Where Are You Now? by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

hisdisappearance,” she cried. “Why are you torturing us?”
    As I stared at her I thought of what Lucas Reeves, the private investigator, had written in his file, that the Kramers were nervous that they might lose their jobs because of Mack’s disappearance. Now, nearly ten years later, I didn’t accept that reasoning.
    They were nervous because they had something to hide. Now they were trying to keep their stories straight. Ten years ago Mrs. Kramer had told Reeves that Mack was just coming out of the building when she saw him and that her husband was in the lobby.
    At that moment I would have bet my life that neither one of them ever saw Mack leave this building. Or did he ever leave it? That question rushed into my mind and was immediately dismissed.
    â€œI know how long it’s been,” I said. “But would it be possible to see the apartment where my brother lived?”
    I could see that my request startled them. This time both Kramers looked to Howard Altman for guidance.
    â€œOf course, the apartment has been rented,” he said, “but since it’s the end of the term many of the students have already left. What is the situation in 4D, Lil?”
    â€œThe two who shared the larger bedroom are gone. Walter Cannon has Mack’s old room but he’s leaving today.”
    â€œThen perhaps you could phone and ask if Ms. MacKenzie might stop in?” Altman suggested.
    A moment later we were climbing the stairs to the fourth floor. “The students don’t mind stairs,” Altman told me. “I must say I’m glad I don’t go up and down them every day.”
    Walter Cannon was a six-foot-four twenty-two-year-oldwho waved aside my apologies for the interruption. “I’m just glad you weren’t here an hour ago,” he said. “I had stuff all over the place.” He explained that he was on his way home to New Hampshire for a summer vacation and was starting law school in the fall.
    He’s at the same point in time Mack was when he disappeared, I thought sadly.
    The apartment coincided with my vague memory of it. A small foyer now stacked with the luggage Cannon would be carrying, a kitchen directly opposite the outer door, a hall to the right with a sitting room and bedroom off it, a bathroom at the end. To the left of the foyer, a second bath and, beyond it, the bedroom where Mack had lived. Not listening to Altman’s comments about how well the apartments were maintained, I walked into what had been Mack’s bedroom.
    The walls and ceilings were off-white. A light flowered cotton spread was tossed on the bed. Matching drapery panels framed the two windows. A dresser, desk, and easy chair completed the furnishings. A wall-to-wall blue-gray carpet covered the floor.
    â€œThis apartment, like all the others after they’ve been vacated, will have a fresh coat of paint immediately,” Altman was saying. “The carpet and spread and drapes will be cleaned. Gus Kramer will make sure the kitchen and baths are spotless. We’re very proud of our units.”
    Mack lived here for two years, I thought. I imagined him feeling about it the way I feel about my apartment. It was his own space. He could get up early or late, read or not read, answer the phone or not answer the phone. The closet door was open, and of course it was empty now.
    I thought about the Kramers’ claim that he was wearing a jacket and open-necked shirt and slacks when he left that afternoon.
    What was the weather like that day? I wondered. Was it one of those chilly May afternoons like last Sunday? Or, if it was very warm, and Mack did leave at three o’clock, would wearing a jacket have any significance? A date? A drive to a girl’s house in Connecticut, or Long Island?
    It’s funny but in that room, ten years later, I had a sense of his presence. He was always so laid back. Dad had been competitive, quick to size up a situation, and, with