Free The Body In The Big Apple by Katherine Hall Page Page A

say, Fox’s autographed copy of Trotsky’s History of the Russian Revolution.
    Yet Fox, the devoted dad, had never tried to get in touch with Emma, although he certainly knew where she was all those years. Granted, he was on the lam, but if it had been his dream to see her, wouldn’t he have done something about it? Watched her incognito at the park with her nanny? Impersonated a waiter at her coming-out ball? Faith could think of all sorts ofsoppy grade-B movie plots. Maybe he had had a deal with Poppy. Obviously, they’d decided it would be better for the child to believe Jason was her father. Only Jason didn’t love her. All those years of never pleasing him, never being what he wanted—and never knowing why. Emma had been physically abandoned by her real father, and the man she’d thought was her father had abandoned her emotionally and in a more tangible, economic way, although she wouldn’t have learned that until Jason’s death. Faith shuddered. She thought of her own father—and she was sure he was, since she had his clear blue eyes. Lawrence Sibley had been an impoverished divinity school student when Faith’s mother, Jane Lennox, had met him and been uncharacteristically swept off her feet. The two opposites had forged an indissoluble union. That’s a hard act to follow, Faith reflected as she heard the soft murmur of whispered prayers around her. No wonder I’m not married. Because when I am, it’s got to be for keeps.
    Like Emma. Emma and Michael. In Emma’s mind, revealing to her husband what she was going through, had gone through, would be an act of betrayal, equal to something like adultery—a sin. Finally, in Michael, Emma had found a man who would not leave her. Someone she could trust and she would literally die rather than destroy or even jeopardize that.
    Once again, Faith was back at the beginning. There was only one thing to do. Find out who was blackmailing Emma. Put a stop to it—note to self: Have to work on this angle. Then Emma can live happily ever after and Michael will remain in blissful ignorance.
    Faith stood up and walked toward the altar. She was starting to think like Emma, she realized with dismay.
    Â 
    Someday when things are so busy that I don’t even have a chance to catch my breath, I’ll look back at this time and regret I didn’t enjoy it more. This was Faith’s advice to herself after she checked the messages at work and found nothing urgent. No emergency calls from Gracie Mansion to whip up a quick mayoral dinner for two hundred. Not even a call for a dinner party for twelve. She did have a party to do the following night, and she decided to make another hors d’oeuvre, although there were already several selections. They’d prepared phyllo triangles stuffed with a proscuitto and ricotta mixture and others filled with diced mushrooms and smoked turkey. Then there was gravlax with plenty of dill and mustard sauce on rounds of thin dark rye and toasted brioche. She’d do some spiced nuts and put bowls of them next to the bowls of various kinds of olives she’d already planned. Before she got started, she decided to check the messages at her apartment. Emma would be getting ready for her fund-raiser—Faith had forgotten to ask her where it was—but there might have been further instructions from the blackmailers. Emma would leave some sort of message, Faith wanted to believe.
    She punched in the code—and beep, “Faith, love, it’s Granny. I’m totally distraught and can’t understand why someone didn’t tell me sooner! I suppose they were trying to spare an old lady.”
    Whatever it is, it must be bad. Faith felt a flicker of anxiety. When her grandmother started referring to herself this way, it meant she’d lost another friend or received some other devastating news. Normally, she made a point of ignoring the aging process, and she still had