the shower,” she ordered. “You’ll have pneumonia if we don’t get you warmed up.”
“No time.”
Claire Bradshaw scowled. Without bothering to argue she went to the closet and plucked out a heavy cardigan sweater and helped Mel into the thick wool. Forcing her down into the nearest chair, her friend quickly wrapped the afghan from the couch around her legs.
Lethargy pulled at her. Mel shut her eyes and allowed herself a minute to huddle in the chair, absorbing warmth into her chilled, damp body. When Claire set a steaming cup of hot chocolate on the end table at her elbow, Mel forced her eyes open again.
“Drink every drop,” Claire ordered. “Hot chocolate warms a body faster than anything else.”
Mel tried to pick up the mug, but her hands shook too much to hold the heavy stoneware. Claire’s wrinkled face added new creases as she lifted the mug so Mel could take a sip. The liquid was hot but not scalding, and Mel drank greedily. The next time she told her hands to reach for the cup, they closed around the blessed warmth and she shuddered gratefully.
A moment later Claire produced a fluffy warm towel. She must have taken it from the small clothes dryer in her kitchen because the terry cloth was soothingly warm and smelled of fabric softener.
“Use this on your hair.”
Mel sank her hands into the thick towel with a sigh of pleasure.
“I don’t have much time,” she told her friend as she toweled her sodden hair.
“The police?” Claire asked quietly.
Mel grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”
“Did you get the disk?” Claire asked with a nod at the wallet and key case Mel had dropped on the end table.
Mel shook her head, feeling the bitter weight of defeat. “It’s a DVD, not a disk, and no. Someone beat me to it.”
“Oh, dear. What can I do?”
“I need the spare key to get inside my apartment. My key is in my coat pocket and I had to leave it behind. I have to disappear for a few days.”
“The wallet?”
Used to her friend’s verbal shorthand, Mel had no trouble understanding that question. “That isn’t the reason. The wallet didn’t come from that party.”
“You went to another party?”
“Not by choice.”
She picked up the supple leather, allowing her fingertips to stroke the soft, expensive-looking material. Claire raised questioning eyebrows and Mel lifted her shoulders trying not to think about the handsome stranger who had helped her escape.
“Carl Boswell was murdered before I got there.”
“Oh, my.”
“It gets worse. The program was gone and someone Gary works with was at the party. Harold DiAngelis. I’m pretty sure he recognized me. I caught him staring at me.”
Claire snorted and looked meaningfully down at her dress.
Mel managed a weak smile. “I wish it had been the dress, but I’m not even sure he noticed what I was wearing.”
Claire raised expressive eyebrows.
“Really. It’s no coincidence he was there, Claire. I’m betting he killed Boswell and took the program.”
“Large assumption.”
“Maybe, but you know how Gary feels about DiAngelis.”
“How would he know about Gary’s program?”
“How did he know who I am?” Reluctantly, she pushed aside the blanket and unwound the towel from her head. “I’d better go. DiAngelis is sure to put the police on to me.”
“Where’s your purse?”
“I dropped it on the bed when I searched Boswell.”
“You searched him?”
Mel shivered at the memory. At the time, she hadn’t let herself think about what she was doing. She didn’t want to think about it now, either.
“Where’s your coat?”
“I had to leave it and Sue’s purse behind.”
“Mel!”
“I wasn’t carrying ID, not that it matters now. But I do owe Sue a new purse. I need to go.”
“You’d be safe here,” Claire protested.
“I don’t think so. If DiAngelis recognized me, there’s no telling what he knows about the people connected to Gary. He may know about you, as well. Pull the shades, turn out the lights, and don’t answer the door or the phone, whatever you do.”
Mel rose to her feet, feeling woozy and more tired than she would have liked. She was still chilled and damp but her instincts were screaming at her to get moving. Claire bustled back to the kitchen and returned with Mel’s spare key.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
Once again, Mel rubbed the supple leather of the wallet. “I have a bolt-hole in mind. Don’t worry.”
“At my age, worrying is an art form.”
Mel smiled and started to remove the sweater. The older woman shook her gray curls.
“Later. Do what you have to, Mel. I’m here if I can help.”
“You already have.”
Mel hugged her friend. For just a second, she let herself inhale the older woman’s familiar powdery scent. Claire had once been her grandmother’s best friend. Now she was Mel’s.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Claire issued another ladylike snort. “You’d manage. You’re like your parents.”
“Not Grandma?”
Claire smiled. “She’d be proud of you.”
“Not after tonight’s debacle,” Mel said ruefully, “but thanks again, Claire. Oh, and happy New Year.”
“Stay safe.”
“That’s the plan.”
Mel was still smiling as she let herself inside the dark apartment across the hall. Without light, she crossed to the bedroom and began collecting what she needed. She pulled a pair of sweatpants from the dresser drawer and tugged them on over the dress. She couldn’t afford to leave the dress behind and she didn’t want to waste time removing it. Moving fast, despite the shivers plaguing her, Mel struggled into a baggy black sweatshirt that barely fit over the cumbersome sweater. The result was
