Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

HEARTBROKEN DAD OFFERS REWARD FOR KID’S RETURN

Real estate entrepreneur / philanthropist Evan Wingfield is still reeling after last week’s brutal murder of his estranged partner, Tanya Carnahan, and the apparent abduction of his four-year-old daughter, Maya.

Through a family spokesman, Wingfield announced a $10,000 reward for information leading to the recovery of his daughter.

“Although they were no longer in a romantic relationship, Evan admired and respected Tanya, and he is devastated by her tragic death. For now, though, all his energies and resources are concentrated on finding his daughter,” said the spokesman, Charles “Skipper” Hallowell. “He has fully cooperated with the police, and he will not rest until Maya is brought back to safety.”

Tanya Carnahan, an aspiring model and actress, was found sprawled on the floor of her lavish Upper West Side brownstone last Sunday morning, after an anonymous tipster, believed to have been her older sister, 33-year-old Scarlett Carnahan, called 911 to report Tanya’s death. A source close to the police investigation told the Daily News that Tanya Carnahan suffered a blow to the head. Although the actress had reportedly been in rehab for unspecified substance abuse issues, the source said preliminary lab results revealed substantial amounts of Xanax and alcohol in her system.

When authorities arrived at the town house, which is one of several in the neighborhood owned by Wingfield, they discovered Tanya Carnahan’s body. The child, however, was missing.

Evan Wingfield admitted to police that he’d seen his former girlfriend that morning, and that the two had a loud argument after he accused her of drinking, in violation of their custody agreement. He insisted, however, that Tanya Carnahan was alive when he left the home shortly after noon on Sunday.

Wingfield and Tanya Carnahan were in the midst of a very public and very bitter court battle over their daughter. Carnahan claimed that her former fiancé was a serial cheater who was indifferent to their daughter’s needs, while Wingfield claimed that Tanya Carnahan, who’d had only modest success with her acting and modeling career, was an unfit mother.

Friends of the couple say the two were introduced by Scarlett Carnahan, who at the time was employed by and in a relationship with Evan Wingfield. The relationship ended when Wingfield turned his attention to Carnahan’s troubled younger sister, a recent arrival from Atlanta.

“Troubled?” Letty exclaimed out loud. “She wasn’t troubled until she hooked up with that scumbag.”

Maya, startled, looked up at her aunt, her mouth puckered.

“It’s okay, ladybug,” Letty assured her. “Everything’s okay.”

The child smiled, uncertainly, before turning her attention to a handful of seashells they’d gathered during yesterday’s morning walk on the beach.

According to one friend, the 42-year-old real estate entrepreneur struck up a relationship with Scarlett Carnahan when she was working as a waitress at the Lazy Daizy diner in Tribeca.

At the time, Carnahan was struggling to find acting work, and needed a new place to live after roommates evicted her from her apartment in Queens.

“Evan befriended her, let her stay in an apartment he owned nearby, even gave her a job managing some of his real estate,” the friend said. “He helped her find a new agent, who got her some acting gigs. Eventually they started dating, in a casual kind of way. Letty then invited her younger sister, who’d been living and working in Atlanta, to visit her in New York.”

But as soon as Tanya Carnahan arrived in the city, the friend said, everything changed.

“Evan fell hard for that girl. Letty, obviously, was furious. It caused a serious rift between the two sisters. They didn’t speak for years.”

Maya patted her knee and held up her juice box. “All done.”

“Okay,” Letty said, taking the empty box. “Would you like some Goldfish?”

“Pees,” Maya said, holding out a rather grubby hand. Letty took the bag of cheddar crackers from her backpack and poured some into the child’s hand.

“What do you say?” Letty prompted.

Maya shoved all the crackers into her mouth and chewed happily. “Fank you,” she said, sending showers of orange crumbs down the front of her swimsuit.

Letty resumed reading the Daily News story, fuming. She knew exactly which of Evan’s bitchy pals the reporter had quoted.

Sascha Hallowell was married to Evan’s Princeton classmate Skipper. She’d pretended to like Letty, but as Tanya later confided, “She thinks we’re both a couple of hillbilly hayseeds. What Sascha doesn’t know is that good ol’ Skippy tried to put his hand up my skirt the last time we had dinner at their place.”

Letty could picture the sneer on Sascha’s face when she referred to Tanya as “that girl.”

She was scanning the rest of the story when she spotted Ava’s son Joe sauntering out of the motel office toward the parking lot. She watched as he walked slowly through the parked vehicles, stopping behind her Kia. He took out his phone and clicked off a few frames of the license plate, did a slow circle around the car, then got in his own truck and drove away.

Letty froze. She thought she’d been so smart buying that car. After renting a car at Newark Airport the previous Sunday night, she’d driven as far south as Raleigh, North Carolina, before checking into a fleabag motel.

Maya had finally stopped crying, and the two of them had fallen asleep almost as soon as they hit the bed, not waking until glaring sunlight blasted through the thin draperies. She’d been horrified to see that they’d slept past noon. She’d hustled Maya out of bed, put her in the shower with her, and headed back toward the interstate.

Of course, the child screeched with joy when she spotted the golden arches at the strip of shopping centers and fast-food joints near the interstate on-ramp. They were devouring their chicken nuggets and French fries when Letty noticed the car parked several yards away, facing traffic. It was a silver Kia with a FOR SALE sign posted prominently on the dashboard, and it offered the solution to something she’d been worried about since leaving the Hertz lot at Newark.

She’d rented an Acura with Tanya’s credit card. Although Letty was three inches shorter with hair several shades darker than Tanya’s, on a driver’s license photo she could easily pass for her younger sister.

The police would probably be looking for her by now. Maybe they had found Tanya’s Mercedes in Newark already, or maybe not. Maybe they had traced the credit card and seen that it had been used at the Hertz counter. Maybe she was already the subject of a multi-state manhunt. She needed to ditch the rental car, and fast.

From the plastic booth in McDonald’s, Letty called the number on the Kia’s dashboard sign and, after a short discussion about price and the car’s mileage, arranged to meet the seller in the Hertz lot at the Raleigh-Durham airport. He pulled up alongside her at the appointed time, got out of the Kia, and seemed surprised to find someone who looked like Letty standing there, clutching the hand of a little girl, surrounded by two small suitcases and a child’s car seat.

“Here’s the keys,” he said. “And the title. You gotta sign it right there.”

She wrote her name on the registration in a deliberately illegible scrawl, then handed him the money. He counted the bills and nodded. “I gassed it up like you asked.”

“Thanks,” Letty said.

Now she didn’t know what to do about the Kia, or Joe the cop. Should she move on? Where would she go? The Murmuring Surf seemed like as good a place as any to lie low and figure out her next move. Tanya must have had a reason for saving that magazine article about the motel. But sooner or later she’d need a job. She didn’t want to touch any more of the money in Tanya’s stash than was absolutely necessary. That was Maya’s money, as far as Letty was concerned.