“Then at Grand Central, a man, perhaps the same one from the train, followed me with his camera, taking more pictures in Vanderbilt Hall. I’d thought the man had broader shoulders than the one here today, but nonetheless. He’d disappeared by the time I had a Red Cap escort me to a cab.”
His face hardened to granite. “Lauren, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I convinced myself I was being paranoid. Then after getting home, it was easy to forget about it, especially with the distraction of discovering the horse and rider was a forgery. In fact, I hadn’t given it another thought until about two o’clock this morning. I awoke to the sound of someone entering the apartment and almost called the police before realizing it was Elsa and Ivy arriving home from their vacation. That only made me feel more paranoid, but now I know I’m not.”
“Did you get a good look at the man who was taking photos of you?”
“I only wish I had. He held the bulky camera in front of his face the entire time, so no, I never saw his face.”
Dad approached, concern etched into his features. “Did I hear that right, Lauren?” He set his satchel on the table. “Were you followed home from Newport, and you didn’t tell me?” Fear expanded in his eyes.
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to worry. I wasn’t even sure of my own interpretation of events. I thought maybe I’d absorbed your suspicions from the night before when you urged me away from the window. You never explained that, either, you know.”
Joe pulled his leather notebook from his pocket and began taking notes. “All right, you two. Have a seat, and let’s start from the beginning. What was the date?”
Sliding into a chair, she told him.
Dad deflated into a seat of his own, lips pressed flat, as though determined not to share anything.
“I’m not the only one keeping secrets, Dad. If there’s something you’re afraid of, you ought to tell Joe about it, even if you don’t want to tell me. I can leave the two of you alone for a while.”
“I have nothing to say.” Dad shook his head. “It’s simply prudent not to display yourself in front of an open window where others could see you. I ordered window coverings, but they’ve not come in yet.”
“Was someone outside the house that night?” Joe asked. “Did you have reason to believe someone might be surveilling you?”
“I thought I saw someone with a lit cigarette,” Lauren told him.
“Did you happen to go outside later and look for ashes or the butt? Footsteps in the snow?”
“I would have,” Lauren said, “but a fresh blanket of snow fell that night, so there was no point.”
“We’re wasting the detective’s time.” Dad stood. “Maybe both of us are imagining things, sweetheart.” But his hands shook as he tightened the buckle on his satchel and tried to button his coat.
“You didn’t fall on the tracks,” she said.
Her father sank back down.
Joe raised his eyebrows, pencil hovering over his notebook, waiting for her to explain.
“I talked to the assistant supervisor for the Red Caps at Grand Central. I wanted to thank whoever it was that helped you when you fell the day after Thanksgiving. The man I spoke with said that no one fell to the tracks that day.”
Dad opened his mouth and closed it again. “How could he possibly know everything that transpired?”
“Accidents are always reported. What you described was not filed for that day. So maybe it’s time you tell how you really sustained those injuries.”
He tugged at his scarf. “It’s so hot in here. Why do they keep it so hot in here?”
“Mr. Westlake.” Joe kept his voice low. “It will help all of us a great deal if you simply tell the truth.”
Color leached from Dad’s face. “Is that photographer still here?”
“He left,” Lauren said.
His gaze roved the room, as though afraid they were still being observed. Or listened to.
Breathing in shallow pants, he pushed himself up again, his chair scraping back from the table. “I must get back to my work. If you want to help, Detective, don’t follow me.”
Dumbfounded, Lauren watched him go. Whatever her father was afraid of, he was determined to face it alone. “Something is wrong, but I have no idea what,” she whispered. “Do you?”
