Tips for Living(70)

“Shit. It’s almost seven p.m.”

“What’s going on?”

“Sam’s on his way home for Thanksgiving break. I’m picking him up at the airport. He’ll be landing at 8:05. It’ll take me more than an hour and a half to get there, even without traffic. I lost track of the time.”

You’d better get moving then.”

He looked uncertain.

“I’m fine. It’s fine. Don’t worry,” I said.

I was actually relieved Ben had to leave and I didn’t have to come up with some lame excuse about why he needed to go home before I fell asleep. (“It’s not you, Ben. I’ve never been able to share a bed.”)

He hopped out of bed and began dressing, hastily. Then he hesitated.

“Nora, I’m sorry to run out.”

“Go. Go. Go,” I urged.

“What was the idea you wanted to tell me?” he asked, pulling on his jeans.

“It can wait.”

He stuffed his socks in his pocket and slipped into his loafers. “We’re driving into Manhattan from the airport so Sam and I can visit with his grandmother for a couple of days. We’ll be back Friday afternoon. How about we have dinner Friday night?”

“You don’t mean with Sam,” I said nervously.

“No, just us. Of course, I’d like you two to meet. But I don’t want to rush you.”

“Okay. Sure.”

He handed me his phone. “And put in your burner number, okay?”

I nodded and entered the number as he buttoned his shirt.

Ben leaned over and kissed me again. Then he took his phone and grabbed his jacket. “If you talk to your landlord about the leaks in your living room, you can mention that the Courier is doing an exposé of local slumlords.”

“We are?”

“No, but it might speed things up.” He winked and then grew serious. “And do me a favor. Double-check that your doors and windows are locked tonight.”

I started to nod but stopped. “Hold on. I’m confused. If I’m being framed by someone, I’m not in danger. The killer needs me alive to take the blame.”

“That’s our theory. And it’s probably true. But nothing is a hundred percent until they catch this maniac. So, lock everything, please. And don’t open up unless you’re sure who it is.”

The way Hugh and Helene had been sure?



Before Ben’s car even left the driveway, I felt apprehensive about seeing him again. It wasn’t clear what we were doing. Had we crossed the Rubicon that afternoon and entered a bona fide relationship? Ben said he didn’t want to rush me. And I needed to find the courage to tell him about my freakish nocturnal habits before we got in too deep. The faith to believe he wouldn’t question my innocence. But since the debacle with Hugh, courage and faith were not my strong suits.

Dispirited, I put on my robe and went to regroup the pots in front of the door. This was no way to live—building a moat with kitchen equipment every time I went to sleep. There had to be a better solution. I decided to make coffee and at least do some research on sleep clinics. After this murder was solved, when I could get treatment without arousing suspicion, I’d book an appointment.

Entering the kitchen, I noticed Ben’s good luck Champ on the rim of the sink. I picked it up. An engraving etched into the red plastic handle read: “World’s Best Dad.” No wonder he always kept the knife close. He’d be upset to discover its absence. Apparently, he’d already realized it was missing; I heard his car pulling back into the driveway.

It wouldn’t do for Ben to be late picking up Sam on my account. Knife in hand, I rushed to the front door, pushing the pots aside again. When I pulled the door open, the hardened faces of Crawley and Roche delivered a virtual punch to my solar plexus. Crawley was in uniform and Roche was dressed in his usual cords and tweed jacket, this time with a navy duffel coat over them.

“We’d like a few words, Ms. Glasser.”

I recovered quickly. “Not without my lawyer,” I said, clutching Ben’s knife inside my fist.

“Actually, this is about your neighbor.”

“My neighbor?”

“We have a couple of questions about the property nearby in relationship to the murder case.” He peered over my shoulder to the inside of the Coop. “I see you’ve almost put the place back together. Sorry about the upset.” He noticed the pots on the floor and looked puzzled. “Did we do that? We try not to be unnecessarily messy. I’m afraid we don’t always succeed.”

I hesitated. Would a refusal reek of guilt? How could it hurt to give them five minutes about a neighbor? Especially if it would help them solve the crime. I waved them inside. Crawley stood by the door like a sentry. Roche strode over to my dining table, pulled out a chair, turned it around and sat with his legs spread out cowboy style. He gestured for me to sit next to him, but I caught a glimpse of my father’s picture on my desk. His eyes warned me against it.

“I’d rather stand,” I said. “How can I help?”

Roche scratched his chin before he spoke.

“I heard they’re planning a big show of Hugh Walker’s work in New York. I hope that doesn’t upset you too much.”

You were right, Daddy. I need to be wary.