“Mrs. Thibault.” The doorman in the lobby nodded, as he opened the door for her. “Can I hail you a cab?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m just going for a little walk. And I’m not Thibault anymore. It’s McCready, like the Lord intended.”
“All right. Be careful, ma’am,” he cautioned. “It’s dark.”
As if she didn’t know that.
She thanked him for his concern and set out on the New York City sidewalks...just for a minute. The night air was cool on her face, and it woke her up, clearing away a little of the two stiff Long Islands and countless glasses of wine she’d had at the restaurant.
The streetlights seemed hazy in the night, but the stars... The stars twinkled like beacons of hope.
She stared at the sidewalk, fighting to stay focused, and as she did, she saw a sparkle.
It couldn’t be.
She knelt to examine it, and it was.
It was her wedding ring.
What were the odds?
She shook her head as she curled her fingers around it and stood up. Maybe she’d never be rid of it.
She walked quickly, her shoes clicking on the pavement, and she stared up at the skyscrapers. She held her arms open wide and twirled drunkenly around. Spinning, spinning, spinning, she laughed at the sensation in her belly, the drunken blurriness, the moment of complete lightness.
Her joy was short-lived, however.
As she turned, someone grabbed her in the night, sharp fingers biting into her soft flesh.
There was a flash of pain in her temple.
Then nothing more.
3
Meghan glanced at the clock. It was 8:03 a.m. She’d passed out the night before while she waited for Gen to come back. When she woke up at 7:30 a.m. with a start, she’d realized Gen hadn’t returned.
She was jittery now, a sense of foreboding swelling in her heart. For the second time, she picked up the phone and called the front desk.
“Were you able to reach the doorman from last night?” she asked them, her panic growing ever larger in her belly.
“Yes. He saw your sister go out for a walk,” the clerk told her. “He did not see her return. Is there a problem?”
Only the fact that Gen wasn’t answering her phone.
“It’s not like her,” she insisted to the clerk. “Something is wrong.”
She hung up and walked outside, looking all around. New York was already moving, trash blowing in the gutters. Her imagination started drifting. Had Gen snapped? She’d flung her ring off the balcony. Who does that? Meg felt guilt pull at her. She should’ve known right then and there that her sister wasn’t in her right mind.
Maybe Gen realized her mistake and went to look for it.
Meg paused, looking around at her proximity to the hotel and their balcony. If she’d thrown a ring into the night and wanted to find it, where would she go?
She started tracking a path, along the sidewalks, into the bushes. She looked high and low. For a ring, the diamond was huge. But in scale with the size of a city, it was hunting for a needle in a haystack. She paused at a coffee cart, and paid for a cup of coffee, her fingers trembling. She gulped at the bitter liquid, trying to sharpen her fuzzy thoughts.
Why had they drank so much?
Two women alone, one of whom was emotionally shattered. Meg should’ve known better. Her sister had always been passionate and mercurial. Meg should’ve known that getting her drunk at a time like this was playing with fire.
“Damn it,” she muttered to herself, her fingers wrapped around the hot cup. “Think. Think.”
Maybe Gen headed to The Strand...to see if any of her books were displayed in the window. It was the gold standard for authors. She might’ve needed an ego boost. If Meg were Gen, that’s what she would’ve done.
She pivoted to head in that direction and promptly tripped, her coffee flying out of her hand.
As she scrambled to maintain her balance, she caught sight of something pink.
She froze and then knelt in the gutter to pull the pink coat from the ground.
It was soiled from being run over, but it was her own. The one Gen had been wearing last night.
Her breath caught in her throat and she whirled in every direction.
“Gen!” she shouted. “Gen!”
No one even glanced at her twice, not even the homeless guy on the bench.
“Did you see a woman last night in this coat?” she asked him. He stared at her with milky eyes and slowly shook his head.
She handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Damn it.”
Her hand was shaking as she called 9-1-1.
After she explained the situation, the dispatcher wasn’t sympathetic. “Ma’am. This is not an emergency. I’m transferring you to the local precinct.”
Before Meg could argue, the call was transferred. She had to explain everything all over again to the man who answered the phone.
He didn’t seem concerned.
“She had too much to drink and went for a walk?” he asked, and she could almost hear his pen stop writing. “Lady, this is New York. Your sister wanted to see the sights and dropped her coat. She’s probably on a bench somewhere, sleeping it off.”
“No, she wouldn’t do that,” Meg told him. “In fact, it wasn’t like her to just get up and go for a walk alone. But she was upset, and...”
“What was she upset about?”
“She’s getting divorced,” Meg answered. “She threw her ring off the balcony and needed some air. Maybe she wanted to look for it. I have no idea. She was very upset.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Is her husband here with her?”
“No, of course not. They’re getting divorced. He’s in Chicago.”
“Is it an amicable divorce?”
Meg stared at the phone. “I know what you’re getting at, but Thad wouldn’t do anything to her. He’s a lawyer. He can be an asshole, but he draws blood on paper and in the courtroom. He doesn’t need to in real life.”
“Is it an amicable divorce?” the officer asked again calmly.
Meg took a breath. “No.”
“Okay, ma’am. It’s too early to file a missing person. You’ll need to wait twenty-four hours. You can go look for her on your own, and wait for her to call, and if she doesn’t, call us back.”