Where Are You Now? by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

canvassed the people in this building. We know from the security camera here that Leesey didn’t get to this door but these houses all look alike. She might have gone to the wrong one. We’re going to start door to door, working the whole neighborhood. It will help to have her picture.”
    â€œWhy on earth would she go to the wrong door? She didn’t have too much to drink, you told me that yourself. The bartender and all those other people in the Woodshed swear she was fine when she left that place,” David Andrews reminded him sharply.
    It was on the tip of Barrott’s tongue to reply that, unless it can be proven otherwise, ninety-nine percent of bartenders will swear that a missing patron left the bar sober. Instead he said, “Doctor, no stone unturned. That’s my promise to you.”
    The single reporter on the scene stuck a microphone in Barrott’s face as he turned from the squad car. “Look,” Barrott said, impatiently, “Captain Ahearn is holding a press conference at five o’clock. He’s authorized to give a statement. I’m not.”
    He walked back into the lobby of the building, waited till he saw the reporter and cameraman get into their van and drive away, then came back out and walked to the next building. Like most of them on this block, the outer door was unlocked, and admittance was gained either by a key or being buzzed in by a tenant.
    Barrott’s eyes moved up and down the tenant list, then they widened as he spotted one name, “Carolyn MacKenzie.” Six degrees of separation? he asked himself. Maybe.
    Roy Barrott stood perfectly still, then traced his index finger over Carolyn MacKenzie’s name.
    The unerring instinct that made him such a superb detective was telling him that somehow, someway there was a connection between the two cases.

12

    A fter I left the apartment building where Mack had lived, I went back to Sutton Place. In the day and a half since Mom had made the decision to go on the cruise, she had been energized, as if after living so long in limbo, she was trying to make up for lost time. She told me she was planning to go through closets and pull out clothing to give away, and then this evening she would be meeting Elliott and some other friends for dinner.
    I wondered why she would bother to clean out closets just before she went on vacation, but that became evident. Over a quick lunch, a sandwich and a cup of tea in the breakfast room, she told me that she was listing the apartment with a broker and that as soon as she came back she was going to look for something smaller. “You’re never going to move back in,” she said, “I know that. I will have call forwarding, just in case Mack decides to phone next Mother’s Day, but on the other hand, if I miss his call, so be it. I just may not hang around and wait for it.”
    I looked at her, astonished. When she said she was going to clean out closets, I was thinking that she meanther own. But now, without asking, I was sure that it was the closets in Mack’s room that were going to be emptied.
    â€œWhat are you going to do with Mack’s things?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
    â€œI’ll have Dev send someone to get them and deliver them to a place where they’ll be put to good use.” Mom looked at me for approval and, finding something missing in my expression, said quickly, “Carolyn, you’re the one telling me to move on. The fact remains that even if Mack walked through the door today, and even if his clothes still fit him, they’d probably be out of style.”
    â€œDon’t misunderstand me,” I told her. “I think it’s a good idea, but I also think that it’s the last thing in the world you should be worrying about two days before you’re getting on a plane to fly to Greece. Look, Mom, do yourself a favor. Let me go through Mack’s clothes and sort them out.” Even