Page 81 of The New Couple in 5B

I struggle to do the math in my head. If LeClerc died in 1932 and Charles was a boy at that time, he would now have to be over 80. He looks twenty years younger than that.

“That would be so helpful,” I say. “I’ll check in with you at the end of the week.”

He gives me a stately nod, and Ella hands me the nearly empty tray of pasta. Maybe not such a screwup after all.

“I told you it would be a hit!” she says.

I see that Xavier is about to leave, and I hurry toward the door to catch him. We say our goodbyes and thanks to Charles and Ella. And then the two of us are alone in the elevator lobby.

“I have an odd request,” he says, before I can jump on him with my questions.

“Oh?”

“Can I come through your place and go out your back door to the service elevator?”

“Oh, that’s right,” I say. “George is off duty. Of course.”

We walk through, and he admires the wood floors, the fireplace, the views, says his place is a bit smaller, and Chad and I must come down for drinks one night.

“Why didn’t you use the Aldridges’ back door?” I ask as we walk out the back door to the service elevator lobby.

“Oh,” he says, glancing down the hallway toward their back door. “I didn’t think of it until we were outside, then I forgot Abi wasn’t on duty.”

The hallway is drafty and damp.

“Are you avoiding Abi?” I ask.

“I make it a habit to avoid Abi,” he says.

“Really?”

“Abi knows way too much about the people in this building,” he whispers.

“Like what?”

He lifts his eyebrows.

“I mean, think about it. He knowseverything—all our habits, the company we keep, when we come and go. There are cameras all over the building. He takes all our packages, sends out and receives our laundry. Doormen know all our little secrets, don’t they?”

I press the button for the elevator, and we stand in the drafty hallway. I close my arms around myself against the chill.

“Which leads me to a question I’ve been meaning to ask. I left a message with Abi for you. And George. Did you get it?”

He looks surprised. “No, I would have gotten back to you right away.”

“And I tried on the chat.”

“Oh, I never go on that anymore. Too much chatter, bickering, complaining. It’s tiresome.”

He looks at the elevator door, presses the button again. Does he seem suddenly uncomfortable?

“The other day when we bumped into each other in the elevator,” I go on. “Did you happen to notice a box?”

“A box?” he asks, frowning. I notice his carefully manicured nails, the stylish cut of his dark hair, the drape of his cashmere sweater.

“I had something I was bringing to Ivan’s daughter. It was in the elevator on the floor beside me.”

He seems to search his memory banks and come up empty, shakes his head. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”