“"You wouldn't like it out there," she said, swinging it closed and snicking home the multiple locks. "I wish I could stay home." She dumped her attache case on the table, walked into the kitchen to put the water on for tea, and hit the play button on the answering machine. "Jennifer, this is your mother—" "Oh, puh- leez, " she groaned, fast-forwarding. "Miss Feinberg, I have to speak with you. Could you—" She hit the stop button with a small scream of fear, closing her eyes as the machine rattl...ed on the sofa-side table. Control your breathing, she told herself. Her hands were still shaking as she punched the number the policeman had given her into the phone. "Carmaggio," a voice said. "This is Feinberg," she managed to say, looking around her apartment. The heavy December rain was streaking down the windows, and she hadn't had time to turn on the lights. She was sweating under her outdoor coat. The studio smelled of sachet and tea and, very faintly, of cat. It was home, but right then it felt very lonely.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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