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You Don't Own Me by Mary Higgins Clark, Alafair Burke (51)

63

A few minutes later, the loop surrounding Athletic Field 9 on Randall’s Island was filled with emergency response vehicles. Leigh Ann Longfellow and Joe Brenner were both in handcuffs, secured in the back of separate police cars, and soon would be transported back to Manhattan for booking.

Laurie’s cell phone rang for the third time in a row. It was another call from her Realtor, Rhoda Carmichael. She hit the call-decline button.

“She’s just going to hit redial,” Leo said. Sure enough, her phone buzzed again only seconds later. “Save yourself the headache and answer it.”

The last thing she wanted to talk about now was real estate, but she followed Leo’s advice. “Rhoda,” Laurie said, “I can’t talk right now.”

Rhoda quickly interrupted. “Laurie, listen to me. You absolutely cannot lose this place. It’s a new building on Eighty-fifth between Second and Third. The current owners have the entire sixteenth floor. It has four good-sized bedrooms, each with a private bath. They were about to move in when he accepted a job to run one of the big banks in England. They want to sell fast. The listing agent is a friend of mine. She agreed to let you go in and see it first before she puts in multiple listings tomorrow. It’s very reasonably priced, and I know they’re going to get full-price offers. You want to avoid a bidding war if you can. You and Alex have to get right over there today and see it. You’ll probably beat me there, so I already gave the doorman your name and Alex’s. It’s empty and he’s going to leave the apartment door unlocked for you.”

Next to her, Leo was laughing, imagining the other side of the conversation. Laurie rolled her eyes. “We’ll look at it tomorrow, okay?”

“No, I’m telling you: you’ve got to see it right now. Tomorrow’s a Sunday at the height of the buying season. Any seller’s agent with half a brain will have potential buyers lined up all day long.”

“Now’s not the best time,” Laurie said, feeling herself giving in to Rhoda’s high-pressure pitch.

“It’s gotta be now,” Rhoda insisted. “It’s primo Upper East Side. You’re a hop and skip away from the park and the Met. You’re still near Dad and the school. It’s exactly what you’ve been looking for, and it’s in mint condition.”

“That does sound pretty great.”

Leo signaled that he had something to say. “You can go if you need to. This will take forever, and they’re going to want you to go to the precinct to meet with detectives anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m Leo Farley. Of course I’m sure. I’ll text you the address for the precinct once they’re ready for us, and you can meet us there. I’ll ride back with one of the officers.”

“All right. I’m sure Jerry will be happy to see his car in one piece.” Returning to her call, Laurie told Rhoda she was on her way from Randall’s Island.

“Great. I’m on my way in from the Hamptons—that’s how sure I am about this place. Call Alex and tell him to meet us there. If you get there before me, the doorman will let you go up.”

Once Laurie confirmed her plans with the lead detective, she got into Jerry’s car and made her way past the line of police cars toward the park exit. She pulled up Alex on her list of favorites and hit enter. On the fourth ring, she realized that he was probably still at the Yankees game with his clerks. When the call went to voice mail, she left a message. “Hey there. Today went even better than expected. I’ve got so much to tell you, but I’m about to look at a place with Rhoda. Meet us there if you free up,” she said, adding the address Rhoda had given her.

She turned on 1010WINS radio as she approached the park exit. The Yankees were ahead in the top of the ninth. With any luck, their timing might be perfect. She didn’t notice the white SUV waiting for her as she left.