veil.â
âSo see if those are in her closet. I donât think sheâs the kind of person who would go out for the evening in her day clothes, do you? Especially if she was angling for a date.â
âGood point.â
They hung up. Ten minutes later, they were on the phone, comparing notes again.
âDennis canât reach the collector guy,â Juliet reported. âHeâs not at home, not at the office.â
âNo one answers her number in Espyville. I donât see the purple dress or the hat and purse.â
This, more than anything else, struck fear into both their hearts.
âAnd the manuscript?â
âIâm still looking.â
They hung up. At twelve-fifteen, Suzy called again. She had searched Mrs. Caffreyâs things. Of course, the manuscript could be hidden somewhere Suzy hadnât thought of. But she knew that room pretty well; she used to sleep in it when things were really bad with Jack, her ex-husband. The manuscript was missing. So was Mrs. Caffrey.
Juliet hung up and called Murray.
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Murray Landis and Juliet Bodine first met when they were nineteen years old. Murray, studying art at Harvard, had then been dating Julietâs Radcliffe roommate, Mona. Their affair, like all of Monaâs, had been torrid; but not so torrid that Murray hadnât noticed Juliet, and vice versa.
Nothing had ever been said or done between them. On the contrary, diligent restraint was practiced on both sides, and after Mona and Murray broke up, Juliet lost track of him. Then one morning last summer, heâd turned up at her door, a police detective investigating a death among a group of dancers at the Jansch troupe, where Juliet had been helping a friend restructure the narrative of a ballet based on Great Expectations . Murray was still an artist in his off hours, a serious artist. But rather than starve as a sculptor, he had decided to go into the family business: after growing up in Brooklyn, the son of a cop of a son of a cop, heâd joined the NYPD. He had been assigned to Julietâs precinct for some years before the Jansch death brought them together.
Juliet was lucky; he answered his own phone at the station house.
âJule! Iâm sitting here catching up on paperwork, bored out of my skull. How the hell ya doinâ?â he shouted, in the broad Brooklynese he could turn on and off at will.
She explained.
âSo itâs really Suzy who should be calling,â he suggested, when the bare bones had been outlined.
âWell, we just werenât sure anyone would care if we called out of the blue. Donât you have to wait twenty-four hours or something?â
âNah, thatâs one of those urban folklore things,â Murray said, âlike alligators in the sewers. Especially after the weather weâve had, weâll get on it right away. But itâs really not a detective matter. Iâll send you a couple of uniforms.â
âYou donât think youââJuliet broke off, then finished rather wistfullyââyou couldnât come yourself?â
âOh hell, sure, if it makes you feel better. If she doesnât turn up right away, a detective would be assigned anyhow. But she probably just got lost or something, donâtcha think? I mean, you said sheâs what, eighty-four?â
âBut sheâs sharp as a tack.â
âYeah, okay â¦â
Landis was quiet a moment, weighing the possibilities. A person finds her way around for eighty-four years, all of a sudden she canât, that is a little screwy. He wouldnât be surprised if sheâd had a heart attack or been hit by a car and was in the hospitalâor worse. But he didnât want to alarm Juliet.
âAnyway, Iâll get myself over to your friendâs B and B with a couple of the guys,â he said aloud. âSay half an hour?â
Juliet went across the street to wait for him with Suzy.