Page 43 of Nobody's Fool

“I’m listening.”

“This Anna or Victoria or whatever shows up in your life at the same time Tad Grayson is released from prison.”

I shake my head. “I can’t see a connection, Molly.”

“Then you better look harder.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’d just taken my first step down to the subway, hurrying to catch the next train, which, according to my app, would leave in three minutes, when Polly called me back.

“They’re on the highway,” she says. “I think she’s heading into the city.”

“Are you sure she’s in the car?”

“We think so, yeah. She’s sitting in the back. A male is driving. Dark blue Cadillac Escalade. Connecticut plates. Gary and I are following. I’ll drop a pin so you can track us.”

I check my phone when I hear the proverbial and literal pin drop. Their car is heading west on 95 toward the George Washington Bridge. If she’d stayed in the Greenwich area, it would have made sense for me to drive up and try to confront her. But now that Maybe Victoria is this far on the move, it is better to stay still and see where she is going. I head into the simply named Hot Bagel Shop and order up a sesame bagel with a schmear—Molly taught me that word—of whitefish spread and cream cheese. I keep an eye on the pin drop. When the car takes the Hutchinson River Parkway, I figure the odds are Polly is correct about her heading into New York City.

Twenty minutes later, New York City is confirmed when the car pulls onto West Forty-Eighth Street heading toward Broadway. Thetraffic is, as expected, stop and go, mostly stop. I’m still standing at the counter at the bagel shop. A few minutes later, Polly says, “Photo incoming.”

I check my WhatsApp. The little wheel spins, and the photo comes into focus.

A woman wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses is stepping out of a Cadillac Escalade. She’s innocuously dressed in blue jeans, a gray sweatshirt, white sneakers.

It’s Anna/Victoria.

“That’s her, right?” Penny says.

“Yes.”

“I’m following her on foot,” Polly says. “We are in Times Square. Gary is going to continue following the Escalade.”

“I’m on my way,” I say and rush back to the subway. I look for any train heading toward the Times Square area. There are always plenty. I jump on the subway and check the app. There’s spotty service down here so I’m not getting an update. When I arrive at Forty-Second Street/Broadway, I head up into the sunlight and the cacophony, and the app springs back to life.

The pin is four blocks away.

I call Polly. “What’s she doing?”

“Just walking.”

“How about the car?”

“Hold on, let me link in Gary.” A few seconds pass. “Gary?”

“The driver parked the Escalade in a garage,” Gary says. “He’s walking toward you guys, I think.”

“Do you have eyes on him?” I ask.

“Negative,” Gary says. “I figured it would be smarter to double-park and wait by the garage. When they come back, I’ll be back on them.”

“Smart thinking,” I say.

“Thanks, Teach.”

“Kierce,” Polly says, “how far away are you?”

“Three blocks and closing,” I say.