Free While My Pretty One Sleeps by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

branches of a tree, to hold necklaces and bracelets. A pair of ghoulishly real plaster hands were upraised as though in prayer,the fingers separated.
    Ethel had pointed to them. “Don’t they look as though they could strangle you?” she’d asked gleefully. “They’re for rings. I told the guy from the closet place that I keep everything in marked boxes, but he said I should have this anyhow. Someday I’d be sorry if I didn’t take it, he told me.”
    In contrast to the rest of the apartment, the closet was exquisitely neat. The clothes were hung precisely on the satin hangers. Zippers were fastened up to the top. Jackets were buttoned. “Ever since you started dressing her, people keep commenting on Ethel’s clothes,” Tse-Tse observed. “Ethel loves it.” On the inside of the doors, Ethel had pasted the lists Neeve had given her, which accessories to wear with which outfits.
    â€œI went through everything with Ethel last month,” Neeve murmured. “We made room for the new stuff.” She laid the clothes on the bed and began to peel the plastic bags from them. “Well, I’ll just do what I’d have done if she were standing here. Get this load in place and tack up the list.”
    As she sorted and hung the new garments, she skimmed the contents of the closet. Ethel’s sable coat. Her stone marten jacket. The red cashmere coachman coat. The Burberry. The herringbone cape. The white wraparound with caracul collar. The belted leather. Next came the suits. The Donna Karans, the Beenes, the Ultrasuedes, the—Neeve paused, the hangers with the two new suits still in her hand.
    â€œWait a minute,” she said. She peered up at the top shelf. She knew that Ethel’s Vuitton luggage consisted of four matching pieces in a tapestry motif. They were a garment-bag carryall withzippered pockets, a carry-on oversized tote, a large and a medium-sized suitcase. The garment bag, the tote and one suitcase were missing. “Good old Ethel,” Neeve said as she hung the new suits in the closet. “She did take off. That beige ensemble with the mink collar is gone.” She began poking through the racks. The white wool suit, the green knit, the black-and-white print. “So help me, she just packed up and took off. I swear I could choke her myself.” She pushed her hair back from her forehead. “Look,” she said, pointing at the list on the door and then the bare spots on the shelves. “She took everything she needed to get all gussied up. I guess the weather was so lousy, she decided she didn’t need light spring things. Well, wherever she is, I hope it hits ninety degrees. Che noiosa spera che muore di caldo —”
    â€œEasy, Neeve,” Tse-Tse said. “Whenever you start lapsing into Italian, you’re getting mad.”
    Neeve shrugged. “The blazes with it. I’ll send my bill to her accountant. At least he has his head screwed on tight. He doesn’t forget to pay on time.” She looked at Tse-Tse. “What about you ? Were you counting on getting paid today?”
    Tse-Tse shook her head. “Last time she paid me in advance. I’m okay.”
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    At the shop, Neeve related to Betty what had happened.
    â€œYou should charge her your cab fare and for personal-shopper assistance,” Betty said. “That woman is the limit.”
    At noon when Neeve spoke to Myles, she told him what hadhappened. “And I was about to have you check the accident reports,” she said.
    â€œListen, if a train saw that woman in its path, it would jump the track to duck her,” Myles replied.
    But, for some reason, Neeve’s irritation did not last. Instead, the nagging, persistent feeling that something was wrong about Ethel’s sudden departure stayed with her. It accompanied her when she closed up at six-thirty and rushed to the cocktail