“Whoever he is, this is confirmation that you’re on the right track, Chris. I think when that sculpture is done, we’re going to get some answers.”

It turned out, eventually, that he was right. But the answers we got were to questions we had never asked.

—

Just as I was about to go out to do some necessary shopping, the phone rang. An operator was at the other end.

“I have a call from Mabel Bernstein in Antigua,” she said. “Will you pay for the call?”

“Yes, I will.” There was a little static and then I said, “Mrs. Bernstein?”

“Christine?”

“Yes, it’s me. How’s your vacation?”

“Warm and wonderful. I remembered something that may help you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Natalie went away one weekend—can you hear me all right?”

“I hear you fine.”

“She went away with a friend,” she continued, straining her voice. “A man friend. And she wrote me a postcard. She said she was having a great time and he was a real jewel.”

“A jewel?” I repeated. “Like a diamond?”

“Yes. That kind of jewel.”

“Do you remember when she wrote it to you?”

“Early on. Probably the first year she lived on Greenwich Avenue.”

“Mrs. Bernstein, do you remember where it was mailed from?”

“Yes. It came from one of those lakes or something upstate.”

“Upstate in what state?” I asked.

“New York. I bet it was Saratoga Springs or one of those places.”

“You’re sure it didn’t come from New Jersey?”

“I haven’t lost all my marbles yet. It came from New York. I may even have the card somewhere at home, but I’m not going to be home for another month.”

“Thank you for keeping this in mind. This has really been very helpful.”

“Did you expect New Jersey?”

“I did.”

“Does this put a monkey wrench in your investigation?”

“No. It just means someone’s memory wasn’t as good as yours.”

“You mean he lied, don’t you?”

“It’s possible. Enjoy the tropics, Mrs. Bernstein. And keep in touch if you remember anything else.”

—

I took myself off to the supermarket to think about what I had learned. Martin Jewell had been absolutely certain he and Natalie had gone to Cape May and that he had chosen the spot. When someone lies to me with such conviction, I am naturally alert. As I pushed my cart through the aisles, loading it in preparation for our weekend, I asked myself whether I wanted to challenge Jewell’s statement, whether it was important, whether he had just become a suspect in Natalie’s disappearance because they had spent a weekend in one place instead of another.

By the time I got home, I knew I had to call him. The person who answered the phone gave me a little trouble but relented and put me through.

“Yes, how are you?” Martin Jewell’s voice said. “Any news on Natalie?”

“Something has come up,” I answered, avoiding the question. “It seems Natalie sent a friend a postcard the weekend you and she went away.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it looks like you didn’t go to Cape May.”

“Sure we did. I always—” He stopped. Then he mumbled something under his breath that might have been an obscenity. “You’re right, we didn’t. We went to New York State. North, not south.”

“Do you remember the place?”

“It was a hotel. I don’t remember the name of it. It was five years ago.”

“Was it her idea to go there?”

“It must have been. I always pick Cape May. I mean when I go away for the weekend.”

“Do you remember the town?”

“It was north of Albany, around Saratoga Springs, I think. It was a hell of a drive.”

“Do you know why she picked that place?”

“If she told me, I don’t remember. It was a nice place, though, now that I think about it, a country inn or something, fireplace in every room kind of thing.”

“Anything else you remember? Did you visit anyone she knew?”

“We didn’t spend much time sightseeing,” he said, as though instructing me on the purpose of the trip. “Wait a minute. I do remember something.” He sounded eager. “She got up in the middle of the night and went somewhere.”

“Alone?”

“Without me anyway. I woke up and she wasn’t there. She walked in, fully dressed, a little while later, said she couldn’t sleep and had gone out for a walk. But I think she took my car.”

“She drove somewhere?”

“There was more mileage on it than I remembered. My keys were on the dresser. She could have taken them with no trouble.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Jewell.”

“No problem.”

“Let me know if anything else occurs to you.”

—

He was awfully smooth. He was so believable, I found myself believing him, as I had before. Maybe he had made an honest mistake. Maybe he usually weekended at Cape May and it had slipped his mind where he and Natalie had gone together. It was, as he had said, five years ago.

I decided to set Natalie Miller Gordon aside for the weekend.

21

Elsie Rivers called over the weekend, a nice, homey kind of call, how good it was to see me again, to meet my husband, how memories of my mother had come back to her after we left, bringing her joy. We chatted for some time, discussing when we might get together again, although we never picked a date, and when I got off the phone I had that feeling again, that there was something she knew, something she was thinking about telling me but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

“Sounded like your mom’s old friend,” Jack said when I had hung up. “She say anything?”

“She came close, Jack. She wants to and she doesn’t want to. I wish I’d never remembered this.”

“Whatever it is, it’s long past.”

“That’s not a reason to forget it.”

“But it’s a reason to forgive.”

“I have to know what I’m forgiving.”

“Give her time. You’ve stirred up a lot of her past. She has to decide where her loyalties lie, or where they should lie.”

“Do you think he met her at work? At one of the businesses he visited?”

“Chris, you don’t know who she is. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

But I had made the leap and I didn’t like where I found myself.

—

The quiet of the weekend came to an end on Monday. Dickie Foster called in the morning.

“Remember that postcard I told you about? I found it.”

“You must have worked all weekend,” I said.

“Turned the whole place upside down. Now we’ll have to move because I’ve started throwing things out. Any nice little houses out your way?”

“Plenty. Come up and take a look some weekend. Tell me about the postcard.”

“It says, ‘Dear Dickie, It’s gorgeous up here. Can’t wait for the job interview. I’m taking some time to rest up so I’m in good form. Yours, Natalie.’ ”

“Where’s it from?”

“The picture says Lake George, but the postmark—it’s a little hard to read, but I think it’s Saratoga.”

“Upstate New York.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Dickie, I can’t thank you enough. Will you hang on to the card? I may want to look at it later.”

“I’ll put it away so it doesn’t get mixed up with the trash. I’m really glad I found it. Brings back those good old days when I was single.”

—

Something had drawn Natalie to upstate New York twice in about a year, once before she moved out of Gramercy Park and once when she and Jewell went off for a weekend together. Was there an old lover up there, a husband and children, or the mysterious abuser whom I had come to believe in? Maybe she had been drawn to him as I had read many women are even when their intellects tell them they should stay away. But I was certain now that there was a connection between her and some place in Saratoga or Warren County.