would get word of it and run for cover. On the other hand Steiner might never have set foot in the place. He had to take the chance.
The man appeared after Nesha had finished dinner. While clearing the dishes, he said, “How about some coffee?”
Nesha pulled out the photo he carried around with him. “I’d really like to find my father’s friend. They were close in the Old Country, and now that Vati is gone, I would love to meet him again. Here. Take a look. Maybe you’ll recognize him.”
The man scrutinized the muddy photo with the duck, then looked at Nesha with new eyes. “Who are you?”
“Look, I don’t want any trouble. My father ... they were together in the war. Buddies, you know? You can ask him. Waldhausen. He’ll remember. Ernst Waldhausen.”
The man checked Nesha over, the harshness in his eyes fading. “He doesn’t have that name, Steiner.”
Nesha shrugged. “A lot of people changed their names. What is he calling himself?”
The man shook his head slowly.
“Will I see him if I come back tomorrow night? Or Saturday?”
He shook his head again. “He makes appointments. Business appointments.”
Bingo. Adrenaline shot through Nesha’s chest. “What kind of business?”
“He buys, he sells.”
“Well, give me his number and I’ll make an appointment.”
“You give me your number and I will pass it to him.”
“Fine,” Nesha said. “Only I’m staying at a hotel and I don’t know the number. I’ll call you tomorrow and give it to you.”
chapter twenty
That afternoon Rebecca focused all her concentration on attending to her patients. It was therapeutic to solve other people’s problems, feel she was really helping someone. More than once she became gratefully lost in the puzzle of a patient’s illness. At the end of the day, though, her own predicament awaited her.
Soon after the last patient had closed the door, Iris threw on her jacket. “I gotta get going. My kids are coming for dinner tonight. Kids! They’re both over thirty and I’m still calling them kids.” She turned to Rebecca. “Why don’t you come over for dinner? I’m cooking up a storm.” She stood a moment, watching Rebecca, her hazel eyes concerned. “You all right?”
Rebecca glanced up from the file she was reading. It was a question Iris had asked many times over the past six months. Rebecca must have had a grim expression on her face.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Dinner?” Iris repeated.
Rebecca smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Iris, I’ll take a rain check.”
Iris hovered near the door, the perfect waves of blonde hair blurred in Rebecca’s peripheral vision. “Really, Iris, I’m fine. Have a nice dinner.”
Rebecca heard the door close, then sat a moment, mesmerized by the evening silence. Dr. Lila Arons, from downstairs, had gone home on time tonight. Rebecca was alone in the building. She wondered what Iris was making for dinner. Rebecca had been over a few times but always felt awkward with Iris’ grown children, who were too polite to refer to David’s death except obliquely, and then an embarrassed pause would hang in the air till Rebecca or Iris broke the silence.
Suddenly she was aware that the present silence, the silence in the building, had been broken. Footsteps sounded downstairs. No, someone was coming up the stairs. The noise echoed in the empty building. Rebecca stiffened. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Should she lock the door? She jumped up, realizing she couldn’t get to the door in time to lock it before the man — she was sure it was a man — reached it. She flew into her inner office, adrenaline pumping. What were the chances the killer would be so brazen? She stood by the phone, hating her own vulnerability. If she screamed, would someone hear?
“Dr. Temple?” A man’s voice rose in uncertainty.
Her breathing was shallow. She listened, but wasn’t sure what she had heard.
“Dr. Temple?”
She recognized the accent then, and tried to still her heart. When was she going to stop panicking? She took a breath, then walked into the hall with a purposeful stride.
“Mr. Vogel,” she said. “What a surprise. I thought you were going to phone.”
He looked around the office. “I took the chance you would still be here. Are you alone?”
She ignored the question, wishing Iris had stayed for a few more minutes. Or maybe he had waited for Iris to leave. She had to stop imagining monsters everywhere. The racing of her heart made that impossible. He looked very civilized, with his blue turtleneck tucked into navy wool pants.
“I hope I didn’t frighten you when I came in.”
Was it that obvious, she wondered. “What have you found out?”
His pale blue eyes observed her. “Something reassuring,” he said. “The man’s innocent. He was occupied with something in a public place the night of the murder. He has witnesses. And he cannot explain the poor woman’s inquiries about him. You must admit she was a disturbed woman. You mustn’t take seriously what she said if she wasn’t quite right — here.” He pointed to his temple.
“Then you can tell me the man’s name.”
He glanced around the office. “I would think this would be good news. That the man is innocent. Perhaps you should move on. It may even be that the poor woman was killed by robbers.”
“Mr. Vogel...”
“Max. Please.”
“I must speak to the man. If you won’t tell me who it is....”
Vogel raised his palm in some sort of defeat. “There is a place you can find him. A club. I’ll give you the address, but I promised I wouldn’t give away his name. And, of course, you must not mention me.”
Rebecca ate her dinner in the kitchen looking out the patio doors at the garden. It looked no different from last spring when David could still see enough to clear the dead leaves off the crocuses and grape hyacinths that would soon unfold their purple hearts. Tulips and tiger lilies came later. He had organized the garden so that something would always be blooming. There were the perennials that returned each year: yellow blackeyed Susans that spread in clumps, red hollyhocks against the fence, and forget-me-nots a heart-rending blue in unexpected corners. Near the end of May he would plant little annuals that would blossom and spread till the first frost. That was before he had gotten ill and lost his sight. Tears welled in her eyes at the irony: the garden he had created would come alive each year while he was gone forever.
She knew this was a road of thought she didn’t want to travel down again. She got dressed to go out.
El Dorado glittered in the night of College Street, its marquee outlined by a necklace of
