Free The Wrong Man: A Novel of Suspense by Kate White Page B

outside: sea blue with yellow shutters and a deep wraparound porch. Though much of the furniture was dark and imposing, at odds with the Key West vibe Avery wanted to incorporate, Kit spotted a few framed prints and small accessories that could work.
    At noon she was buckling her seat belt on the puddle jumper to Miami. She had a short layover at the airport there and spent the entire time at the gate with her nose in her iPad. She let out an audible sigh when the wheels of her plane finally touched down on the LaGuardia Airport runway.
    She stopped by her apartment first, dropping off her roller bag, and then let herself into the office. Dara and Baby were both still there, glancing through a catalog together. She felt joyful at the sheer sight of them.
    “Welcome back,” Dara said. She flashed a smile, but there was an undercurrent of concern in her tone. Kit knew she must still be wondering about the call from the cops and the earlier-than-planned trip to Florida.
    “Good to be here,” she said, and nodded to Baby in a way that divulged she was doing okay.
    “So did you run into Bogie and Bacall down there?” Dara asked. Unlike many girls of her generation, Dara knew plenty about popular culture from the decades before she was born.
    “No sightings, unfortunately. Anything going on since we last texted?”
    “No, just that the doctor confirmed his seven o’clock. You’ve got his address, right? East 84th Street.”
    “Yes, I’m going to head up there before long,” she said.
    “I could take the meeting if you want,” Baby said as Dara stepped into the bathroom. “You must feel spent.”
    “Thanks, but I’m eager to do it. I want to dive back into work and just feel normal again.”
    And she did feel almost normal the minute she stepped into Keith Holt’s foyer. She always loved the rush that came from meeting potential clients and contemplating the chance to transform their homes. From checking the forty-three-year-old out online, she’d learned that he was a respected orthopedic surgeon, affiliated with one of New York’s top hospitals.
    He looked younger in person than he did in photos, with deep brown eyes and brown hair graying a little along the sides. He greeted her warmly, though she suspected that based on his demanding profession, he didn’t suffer fools gladly.
    “Can I offer you a glass of wine?” he asked as he led her into the living room.
    “Are you going to have one, Dr. Holt?”
    “Please, it’s Keith,” he corrected her with a smile. “And yes, absolutely. It’s been a nutty day.”
    He was still in a suit, a nice-fitting navy one, so she assumed he’d only just walked in from work.
    “Then I will, too,” she said. “It’s been a nutty day or two for me, too.” She wondered what he’d think if he knew she’d been busy corpse-viewing at the Miami morgue rather than scooting around town with fabric swatches and floor plans.
    While he stepped into the kitchen to fetch the wine, she quickly studied his place, a classic prewar apartment in a building with good bones. The design had clearly been orchestrated by a professional decorator or someone fancying themselves as one: deep red sofa, armchairs in a red and gold print, and a quality Turkish rug, in coordinating colors. More than a few nicelooking pieces of art on the wall. Holt had said on the phone that he was divorced so this might be the place he’d shared with his wife, and he was ready to expunge any traces of his former life. She’d had more than a few clients who were eager to purge the past.
    “Thank you,” Kit said, accepting the wine. “You told me a little about your situation on the phone, but I’m anxious to hear more.”
    “I’m just itching for a change,” he said. He’d sat down opposite from her and crossed one leg over the other. “As you can see there’s nothing wrong with my apartment—in fact, people often comment on how nice it looks—but I had it done when I divorced six years ago and