She moved on through the apartment, glancing at each door as she passed, but none of the locks held keys. She went upstairs, repeating the process on the second floor.
No keys anywhere? But that was ridiculous.
Her curiosity growing, she went back downstairs to the kitchen, reopened the third drawer down on the right, and went through it again, this time looking for something she could use as a makeshift pick. Finding a heavy paperclip, she straightened it out, then used a pair of pliers to bend one end in a short right angle. Going back to the study, she knelt down, inserted the paper clip into the lock, and began feeling for the catch.
In less than a minute, it snapped open.
When she twisted the knob again, the door to the study swung open. Caroline stood at the threshold of the room, gazing inside.
Something had changed.
But what?
Her heart suddenly beating faster, she stepped into the study and switched on the brass chandelier that hung over Tony’s desk. As the room flooded with light, she looked around. Until now, she’d barely even glanced into the room, but from what she could see, nothing really seemed any different — the furniture, the paneling, the pictures, all of it looked the same. And yet somehow it didn’t feel the same. Frowning, she moved deeper into the study. The carpet, an antique Aubusson, seemed brighter than she remembered it, and she would have sworn that the leather on the easy chair by the fireplace was far more worn than it looked. But maybe she was just remembering it as being far more in need of a redecoration than it really was. She began looking for the photograph album Ryan had described, but though there was a relatively dust-free rectangular area on the shelf under the lamp table by the fireplace that was about the right size and shape for a photograph album, there was no sign of the album itself, nor did she find it on any of the other shelves, either. Going to the desk, she tried the drawers, one by one.
And found every one of them locked. Nor did any of them yield to the paper clip that had opened the door. She was trying to decide what to do next when the doorbell chimed in the hall outside the study. Jumping like a child who was caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Caroline moved quickly to the door, pulled it closed, and started toward the front door. But then she turned back to the study door, inserted the paper clip in its lock once again, and twisted.
Nothing happened.
The doorbell chimed again.
Swearing softly under her breath, Caroline almost abandoned the study door, but as she gave the twisted piece of metal one final twist, the lock clicked again.
As the doorbell rang a third time, she pulled the door open to find Melanie Shackleforth just starting back toward the stairs.
“You are here,” Melanie said, coming back toward Caroline. “I thought you must have changed your mind about having me keep an eye on Ryan while you’re at work.”
Caroline stared at Melanie blankly. She remembered talking to Melanie last night about watching Ryan, but they hadn’t decided anything, had they? “I — actually, I’m not even sure I’m going to work today.” Had something flickered in Melanie’s eyes as she spoke the words? She wasn’t sure — she thought so, but—
“Well, if you change your mind, just let me know, okay?” Caroline nodded, and now Melanie cocked her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you all right, Caroline?”
“I–I’m fine,” Caroline assured her. But even as she uttered the words, she knew she wasn’t fine at all. “It’s just—” she began, but then fell silent. She hardly even knew Melanie Shackleforth. How could she even begin to explain all the horrible thoughts that had been tumbling around in her mind? Finally she shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that everything’s sort of piling up. But I’ll get it sorted out — I always do.”
Melanie looked unconvinced. “You’re sure?” Caroline nodded with a lot more emphasis than she felt. “All right. But if you need help with anything, you call me, hear?”
Closing the door behind her, Caroline leaned against it for a moment, then went upstairs to Ryan’s room. She found him sprawled out on his bed, still in his bathrobe, with some kind of video game in his hands. When he looked up at her she could see the belligerence in his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was as dark as his expression. “I’m not staying with—” he began, but Caroline didn’t let him finish.
“I’m not asking you to,” she said. “I want you to get dressed — you’re coming to work with me.”
Ryan’s expression shifted from anger to uncertainty. “You mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”
Caroline took a deep breath, trying to figure out what she should say. There was no way she could explain all the emotions that were roiling inside her — the uncertainty, the fear, the doubts about everything that had taken root in her mind. That wasn’t what Ryan needed, not after losing his father, changing schools twice in less than a year, moving out of his home, and being asked to accept a stepfather when he wasn’t even used to the loss of his real father.
What he needed was for her to be strong, to be a rock of stability for him, to let him know that she, at least, was still there for him. “Of course I’m not mad at you,” she said. “You’re my favorite boy in the world, and I love you more than you’ll ever know until you have a son of your own someday. And I know you’re having a hard time right now, but I promise you, we’ll get through it. We’ll just take one day at a time, and everything’s going to be all right. Okay?”
Ryan put his arms around her and buried his face in her chest. “I didn’t mean to get kicked out of school,” he said, his voice muffled.
“It’s all right,” Caroline soothed. “And it’s only for a couple of weeks. If you have to come to work with me, so be it. Maybe you can be the youngest antique salesman in New York.”
Thirty minutes later Caroline stepped off the elevator, with Ryan — who had at least finally conquered his fear of the rattling brass cage — close behind her. As Rodney tipped his head and bid them both a good morning, she felt Ryan slip his hand into hers, and quicken his step until he was almost tugging on her arm as they went through the doors and out into the bright sunshine of Central Park West. “For heaven’s sake, Ryan,” she said as they turned south. “He’s not going to bite you.”
But Ryan wasn’t listening to her — he had stopped short, his eyes fixed on someone coming up the sidewalk toward them. For a moment Caroline wasn’t certain who he was staring at, but as a woman clad in a light coat came closer, Caroline realized she looked familiar, yet couldn’t quite place her. A moment later the woman had moved on up the street, nodding a greeting as she passed, and Ryan had turned around, his eyes still fixed on her.
“Ryan, stop that. It’s not polite to stare at people. Especially strangers.”
“But it’s that woman,” Ryan said, his gaze still on the retreating figure. “The one who wanted to touch my face.”
For a second Caroline didn’t understand what he was talking about, but then it suddenly came back to her. Helena Kensington? But that was impossible — Helena had been carrying a white tipped cane and— Before she could complete the thought, the woman Ryan was watching turned in at The Rockwell, mounted the three steps, and started to pull open the front door. But before the door swung wide enough to block her view, the woman looked back down the street and Caroline got a clear look at her face.
Ryan was right: It was Helena Kensington, but there was no sign of the white-tipped cane she’d been carrying the last time Caroline had seen her. Caroline was still staring at her when she smiled and nodded once more, then disappeared into the building.