On the Avenue (13 page)

Minutes ticked by. Her heart was pounding.

Then she heard the loud beep announcing an incoming call. She held the phone up.

“Madison on Second, en route to George,” came the warbled voice.

Lex smiled, relieved. “Copy that,” she replied. “Lex turning east on Third and glad to hear about Madison on Second.”

Suddenly, the driver braked at a red light and turned around to face her. “Eh, lady? You wanna me take Lex? I hear you say Madison too. Lotta traffic dat way.”

“No,” Lex told him. “Take the FDR. It's the fastest way.”

“Then why you say Madison?” he asked, confused. “You say Second on Third?”

“I said Madison on Second, not Second on Third.” Lex gestured outside with her head, at the green light shining above them. When the cab moved again, she held the phone back to her lips. “Madison on Second, do we have Park on Park, or is Park still on Third? If Park is still at Third we need to make sure Park crosses over toward First and doesn't go down Second all the way.”

“Eh?” the driver grunted loudly.

Static crackled from Madison's end of the line. “Madison got a brief visual of Park heading west, maybe toward Madison but then back again on Park. Rest assured that Park is east of Fifth and heading south. You copy that, Lex?”

“Eh?”
The driver turned around halfway, raking a hand over his face. “Lady! What hell you say?”

“Copy,” Lex said. “Over and out.” She cut the line and stared at the driver. “Listen, mister. Just get to Washington Square. Is that easy enough? Not Union Square or Tompkins Square or Times Square, and
definitely not
Herald Square
. And not even Columbus
Circle
. Washington Square. Okay?”

He shook his head so hard, the turban rocked.

Another beep sounded from the phone. Lex held her breath and waited.

“Park to Lex,” came the calm, assured voice. “Park on First heading toward York, had to take a quick detour up Madison before heading back east. Thought Madison was on Madison but I think Madison's on Lex, right?”

“Copy that,” Lex replied. “Madison's on Second following departure from Third. After you exit on First, make sure you de-cab on Fifth but only after riding past Madison.”

“Gotcha,” Park came back. “See you on Fifth but not too far from Fourth, next to Madison who'll be waiting for Lex, who'll be waiting for Park. Then we'll head to the park by way of Fifth, with Lex leading.”

“Ten-four.” Lex flipped the phone closed. Outside the windows of the cab, FDR Drive was clear, the East River illuminated by a sliver of moon. She caught the driver eyeing her angrily through the rearview mirror but ignored him.

Ten minutes later, the cab was slowing down on Fifth Avenue. The Washington Square arch loomed in the distance, as bright as a beacon. Lex opened the window and scanned the busy stretches of sidewalk. Amazingly enough, Madison was standing at
the corner of Ninth Street, still looking boyish in her jeans and cap. “Stop here!” Lex shouted.

The cab screeched to a halt.

Lex waited in the silence for close to a minute. Then she spotted another cab slowing to a stop across the street. She watched as Park emerged, the semblance of a sly, sophisticated young man with a briefcase in hand.

Showtime.

Lex paid the driver and hopped out onto the avenue. She began walking toward Washington Square, moving along the west side of Fifth, while Madison and Park followed from the opposite side of the street. Lex kept the scarf wound tightly around her head. Her eyes took in every car, every pedestrain, every stoned college student heading toward the square. She felt a chill snake up her spine as she neared their destination.

Crossing to the east side of the street, she made eye contact with Madison and Park. Finally they were standing together, three oddly dressed people among dozens of other oddly dressed people in an oddly shabby but oddly chic corner of the city. It was a typical Friday night—early Saturday morning, really—in Greenwich Village: college students leaving the nearby dormitories in packs, hot girls and guys on their way to the clubs for a few hours of dancing, couples heading to one of the countless little cafes on
MacDougal or Cornelia. Lex fought the impulse to join the partiers and kept her mind focused on the mission at hand. She led the way through the quaint tree-lined streets that seemed shockingly deserted compared to the bustle of the square.

Waverly was lined with parked cars, but only a few lone tourists were walking around, snapping pictures of the old, elegant brownstones. Lex spotted number 12 easily enough: it was smack in the middle of the row, a four-story brick structure with a splash of ivy trailing along its left side. The large white-frame windows were dark. The house looked as though it had been slumbering in the darkness for a long time.

“Is that it?” Madison asked. “The one right across the street?”

“That's it,” Lex confirmed.

“Then why are we just standing here?” Park shifted the briefcase to her left hand. “Let's try to get in and find out who the hell killed Zahara Bell.”

“I know, you're right,” Lex said. “But it's just that …I'm scared. I mean, what if we can't get in? What if an alarm goes off?”

“We won't get caught,” Park told her firmly. “If an alarm sounds, we get out of here, jump back into the crowd, and grab a cab home. Now let's go.”

Lex reached into her purse and pulled on a pair of black leather gloves. Park did the same, handing an extra pair over to Madison. They approached the
town house with their heads bent and their eyes staring straight ahead. It was Lex who mounted the stairs first, walking right up to the front doors. She looked down at the thick brass knobs, then over her shoulder and onto the street. Two cars whizzed by. She and Park had loaded up their purses with various tools— hairpins, a screwdriver, an old credit card—in hopes that they would be able to pry back the locks. They did it at school all the time. St. Cecilia's Prep was a beautiful old building on the Upper East Side, but like many of Manhattan's turn-of-the-century structures, it suffered from a severe lack of modern appliances. On more than one occasion, Lex had picked the lock to the principal's office to get an advance copy of her report card, just in case some of the grades needed a little editing. Park and Madison had done the same.

And maybe, she thought now, this wouldn't be any different.

“Hurry,” Madison said through gritted teeth.

Before reaching into her purse, Lex wrapped her gloved fingers around the knob to her right and turned it slowly.

To her sheer astonishment, the door opened.

Park gasped.

Madison held her breath.

Lex, trying to contain her fear and exhilaration, eased the door open and slipped into the dark foyer. Frantically, she waved at her sisters to follow her.

They stood motionless in the shadowy space for several seconds, their breaths steaming the air, their hearts thudding. Just ahead of them was the main door that led directly into the town house.

“How was it open?” Madison whispered. “That's totally weird!”

“Be quiet!” Park shot back.

Lex tried the door directly in front of her. It opened, and a large, ornately furnished living room came into view. Shiny parquet floors, Oriental rugs, a dark wood wet bar in the far left corner beside a spiral staircase. At first glance, everything looked perfect and untouched. The silence was deafening.

They tiptoed inside, standing close together. The light above the staircase was shining, but otherwise, the entire first floor was dark. Huge wood blinds had been pulled down over the windows, blocking out the glare of the street.

Park moved toward the couches on the right, which were situated around a rectangular coffee table littered with books, magazines, and stacks of paper. She pointed silently to them.

Lex nodded, yanking Madison along. They had just begun shuffling through the magazines and papers when a sound boomed from the floor above them.

Footsteps.

Lex froze. She turned and stared at Madison, whose face had gone ashen.

“Shit,” Park whispered.

Lex knew the look on her face said it all:
Let's get the freak out of here!
But in a matter of seconds, the footsteps began moving more rapidly above them, swift hard patters that echoed through the living room like cracks of thunder.

Of course there's somebody in here,
Lex thought.
Why else would the door be open?

And now the footsteps were clearly moving toward the staircase.

Holy shit.

It was too late to make a dash for the door.

Holding her breath, Lex yanked Madison and Park by the arms and together they squatted directly behind the couch. They slammed against each other as they vied for room in the small space. Pressed back against the wall beneath the window, they had a clear view of the living room, but if the person coming downstairs decided to sit, they'd be knee-high in horse dung.

Just stay still,
Lex mouthed to her sisters. She gave Madison's arm a reassuring squeeze, because at the moment it looked as though Madison was going to barf, burp, or be one with the floor. Park eased the fedora off her head and silently slid it down the length of her chest.

A brief silence descended over the town house. Then a long shadow appeared at the top of the staircase and started moving down it.
Clank, clank, clank.

Lex dared to peek over the edge of the couch.

Through the darkness, she saw a distinctly female figure walk down to the first floor.

The woman was tall and thin, with a body like an hourglass. She was dressed in simple blue jeans and a starched white shirt. When she stepped into a pale stream of light close to the window nearest the door, her face came into full view.

Lex swallowed her gasp. She recognized the woman instantly.

Julia Colbert Gantz was a former supermodel. Her exquisite face had graced hundreds of magazines. She had modeled for Versace, Armani, Prada, Ralph Lauren, Dior, Chanel, and countless others. Two years ago, she'd joined
Catwalk
magazine as Zahara Bell's executive assistant.

Lex couldn't stop staring. Julia Colbert Gantz was a beautiful woman, but right now she looked like a train wreck. Her hair was wiry and uncombed. Her face was sweaty and pale. And she was visibly nervous, juggling an armful of papers and folders while scanning the living room for something.

Please,
Lex thought,
don't come over to the couch.

Julia Colbert Gantz didn't seem interested in the couch, or anything near it, for that matter. Huffing and puffing, scraping a free hand through her hair, she appeared totally desperate. When she moved into the light again, the dampness beneath her eyes shone. She had been crying.

Suddenly, she spotted what she was looking for:
a small red handbag, half hidden on the love seat under a pile of papers. She ran to it and scooped it up. Then, turning around toward the door, the heel of her boot got snagged on the end of the Oriental carpet. She lurched forward with a squeal, managing to regain her balance on the edge of the love seat. A single sheet of paper spilled from the bunch cradled at her chest and drifted silently to the floor. But in her haste to leave the town house, Julia Colbert Gantz didn't see what she had dropped. She held tight to the handbag, bolted for the front door, and was gone.

Lex shot to her feet. She sighed dramatically.

“Get down!” Madison whispered harshly. “There could still be someone here!”

“There was no one else here.” Lex stepped out from behind the couch. She looked down at her trembling hands and saw that her palms were slick with sweat. “Did you see who that was?”

Park, rising up slowly, shook her head. “I was too scared to look.”

“Julia Colbert Gantz,” Lex told them. “Zahara Bell's assistant.”

“What was she doing here?” Madison asked, sounding more frightened than she had a moment ago. “I know she wasn't at the gala tonight—she wasn't on the guest list.”

Lex swung the long end of her scarf over her
shoulder. “That's what we have to find out. Let's go upstairs.”

“Wait a minute.” Park's voice resounded through the dark living room. She was standing closer to the door now, in the exact spot where Julia Colbert Gantz had tripped. In Park's hand was a tattered sheet of paper. She was staring down at it intently. When she understood what she was reading, she pursed her lips together grimly and held the sheet out for Madison and Lex to peruse. “It looks like part of a headline, or a news story,” she said quietly.

Lex looked down at the crinkled sheet of paper.

The words across the top half were in boldface print:

ACTOR JEREMY BLEU LOSE S MILLIONS.

“Oh, my God,” Lex said.

Madison clucked her tongue. “I
knew
it. What did I tell you?
He
killed Zahara Bell and stole the Avenue diamond.”

“Now wait a minute,” Park shot back. “We don't even know what this is. It's a torn sheet of paper, for God's sake. I've followed Jeremy's career since his first movie and I never read anything about him losing millions of dollars.”

Lex grabbed the sheet and studied it closely. “This is a proof,” she said. “It's a story or an article
that hasn't made it to print yet. See how the letters are a little tilted? And there's no copy to go along with it.”

“So what?” Madison shrugged.

“It means this story hasn't been published.” Lex held the sheet up to what little light peeked in through the windows. “I guess maybe Zahara Bell was getting ready to publish it in one of the upcoming issues of
Catwalk.
”

“And Jeremy killed her for it,” Madison whispered.

“I thought you said he killed her for the diamond.” Park eased the fedora back onto her head and rolled her eyes. “Make up your mind, Sherlock.”

“You have a better explanation for this?” Madison asked sharply. “It's sickeningly obvious. Julia Colbert Gantz came here because she wanted to salvage this stuff before the cops got to it.”

Park crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away. She was devastated: the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and the picture wasn't pretty.