You Are Not Alone(8)

But a gray marker on Jane’s phone screen revealed the tracker was transmitting from just a few blocks away from the Thirty-third Street subway station, in a small apartment building in Murray Hill.

Cassandra’s face had blanched when Jane told her the news. She’d grabbed Jane’s arm.

“Who?” Cassandra had whispered. “Who would Amanda have given it to?”

Two dozen people lived in that building. Any of them could have the necklace.

Now Jane distributes copies of a photograph of the young woman with tortoiseshell glasses who laid a single flower on Amanda’s doorstep.

Stacey glances at it. Her head snaps up. “Hey, that’s from the video I took the other day,” she blurts, then crosses her arms and stops talking. The streak of color in her blond hair is purple now—she changes it every few months—and her mouth is a thin, hard line.

Stacey isn’t typically one of the more vocal members of the group, and given her background and the recent events in her personal history, it’s unsurprising that she feels uneasy in this posh setting.

“Has anyone else seen this woman before?” Jane asks. One by one, the others shake their heads as they study the picture.

“Was this taken in front of Amanda’s apartment?” asks Beth. “I recognize the entrance.”

Cassandra awards her an approving nod. “Yes, this woman went to Amanda’s building yesterday and left a yellow zinnia by the front door.”

Jane’s gaze shifts to the bouquets on the buffet and mantel, composed of dozens and dozens of yellow zinnias. This was Cassandra’s touch. If the flowers are significant in some way, and the visitor appears, they may provoke a reaction.

Daphne—the member of the Rosewood Club who reserved the room for the occasion—lifts her hand, her Hermès cuff bracelet slipping down from her wrist. Until fairly recently, Daphne favored Hermès scarves, too, but she can no longer tolerate having anything around her throat, other than the most delicate of necklaces.

“Is this the woman you think Amanda talked to?” Daphne asks, her voice tight with anxiety.

“We don’t know if Amanda talked to anyone yet,” Cassandra replies. “But we need to find out exactly what links this woman to Amanda.”

Stacey speaks up again. “Seems weird she’s sniffing around right after Amanda died.” Her foot begins a rat-a-tat-tat against the hardwood floor.

“Agreed,” Beth chimes in.

Jane nods. “We can anticipate some of the people who will come today—Amanda’s mother and her aunt, of course. Maybe a few coworkers. Perhaps this mysterious woman. Or Amanda may have reached out to someone else entirely.” Jane pauses. “That’s where you all come in.”

“Mingle among the crowd,” Cassandra instructs. “Strike up conversations with questions like ‘How did you know Amanda?’ ‘Had you seen her recently?’ ‘Did she seem any different?’ If something seems off to you—not just a response, but anything you overhear—come find me or Jane right away.”

Cassandra’s eyes sweep the room, again landing on each of the women in turn. Jane watches the effect Cassandra has on them—it’s as if her gaze infuses them with a clear, bright energy. A few sit up straighter or begin nodding.

“And what if someone asks one of us how we knew Amanda?” asks Daphne.

“Good question,” says Jane.

“Let’s see. She used to go to Al-Anon, because of her mother,” Cassandra says. “That would be a natural spot for us to have met her … but, no. Let’s not go that route. She liked the sunrise yoga class on Tuesday mornings at her gym on Forty-second Street, so…”

Cassandra shakes her head. “No, that won’t work either. Someone from her gym may show up tonight. Let’s take the role of book club members. Everyone comfortable with that?”

“Sure,” says Daphne.

Jane continues, “We haven’t known each other long, but we’ve become close friends. Sticking to the truth will make it simpler. The last book we read is Pride and Prejudice.”

Stacey clears her throat. “Uh, I’m not really sure I’m the book-group type.”

“Don’t worry if you haven’t read it,” Cassandra replies. “A lot of people go to book clubs just for the wine and conversation.”

For the first time since they’ve assembled, a laugh ripples through the room.

Then Beth speaks up. “Should we add other details? Like those lemon bars Amanda used to make … should I say she brought them to book club?”

“Sure, that would be a nice touch,” Cassandra says. “We’re here today as mourners, too. Our feelings of loss and pain are real. Remembering the qualities that made Amanda special will help us honor them.”

Cassandra glances at her watch. “We have a little more time. Why don’t we have a private remembrance now?”

She sinks onto an empty chair, crossing her legs, and Jane claims the seat next to her.

Cassandra’s husky voice takes on a soothing tone. Her hands remain easily clasped in front of her. Her measured affect is a testament to her self-control.

“A loss like the one we’ve endured can cause fissures,” Cassandra begins. “Right here, right now, let’s make a vow that we won’t let that happen. With Amanda gone, it’s more important than ever we stay aligned.…”