Page 66 of Old Money
He gestures to me across the table.
“A local number. I’ve got one too, but it’s not so common, our area code. So he barges in and asks who’s calling me from the village, when it’s midnight there.”
Talk about paranoid.
“And I have no idea, and I’m basically still asleep, so I just play the message—and holy shit!”
Alex cracks up again.
“His face, my God. You hit all the buttons. Mentioning 1999 and Wheaton. And the way you kind of fumbled the names? Something like, ‘Hi Alex, this is, um, uh, Alex?’ Did you do that on purpose?”
“What?” I ask, completely lost. “No, obviously not. Why?”
“Because ‘Alex’ and ‘Alice’ sound pretty much the same on a voicemail.”
I pause, catching up.
“Heknewit was me?”
The thought feels like ice water down my back.
“He was flipped out enough to get the call traced. And that was the end of vacation.”
Alex catches his breath.
“They had me on a plane two days later.”
“First class,” I say, not thinking. Quickly, I add, “I bet.”
“Every time.” Alex sniffs. “Know why? Because the flight crew keeps tabs on first-class passengers. They greet you by name. It’s like flying with a nanny.”
He nods, reading my face.
“I know, cry me a river. Anyway. Everyone went home. Patrick and Susannah were supposed to stay a few weeks longer, but I guess he pulled the plug on that too. The trip was supposed to get them away from all the media hype, and—you know, the anniversary. But, no dice.”
I sit, taking it all in. I can feel a thousand questions forming as my brain wraps around this scenario, and what it may or may not mean.
A garbled voice booms out from the terminal behind us and both Alex and I look toward it, startled.
“That’ll be my flight starting check-in,” Alex says. “You’re lucky. If it wasn’t so last-minute, they’d have flown me private.”
He reaches back, rolling a small suitcase around from behind the chair. He unzips the front pocket and pulls out a printed itinerary.
“Did you know this is the airport where JFK Jr. and his wife took off from?” Alex asks idly. “When they crashed, I mean.”
I pause, disarmed by both the comment and the blasé tone.
“Yeah,” I answer in a mumble. “Her sister too.”
Alex nods absently, scanning the itinerary.
“Why did you call me?” I ask, watching him closely. “I mean, why now? After trying to get rid of me.”
“You filed a police request,” he says. “Pretty clear what your end game is here.”
Alex cocks his head, looking at me sideways.
“I’m not saying you’ll pull it off—and I don’t want details. But I’m done.” He pauses, as though reconsidering. “You’re right. I had a choice back then. I guess I wanted to make a different one this time.”
