He still didn’t budge. “Why don’t we just go in the front?”
The answer came to her in a flash. “Dogs aren’t allowed in the lobby. Management rules.”
“Rose!”
The deep voice was instantly recognizable. She begged silently for it to be only Griff, not Connie, but her luck had run out. The two were unfolding themselves from a black town car, wearing matching Burberry raincoats.
“Griff, hi.”
“What are you doing here?” His eyes darted back and forth between her and Jason.
“This is Jason.” She was unsure what else to do. She nodded at Connie, who glared back. They’d met a couple of times when the kids were dropped off, but never exchanged more than a few words.
Griff shook Jason’s hand like the politician he was, firmly and with great sincerity. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m going inside.” Connie disappeared, leaving behind the faint whiff of Chanel No. 5.
Jason dug his hands into his pockets. “I’ll leave you two for a minute.”
“Don’t,” Rose insisted. “Griff, I’m not here to see you; you don’t have to get all bent out of shape.”
“I’m not bent out of shape. Simply surprised. Did you leave something behind?”
Jason looked at Rose, confused.
“I didn’t leave anything behind. I’m visiting a friend in the building.”
Relief crossed Griff’s fine features. “Right. The woman on the fourth floor. In that case, after you.” He gestured inside.
“No, you go ahead. I have to speak with Jason.”
“All right. And maybe we can make an arrangement to talk, in a week or two. Would that be possible?”
An unmistakable heat came from his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that Jason was standing close to her, ever so slightly possessive, that got his competitive juices flowing. Or maybe he’d actually missed her.
Two weeks ago, she would have loved the opportunity to bring him back into her life, in whatever way. To find their connection again. But not anymore. And her change of heart had nothing to do with Jason. Her father’s decline, Stella’s painfully honest rant, and the ladies’ stories had made her see her life in a new light. She would be in charge from now on. As a result, the chemical attraction, the aura that encircled Griff and made him the focus of her world, had dissipated. Just like that.
“Sorry. I’m too busy.”
“I see. I guess I’ll see you around. Jason, it was nice meeting you.”
Jason grunted in return, and when she turned to face him, she could see he was pissed.
“What exactly is going on?”
“Well, that’s Griff, my ex-boyfriend. And his wife. I mean his ex-wife.”
“We were introduced.”
Patrick was making his way outside, and she didn’t want to have to speak with him. “Follow me and I’ll explain.”
The walk to the service entrance and up the stairs seemed endless. Once in the apartment, she dried off Bird with a towel before he skittered over to his usual place on the couch. He stared at Rose expectantly, as if he were a tiny bearded spectator at a boxing match.
“Who lives here?” Jason asked.
The time had come to tell the truth. Now that the story had been killed, maybe Jason wouldn’t be too horrified. Rose grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dried off her hair, avoiding his gaze. “This is Darby’s apartment. Or Esme’s. I can’t quite wrap my head around who she is anymore, to tell the truth.”
“You appear to be quite comfortable here.”
“I’ve been taking care of her dog.”
“Whoa. Back up a minute.” He lowered himself onto the couch and exchanged glares with Bird. “First of all, why did you quit?”
She sat cross-legged on the chair. “I don’t want to make stupid lists. That’s not why I signed on with Tyler.”
“I can understand that. But we could have convinced him to do the Barbizon piece at least.”
“No, he was done with it, and done with me. I’m tired of playing games and being played.”
“So what will you do?”
“I’ll pitch the story to someone else. The New York Times Magazine, that kind of thing.”
“And what about all this?” He gestured around the room. “How will you explain to your editors that you’re living in a source’s apartment? The Times doesn’t like that type of thing, you know. No good news source does.”
“I know. It wasn’t planned.”
“Obviously, there’s something you’re not telling me. You’re taking care of her dog, yet you don’t know much about her, and have no idea where she went. “
“It all happened at once. Stella Conover was dog-sitting but she had to go to the hospital, so I took over. Apparently, Darby hasn’t made many friends on the floor. She’s standoffish.”
“Why didn’t you take the dog back to your own apartment?”
“It was Griff’s apartment. Until we broke up. Griff and his ex-wife, who you just had the pleasure of meeting, got back together, and she wanted to live there. He gave me only a few days to move out, and I was desperate. It’s a temporary solution.”
“You haven’t spoken with Darby since she left, right?”
“Right.”
“Does she know you’ve been holing up here?”
She took a deep breath. “Not yet.”
He rubbed his chin. “I hate to ask this, but how exactly did you get all of your information? The book of spices, the letter, that kind of thing.”
Without thinking, she glanced at the bookshelf.
“You went through her belongings?” His eyes widened with shock. “You’re living in a woman’s apartment, squatting. If she comes back and finds you, she could call the police. You’re trespassing. And snooping.”
“I wish I could explain. But I feel this strange connection with her.”
“With an eighty-year-old woman you’ve only met in passing? That makes no sense.”
“I know, none of this does.” Her words tumbled out. “But I’ll be out of here before she returns. I’m moving into my friend Maddy’s apartment. I’ll take Bird with me and leave Darby a note. When she calls, I’ll explain everything. And she’ll be so grateful that I took care of her dog, she’ll agree to be interviewed and we’ll have a truly tremendous story. And if my hunch is correct and the woman who calls herself Darby is actually Esme in disguise? Can you imagine how huge that would be?”
He took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. “What about this scenario: She comes home, finds out that you have the dog, and considers what you’ve done is a major invasion of privacy, not to mention dognapping, and turns you in to the cops.”
“I have Stella to back me up, that I helped out in a pinch. And what’s going to happen to me? I’ll get fired? Too late for that.”
“Never mind getting fired. What about the ethics of what you’re doing? What if someone did this to you? It’s criminal, no question about it.”
“No.” She punched the word. “The story is much more than that.”
“In what way?”
“It’s about losing the people you love, being alone in a big city with nothing more than the four walls of your apartment to protect you. Ending up lonely and bitter with no one around.”
“This isn’t a Grimms’ fairy tale, Rose. Darby, or Esme, whoever she is, made her choices, from what it sounds like. We don’t know what she got involved in. But she wasn’t an innocent. Whatever happened up on that terrace in 1952 was tragic, but not unavoidable. Heroin, drugs, informants. They were involved in some serious shit.”
God, he was right. His words sunk in with a bitter force. She’d deluded herself these past weeks, crossing lines and making bad judgment calls about a series of events that had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
But there was no going back now. Rose stood. “Everything you say makes sense, Jason. But I want to find out exactly what happened. I have to.”
“Why? So you don’t end up the same way? A crazy old lady with no friends, living in a dingy, rent-stabilized apartment?”