Sidney Sheldon 3-Book Collection: If Tomorrow Comes, Nothing Lasts Forever, The Best Laid Plans

‘Do you mind if we look around?’

‘Please, I insist!’

It took the lieutenant and his partner only a few minutes to make sure there was no one lurking on the premises.

‘All clear,’ Lieutenant Durkin said. ‘False alarm. Something must have set it off. Can’t always depend on these electronic things. I’d call the security company and have them check out the system.’

‘I most certainly will.’

‘Well, guess we’d better be running along,’ the lieutenant said.

‘Thank you so much for coming by. I feel safer now.’

She sure has a great body, Lieutenant Durkin thought. He wondered what she looked like under that mudpack and without the curler cap. ‘Will you be staying here long, Miss Branch?’

‘Another week or two, until Lois returns.’

‘If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.’

‘Thank you, I will.’

Tracy watched as the police car drove away into the night. She felt faint with relief. When the car was out of sight, she hurried upstairs, washed off the mudpack she had found in the bathroom, stripped off Lois Bellamy’s curler cap and nightgown, changed into her own black overalls, and left by the front door, carefully resetting the alarm.

It was not until Tracy was halfway back to Manhattan that the audacity of what she had done struck her. She giggled, and the giggle turned into a shaking, uncontrollable laughter, until she finally had to pull the car off onto the side of the road. She laughed until the tears streamed down her face. It was the first time she had laughed in a year. It felt wonderful.

Chapter Seventeen (#ulink_e34c667e-c82e-52ae-8a11-42e9fc8cbd52)

It was not until the Amtrak train pulled out of Pennsylvania Station that Tracy began to relax. At every second she had expected a heavy hand to grip her shoulder, a voice to say, ‘You’re under arrest.’

She had carefully watched the other passengers as they boarded the train, and there was nothing alarming about them. Still, Tracy’s shoulders were knots of tension. She kept assuring herself that it was unlikely anyone would have discovered the burglary this soon, and even if they had, there was nothing to connect her with it. Conrad Morgan would be waiting in St Louis with $25,000. Twenty-five thousand dollars to do with as she pleased! She would have had to work at the bank for a year to earn that much money. I’ll travel to Europe, Tracy thought, Paris. No. Not Paris. Charles and I were going to honeymoon there. I’ll go to London. There, I won’t be a jailbird. In a curious way, the experience she had just gone through had made Tracy feel like a different person. It was as though she had been reborn.

She locked the door to the compartment and took out the chamois bag and opened it. A cascade of glittering colours spilled into her hands. There were three large diamond rings, an emerald pin, a sapphire bracelet, three pairs of earrings, and two necklaces, one of rubies, one of pearls.

There must be more than a million dollars’ worth of jewellery here, Tracy marvelled. As the train rolled through the countryside, she leaned back in her seat and replayed the evening in her mind. Renting the car … the drive to Sea Cliff … the stillness of the night … turning off the alarm and entering the house … opening the safe … the shock of the alarm going off, and the police appearing. It had never occurred to them that the woman in the nightgown with a mudpack on her face and a curler cap on her head was the burglar they were looking for.

Now, seated in her compartment on the train to St Louis, Tracy allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. She had enjoyed outwitting the police. There was something wonderfully exhilarating about being on the edge of danger. She felt daring and clever and invincible. She felt absolutely great.

There was a knock at the door of her compartment. Tracy hastily put the jewels back into the chamois bag and placed the bag in her suitcase. She took out her train ticket and unlocked the compartment door for the conductor.

Two men in grey suits stood in the corridor. One appeared to be in his early thirties, the other one about ten years older. The younger man was attractive, with the build of an athlete. He had a strong chin, a small, neat moustache, and wore horn-rimmed glasses behind which were intelligent blue eyes. The older man had a thick head of black hair and was heavy-set. His eyes were a cold brown.

‘Can I help you?’ Tracy asked.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the older man replied. He pulled out a wallet and held up an identification card:

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE

‘I’m Special Agent Dennis Trevor. This is Special Agent Thomas Bowers.’

Tracy’s mouth was suddenly dry. She forced a smile. ‘I – I’m afraid I don’t understand. Is something wrong?’

‘I’m afraid there is, ma’am,’ the younger agent said. He had a soft, southern accent. ‘A few minutes ago this train crossed into New Jersey. Transporting stolen merchandise across a state line is a federal offence.’

Tracy felt suddenly faint. A red film appeared in front of her eyes, blurring everything.

The older man, Dennis Trevor, was saying, ‘Would you open your luggage, please?’ It was not a question but an order.

Her only hope was to try to bluff it out. ‘Of course I won’t! How dare you come barging into my compartment like this!’ Her voice was filled with indignation. ‘Is that all you have to do – go around bothering innocent citizens? I’m going to call the conductor.’

‘We’ve already spoken to the conductor,’ Trevor said.

Her bluff was not working. ‘Do – do you have a search warrant?’

The younger man said gently, ‘We don’t need a search warrant, Miss Whitney. We’re apprehending you during the commission of a crime.’ They even knew her name. She was trapped. There was no way out. None.

Trevor was at her suitcase, opening it. It was useless to try to stop him. Tracy watched as he reached inside and pulled out the chamois bag. He opened it, looked at his partner, and nodded. Tracy sank down onto the seat, suddenly too weak to stand.

Trevor took a list from his pocket, checked the contents of the bag against the list, and put the bag in his pocket. ‘It’s all here, Tom.’

‘How – how did you find out?’ Tracy asked miserably.

‘We’re not permitted to give out any information,’ Trevor replied. ‘You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, and to have an attorney present before you say anything. Anything you say now may be used as evidence against you. Do you understand?’

Her answer was a whispered, ‘Yes.’

Tom Bowers said, ‘I’m sorry about this. I mean, I know about your background, and I’m really sorry.’

‘For Christ’s sake,’ the older man said, ‘this isn’t a social visit.’

‘I know, but still –’

The older man held out a pair of handcuffs to Tracy. ‘Hold out your wrists, please.’

Tracy felt her heart twisting in agony. She remembered the airport in New Orleans when they had handcuffed her, the staring faces. ‘Please! Do you – do you have to do that?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

The younger man said, ‘Can I talk to you alone for a minute, Dennis?’

Dennis Trevor shrugged. ‘Okay.’

The two men stepped outside into the corridor. Tracy sat there, dazed, filled with despair. She could hear snatches of their conversation.

‘For God’s sake, Dennis, it isn’t necessary to put cuffs on her. She’s not going to run away …’

‘When are you going to stop being such a boy scout? When you’ve been with the Bureau as long as I have …’