“I don’t remember making that promise.”

“Well, you did,” Clay said heartily.

“You did give me two weeks. I would guess that not more than seven hours have passed. Why didn’t you have the doorman announce you?”

“Because I hoped you might be sleeping and if so, I would have left without disturbing you. Or why don’t I tell the truth? If I had been announced you might have turned me down and I wanted to see you. I did deliver a bombshell to you this morning.”

When Olivia did not answer, Clay Hadley, his tone gentle, added, “Olivia, there is a reason why you gave me a key and permission to come in if I suspected a problem.”

Olivia felt her resentment at the intrusion begin to disappear. What Clay had said was absolutely true. If he had called up I would have told him I was resting, she thought. Then she followed Clay’s glance.

He was looking at the manila envelope in her hand.

From where he stood he could obviously see the single word her mother had written across it.

CATHERINE.

5

Monica lived on the first floor of a renovated town house on East Thirty-sixth Street. In her mind, being on the tree-lined block was like stepping back in time to the nineteenth century, when all the brownstones had been private residences. Her apartment was to the rear of the building, which meant she had exclusive use of the small patio and garden. When the weather was warm she enjoyed morning coffee in her bathrobe on the patio, or a glass of wine in the evening there.

After the discussion with her receptionist, Nan, about Michael O’Keefe, the child who had had brain cancer, she had decided to walk home, as she frequently did. She had long since realized that walking the one-mile distance from her office was a good way of getting in some exercise, as well as a chance to unwind.