Second Honeymoon

Chapter 81

WITH BARELY ONE foot in the door, you couldn’t just hear the hum of the New York Times building. You could feel it.

Sarah and I walked quickly through the cavernous lobby, looking at the hundreds of small screens hanging from wires that were showcasing snippets of the news, the type flipping and scrolling in a seemingly synchronized dance.

After stepping off the elevator on the twenty-second floor, Sarah gave her name to a fresh-faced young woman wearing tortoiseshell glasses and a white cardigan. It was a pretty safe bet that she was the only receptionist in Manhattan who was reading Proust behind her desk.

“Ms. LaSalle is expecting you,” she said. “One moment.”

She buzzed the editor’s office, and within seconds we were following another fresh-faced young woman through a busy hallway, its walls lined with photographs of some of the paper’s more than one hundred Pulitzer Prize winners.

“By the way, I’m Ms. LaSalle’s personal assistant,” she announced over her shoulder.

The tone was confident, but it was also a false front. Her walking-on-eggshells body language as we approached the corner office left little doubt that she was thoroughly intimidated by her boss.

It was easy to see why.

Emily LaSalle, editor of the New York Times wedding section and doyenne of Manhattan high society, was an unsettling one-two punch of prim and proper. Her hair, her makeup, her outfit—complete with a double strand of white pearls—seemed composed. In control.

That is, she seemed in control right up until her personal assistant closed the door and left us alone. That’s when Ms. Prim and Proper basically turned into a puddle.

“I feel so responsible,” she said, tears suddenly streaming down her high cheekbones. “I chose those couples.”

That was silly, of course. It was hardly her fault. Still, I could understand her being distraught. A serial killer was knocking off people on their honeymoons, people who had just one thing in common—they had all been featured in the Vows column.

“You can’t blame yourself,” said Sarah, sounding like her best friend. “What you can do, though, is help us.”

“How?” she asked.

“The past two weekends featured the Pierce and Breslow couples. But the Kellers, the latest ones, actually appeared nearly two months ago,” I said.

“Yes, I remember,” said LaSalle. “They were delaying their honeymoon. Law school graduation, right?”

“Exactly,” said Sarah. “That means there’s a five-week gap between victims. We counted.”

“Or, to put it another way, five weeks of other Vows couples who are still alive,” I said.

“Why do you think they’ve been spared?” asked LaSalle.

“I don’t know. But first, we actually have to make sure that’s the case,” I explained. “At least one of those couples could still be on their honeymoon.”

“Oh, God,” said LaSalle, the reality sinking in.

There was only one thing worse than three dead Vows couples.

Four dead Vows couples.