, Michael,” she whispered, “I wish it would get better. I’m really trying.”
    â€œHow are you making out, Kitty?” the instructor yelled.
    â€œFine,” she shouted.
    â€œIf you want to be fine, keep your reins short. Show her you’re boss. And keep those heels down.”
    â€œGotcha.” Go to hell, Kitty thought. This damn nag is the worst of the lot. I was supposed to have Charley, but of course you assigned him to that sexy-looking new girl.
    It was a steep climb up the trail. Her horse stopped to eat every piece of green along the way. One by one, the others in the group passed her. She didn’t want to get separated from them. “Come on, damn you,” she murmured. She kicked her heels against the horse’s flanks.
    In a sudden, violent movement, the mare threw back her head, then reared. Startled, Kitty pulled at the reins as the animal swerved down a side path. Frantically she tried to remember not to lean forward. Sit back when you’re in trouble! She felt the loose stones slide under the hoofs. The uneven canter changed to a full gallop, downhill, over the uneven ground. Dear God, if the horse fell, it would crush her! She tried to slide her boots so that only the tips were still in the stirrups, so