Free The Melody Lingers On by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

a fraud. Because of that he had more than enough cases for the
section about sudden financial change. Another section would deal with reacting to the death of a loved one. I’m in both of those categories, Sean thought as he looked at the framed picture
on his desk. It had been taken when he and Nona were in Monaco. They were walking outside the palace there. A photographer who was nearby had snapped the picture and sold it to them.
    It had been one of those perfect days, Sean mused. The sun was shining. It was about seventy degrees. We were hand in hand in the picture and we both were smiling. To him the picture was a
reflection of their life together. I miss Nona so terribly, he thought, and there are times that I have to remind myself I should be grateful for those forty-five good years.
    Restless, he got up and walked across the room. His apartment was in lower Manhattan. From his window he had a clear view of the Statue of Liberty, a sight that never failed to lift his spirits.
He knew that he was deeply troubled today, and with good reason. In the last two years Ranger Cole and Eleanor Becker had become his friends. And both had a rocky road ahead.
    Sean stretched and returned to his desk. At one o’clock he went into the kitchen and heated the beef vegetable soup his housekeeper had prepared for his lunch. He brought it back to his
desk and as he sipped it, he acknowledged that the writing was not going well. He could not concentrate on the cases he had selected to write about today. He felt every one of his seventy years. It
was a relief at two thirty to put his pen down, go to the closet, and get out his coat, scarf, and gloves. Five minutes later, his steps brisk, he was walking to the subway. It was two express
stops to Forty-Second Street, where Ranger lived in a converted tenement on Eighth Avenue.
    Ranger Cole regretted the fact that he’d agreed to see Dr. Cunningham. He didn’t need to hear again that the doctor’s wife was dead and how well he was doing.
Ranger knew that he would never feel better. He had taken a spoonful of Judy’s ashes and put them in a small medicine vial. It was the one where Judy had kept her pain pills. He had tied the
vial with a cord and hung it around his neck. It made him feel close to her. That was what he needed.
    The doorbell rang. I’m not going to answer it, he thought. But Cunningham was persistent. He kept pushing and pushing the bell. Then he shouted, “Ranger, I know you’re in
there. Open the door. We need to talk.”
    Ranger wrapped his hand around the vial. “Leave me alone,” he shouted. “Go away! I want to be alone with Judy.”

20

    T he accessories for Anne Bennett’s bedroom will be installed on Wednesday,” was Glady’s greeting to Lane on Monday morning.
“You’d better go over there and make sure they did everything the way I ordered.”
    Her voice was peevish, but Lane thought she knew why.
    They weren’t getting paid for this job. Even though Glady planned to tack the expense onto the countess’s bill, Lane would need to be there to supervise the installation of the
window hangings and be sure that no mistake had been made in the execution of the color scheme. Glady had turned over the details of jobs for more of their smaller clients to Lane to follow through
on. Now she was impatient because Lane would be wasting time at Anne Bennett’s home.
    Lane had mixed feelings about going there. She liked Anne Bennett and would enjoy seeing her. On the other hand, Eric Bennett had not called her again. Almost certainly he would not be at his
mother’s home on a weekday morning, but even so, the possibility was disturbing.
    It would be awkward to run into him. That’s the problem with any kind of business-related friendships, she thought. Better to stay away from them.
    “Shall I repeat what you obviously didn’t hear me say?” Glady asked sarcastically.
    Startled, Lane said, “Oh, Glady. I’m sorry.”
    “What I said to you