The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(14)
She tried a text first. When there was no response, she made the call—and was promptly dumped into voice mail. Just as she had been the previous evening when she had tried to get in touch with Marsha Matson.
Where had that thought come from? There was no connection between the Matson case and Olivia’s big date with Ferris. Her imagination was starting to slip into overdrive again, just as it had last night.
Last night someone had very nearly been murdered.
“Stop it,” she said aloud to the empty kitchen.
There was a fine line between intuition and a vivid imagination, but the line existed. It had to be respected. Obviously the problem this morning was that her nerves and her frazzled senses were still recovering from the encounter with Angus Hopper. She had to cling to common sense and logic, both of which held that there was no reason to worry about Olivia.
She pulled out her laptop and worked on some notes from a case that had closed earlier in the week. When she finished she checked the time. It was just after eight. The offices of Lark & LeClair opened at nine. The walk to work took about fifteen minutes. There was no reason she could not go in a little early. She wondered if Olivia and Mr. Right were enjoying a leisurely morning in bed or maybe having a champagne breakfast to celebrate their relationship.
It was also possible that Olivia had come home this morning to shower and dress for the office. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she answered her phone? Oh, wait, maybe she had forgotten to switch it back on.
Catalina pulled on the black trench coat that Olivia had given her, slung the strap of her large handbag over her shoulder and went toward the door. Halfway there she changed course and went into the kitchen. She needed a replacement for the fork that the police had taken as evidence.
She rummaged around in the cutlery drawer and found a large fork, one that had been designed for use along with a serious knife for carving big hunks of meat. She had never cooked a hunk of meat that required such oversized implements, but she had developed a great appreciation for sturdy, well-made forks.
She wedged the fork into her bag and let herself out of the apartment. She took the stairs to the floor below and knocked on Olivia’s door. There was no response. Olivia had probably packed a small bag in preparation for an overnight with Ferris. She was no doubt planning to head straight to the office from his place.
Using the key Olivia had given her, Catalina entered the apartment. She punched in the security code to turn off the alarm and walked slowly through the one-bedroom space. The two of them were as close as sisters, but when it came to their choice of interior decor, they were exact opposites. Her own place was done in a Zen-like palette of off-white and pale gray punctuated with discreet hits of glossy black. Olivia’s was in the hot colors of a flaming sunset—gold, burnt orange and bright red.
The closet door stood open. Some of the clothes Olivia had evidently considered for the special date were scattered across the bed. They had not made the cut. The new scarlet slip dress was gone, however, and so were several items from the bathroom, including her toothbrush.
That settled it. Olivia had been anticipating a successful date and packed accordingly.
“You had better show up at the office on time, pal,” she said softly. “Or I’ll come looking for you.”
Catalina closed and locked the apartment and went down the hall to the elevator. When she stepped out into the lobby, Robert leaped to his feet behind his polished desk. He had once had dreams of an acting career. That ambition had not gone well, but he had reinvented himself as the quintessential concierge.
“Ms. Lark,” he said. “I was just about to call you to warn you.”
Catalina stared at him, panic-stricken. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Grim-faced, Robert gestured toward a small cluster of people gathered on the sidewalk outside the building.
“The TV people showed up a few minutes ago,” he said. “I was able to prevent them from coming into the lobby, of course, and I gave them absolutely no information about you. However, the person in charge is that reporter from the local TV station. Brenda something.”
“Brenda Bryce.” Catalina suppressed a groan. “You know it’s going to be a bad day when she shows up at your front door. I wonder how she found out so soon about what happened at the Matson house last night. She’s got good sources, I’ll give her that.”
“There was another incident?” Robert asked. His tone was one of deep concern but the expression in his eyes betrayed his excitement and curiosity.
“Unfortunately, yes. I didn’t see anything about it in the morning news so I was hoping … Never mind. Will you help me get past her? I don’t think that she and the cameraman can move too fast, not with all that gear. Once I’m in the clear I’ll be okay.”
Robert turned and strode toward the door. “Follow me.”
He pushed open the heavy glass doors and led the way out onto the sidewalk. He held up his cell phone.
“Your attention, please,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the traffic in the street. “I cannot prevent you from standing out here, but I warn you that if you attempt to bar Ms. Lark’s progress in any way or if you lay so much as a finger on her, I will call nine-one-one immediately and notify the police of an assault in progress.”
The cameraman kept his distance, but Catalina knew he was filming her. Brenda Bryce edged around Robert, stepped directly in front of Catalina and aimed the microphone.