Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(57)

She’s hardly thrilled about returning to her mother’s apartment, though. Intellectually, she knows there’s no real reason to feel threatened there, yet she can’t seem to help it.

The light changes at last, and they join the mass of pedestrians swarming the wide thoroughfare as lightning flashes overhead. Honking yellow cabs clog the street on either side of the landscaped median, headlights glaring in the gloom. A lucky few commuters huddle beneath the shelter at the bus stop; the rest crowd along the curb between the rushing gutter and the parade of black pedestrian umbrellas heading toward the express subway station two blocks down.

High above the chaos, the Ansonia’s mansard roofline is shrouded in a misty curtain of rain, towering like a haunted mansion in some vintage, monochromatic film.

The light changes again before Renny’s short legs can make it all the way across, and they’re forced to wait it out on the median with a few other stragglers.

“You okay?” Elsa looks down at Renny, who nods unconvincingly.

“Can we go to Tiffany’s for breakfast tomorrow?”

Oh, right. Breakfast at Tiffany’s. “We’ll see.”

Elsa figures the necessary disillusionment can at least wait until they’re inside, out of the miserable weather.

Anyway, tomorrow morning the nightmare will be over and they’ll be on their way home to Connecticut.

Please, please, please let it be over.

Before they left the apartment, she’d called Brett again to tell him about the rubber monster mask. She could tell that Lew was still hovering, because while Brett listened to what she had to say, he didn’t comment, other than telling her he’ll call her as soon as he gets home.

“Still no Mike?” she asked hopefully before hanging up.

Still no Mike.

Something is wrong. She knows it, and so does Brett. Either something terrible happened to him, or…

Something terrible must have happened to him.

Why else would he not have checked his messages? If he had, and if he’d heard theirs, he’d have been in touch by now.

You’re jumping to conclusions. Stop being such a pessimist. There must be other logical reasons why he hasn’t called back.

Right. She just can’t think of a single one.

Unless he has called back, and Brett doesn’t want to tell her what Mike has to say, because he’s trying to shield her…

I need to call Brett and tell him that if he’s hiding something from me, he’d better stop right now, because I can handle it.

Finally the light changes again. Reaching the other side of the street, they skirt around a large puddle and step onto the sidewalk. The building’s main entrance is around the corner on Seventy-third Street, beneath a stone portico framed by globed sconces and the tall, gargoyle-embellished fa?ade.

A uniformed doorman standing outside holds open the door as they approach—not the same one from this afternoon. This guard, who told them his name is Tom, was just starting his shift when they were on their way out. Elsa reluctantly introduced herself and Renny as Sylvie Durand’s daughter and granddaughter.

“But don’t hold it against us,” she wanted to add, well aware that Maman always sweeps grandly from her cab or Town Car to the elevator without giving “the help” a second glance. The building staff has never been very fond of her—or of Elsa, purely by association.

Maybe Tom doesn’t know her snobbish mother very well, though, because he just held the door, tipped his hat, and wished her and Renny a pleasant evening.

“Back so soon?” he asks now. “Guess I don’t blame you. It’s a real gullywasher out here, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Elsa agrees, thinking that it’s an odd comment. Gullywasher—it sounds like something you’d hear out in the Southwest, not in the heart of Manhattan.

“That smells great.” Tom gestures at the bag of takeout. “Moo shoo pork, right?”

“Wow, you’re good.”

“Oh, I don’t fool around when it comes to Chinese. Hope you got extra.”

She grins. “Do you want some?”

“No, but your mother might.”

“Chinese food? My mother?” She laughs, shaking her head. “Anyway…I don’t think Rainbow Panda delivers to Paris, so…”

“Paris?”

So he is pretty new here. “That’s where she lives now,” Elsa explains.

“I know that—but I thought you were here to see her.”

“Oh—no. We’re just spending a night or two at her place. She’s in Paris.”

Tom shakes his head. “She’s here. She showed up a little while ago, while you were out.”

“What?”

“Mémé’s here?” Renny lights up immediately. “Why didn’t she tell us she was coming?”

“I’m not sure, little lady. See, your grandma’s not the type to stop and chat on her way in. Or out, come to think of it.”

Elsa is incredulous. “Are you sure it was her?”

“You know anyone else who goes around in a fancy hat and veil like an old-fashioned movie star?”

“Did you mention that we were here?”

“I figured she knew, but if it’s a surprise, don’t worry because—”