Havoc-on-Hudson by Bernice Gottlieb Page B

friend to her, I can tell.” I liked this woman more and more.
    “So, I read the letter. Then I panicked. I tried desperately to reach her but couldn’t. She’d never given me any way to contact her—no address or phone number or anything. I called the police right away, but they couldn’t do anything, because they didn’t know where she was, either. I felt so helpless, for her and also for little Danny Joe. He was only eight at the time.”
    I had no idea what she was talking about. “What did the letter say?”
    “It said she was planning to kill herself.”
    “Oh!” I felt a little shiver all over my body. “What a heartbreaking story! And what an awful position for you to be in! What about her husband—Frank? Couldn’t he do something?”
    “Ha! That loser?” She gave a guttural laugh. “No, he knew nothing about it until I showed him that letter. And then he just laughed and said, “Well, better her dead than me!”
    “What about Danny Joe?”
    “I don’t think anyone ever told him she was dead. I know I never did. He was just too little to understand. God only knows how that child survived the beatings, sexual abuse and neglect. No matter how many times I called Children’s Services, they never removed him. I tried to adopt him, but Frank threatened me. Terrified me. I just couldn’t go through with my plans to help that poor boy.
    “And it only got worse,” Leah continued, ominously. “Frank died a few years ago from kidney failure, nobody could find Danny Joe, and the house went into foreclosure. So, there’s nobody left. And, of course, now I have a lovely home in Pleasantville, so I’m not around.” Suddenly, she stopped talking, finished her burger and started in on the fries.
    “What a tragic life it was for that child.” I didn’t know what else to say, and Leah was munching the fries, one at a time, deep in thought.
    She remained distracted until I finished my coffee, and then reached into her bag for her car keys. It seemed that our lunch date was over.
    I took out my checkbook to write the reward check, but Leah put her hand on my arm.
    “I didn’t come here for the financial reward,” she said. “I really simply wanted to put some closure on that part of my life. I do hope Danny Joe Farrell is not the man who’s attacking you brokers, but if he is, at least I know I’ve done whatever I could about it.”
    That was the last I heard from her before she left; I was getting my debit card out to pay, when she turned and walked out of the diner without saying goodbye. After the waitress came back with my receipt, I went to the door and watched Leah turn the corner toward the parking lot, and then vanish from sight. Well, that’s that , I thought. I never expected to have anything to do with Leah Goldman again.

25
    Claire had an appointment with a new customer named Bob Wilson, with whom she’d been in touch by email. His company purchased foreclosed properties, he’d told her, and she had one for sale that she’d been trying, with no luck, to get rid of for months. A tall, good-looking, dark-haired man waited in front of the Hudson Hills’ train station. She pulled up in front of him and powered down the Saab’s windows. “Bob?”
    “And you, my dear, must be Claire.” He reached for the door handle, and Claire clicked the unlock button. His smile was contagious. This could be a pleasurable showing, she thought.
    Bob Wilson settled into the leather seat, fastened his seatbelt, sat back, and grinned. “Whereto, my lady?”
    “The office, first,” she said. “Just for a minute. We have to fill in a New York State Disclosure Form.”
    “Can’t we do that later? Before you take me back to the train. I’m eager to see this place.” He frowned, charmingly. “After all, I’ve come all this way.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said, putting the car in gear and turning up Main Street. “But it’s a State requirement.” She was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. ‘The