Tracy Hayes, Apprentice PI

Chapter Twenty-one

Patricia Thorne – and her mother, Mrs. Allen – lived in the couple's apartment in Brooklyn Heights, in a Victorian townhouse with an unobstructed view over the East River to the skyline of southern Manhattan. It was as prime a spot as you could get in Brooklyn, and I didn't wonder that the divorcing couple was fighting over the apartment.

Cheryl had dug up some details and we'd learned that the apartment had belonged to Mr. Thorne's family for ages – he came from old money – but since he'd cheated on his wife – which immediately doused my undying love for him – she had a good basis for claiming the place.

Though not good enough if she'd had to steal the dog.

The quiet street outside the building was empty, but Jackson chose a spot a little away from the house for the car. "We'll observe for a moment."

I sighed internally and settled to observe.

We observed a nanny leave the building with a toddler in a stroller – with great difficulty, as the granite steps up to the front door were steep and there was no ramp – and head toward the end of the building and the playground there with the best view in all Brooklyn. We observed a bus pull over and spew a horde of Japanese tourists with cameras from its guts to go take a few photos of Manhattan from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. We observed a delivery van for an Italian restaurant pull over and a man take a large box of food from the back and head with it to the house we were keeping an eye on.

"Is it just me, or does the delivery guy look a bit old?" I asked Jackson, observing the curious detail.

"And is it just me, or is he trying really hard not to be recognized?" Jackson asked in return.

"I'd go even so far as to say he was embarrassed to be a delivery guy, or maybe it's just me again."

"It could be you, yes," Jackson said nodding, his eyes trained on the man who disappeared into the building. "But I'd say the guy looked a lot like Craig Douglas underneath that ball cap and fake mustache."

My heart skipped a beat. "What do you think this is about?"

"I have no idea, but it's not a coincidence he's here. He knows Mrs. Allen."

"But why the disguise?"

Jackson shrugged. "Maybe he's trying his best not to be connected with Mrs. Allen. He must suspect we've taken Mac to his owner, which means their game is up."

"Wouldn't it be easier to stay away then?"

"Yes it would. So the question becomes, what was in that container."

"Awful lot of food for just two people, that's what."

He grinned. "Let's go find out."

"How do you want to play this?"

"All we need is a proof that Douglas knows Thorne's mother-in-law."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we'll take a photo of the two together."

Jackson took out a compact but effective-looking camera from the glove compartment. Then we got out of the car and crossed the street to the house. The front door was locked, to the surprise of no one. I sort of expected him to pull out lockpicks like Moreira had the previous night, but instead he turned to the buzzers by the door.

However, before he could select one, the nanny returned with the toddler, who was in the throes of an epic tantrum. Jackson hurried down the steps to carry the stroller up to the door and the grateful nanny opened the door without asking why we were there. Not that she would've heard the answer over the child's screaming.