Hush (11 page)

And then she wrote an
x
—for
unknown
. There was still a chance Keaton’s death was totally unrelated to the clinic. Maybe his gambling problem—if he’d truly had one—was at the root of everything and some horrible thugs had killed him. And now they might have their eye on her. But would they have bothered shaving her cat? Didn’t they just pump a bullet in the back of your head and dump your body in a landfill?

Her purse was on the table and she found her BlackBerry in the pocket and punched in Hayden’s number. There was a chance, she realized, the PR guru had an update on the police investigation.

“I was
just
this minute gonna call you,” Hayden said. “I thought I’d catch you before you and your cute little husband went out for the night. Or you probably have family stuff to do, right? Like, see one of those Narnia movies or something.”

Lake almost snickered. “My kids are away at camp,” she said. “And that cute little husband no longer lives here.”

“Oh, phooey—I hadn’t heard.”

Lake got right to the point, in part to change topics.

“How are things going with the clinic?”

“It’s been intense—and getting more so. Levin’s okay to deal with, but I can’t stand the posse, especially that Brett or Brie chick. She acts as if she’s got a stick up her ass—and she looks like it, too.”

“So I’m not the only one she seems to despise?”

“No, and she’s really ticked at me now. When I found out that Levin was going to send the troops home on Friday, I told her she had to stay and handle the phones. I needed her to keep track of all the vultures from the press who called and refer them to the cops. She was totally annoyed and made the receptionist do it.”

“You can hardly blame the press for their interest.”

“I know. But Levin says that since ‘octomom,’ they’re just aching for a negative angle to pursue with these clinics. There’s some TV reporter named Kit Archer that makes him apoplectic, and Levin wants to make sure he doesn’t come anywhere near this mess.”

Archer
. That had been the name on the file Levin had grabbed from her.

“Can you keep them at bay?” Lake asked.

There was a pause, and Lake could hear Hayden take a sip of something. Lake could almost see her long fingers, nails painted plum, holding the stem of a wineglass.

“No, not now. That’s why I was about to call. There’s been what you might call a disturbing development, and the shit is gonna hit the proverbial fan.”

Lake’s whole body tensed. “What is it?” she asked.

“Levin called me this morning. Apparently Keaton had given a set of his house keys to one of the nurses a few days before he was killed. They were sitting in an unlocked drawer all week—and anyone could have used them.”

“WHO?” LAKE ASKED,
her voice nearly strangled.

“
Who?
” Hayden said. “You mean, who could have used them to get into Keaton’s apartment and kill him? I have no fucking clue, and if Levin does he’s not sharing that info with me.”

“No—what I mean is, who at the clinic had the keys? Whose desk were they in?”

Lake had known that someone from the clinic could have killed Keaton, but this made the idea
real
, not just her own suspicion.

“Oh. Let’s see.” The sound of rustling papers. “Maggie Donohue.”

“Was she seeing Mark—Dr. Keaton?” Lake asked. Involuntarily her stomach clenched at the thought of Keaton in bed with Maggie.

“No, nothing like that apparently. Levin said she’d agreed to pick up Keaton’s mail and water his plants when he went back to California next week to tie up loose ends. And she’s got an alibi.
She was apparently celebrating her brother’s birthday at his house in Queens and spent the night on his couch.”

“But why didn’t she say anything before now?”

“According to Levin, it never crossed her mind that someone at the clinic might have done it. From what I gather now, there was no forced entry—but the police didn’t share that little tidbit last week. Maggie’s brother’s got cop friends. They told him and then he passed it along to her. She called Levin late on Friday hysterical.”

“But the keys aren’t missing?”

“No. Levin went into the office and found them right where she said they’d be. Obviously there’s a chance someone used them to slip into Keaton’s apartment and kill him—and put them back right after the murder. As you can imagine, if the killer works at the clinic, it’s gonna make crisis control a
tad
more challenging.”

Lake was silent as her mind grappled with the news. If the killer did indeed work at the clinic, there was a good chance he—or she—had also shaved Smokey as some kind of warning.

“I told Levin he had to call the police,” Hayden said, filling the silence, “but I could tell he didn’t like the idea. His bet is that Keaton’s death was an outside job related to the gambling problem—and that’s my hunch, too. But in the end he knew he had no choice. Maggie’s brother was going to spill the beans if he didn’t.”

“And so did he? Did Levin call the police?”

“Yup. Tell me—you know some of the players there. Could one of them actually be a murderer?”

“I really don’t know anyone there very well. Except for Steve Salman, one of the associates—and I can’t imagine him hurting anyone.”

“Well, even if someone there
did
do it, I’m sure you’re not in any danger. So stop worrying.”

“Worrying?” Lake said defensively. “What do you mean?”

“I can hear it in your voice. If the murderer works at the clinic, it obviously involves some internal conflict. You’re perfectly safe.”

That’s funny, Lake thought sarcastically. She was actually less safe now than she’d ever been in her life.

“Hold on, will you?” Hayden said before Lake could comment. “Oh shit, this is a client. I’ll call you back when I have more news.”

As soon as the call had ended, Lake fell back into the chair. It was clear now that someone from the clinic could have easily gained access to Keaton’s apartment, and thus killed him. Her mind want back to the “snag” Keaton had mentioned. A snag might refer to an uncomfortable situation that had suddenly flared up between him and someone on staff. She thought of how Keaton had called Levin a fertility rock star with a trace of mild disdain in his voice. Maybe there was a rivalry between them, one Keaton finally realized couldn’t be tamped down. But would Levin kill Keaton just because he had decided not to join the practice?

Later, as she lay in bed, wide-eyed and wired, she wondered if Harry had asked to see her so he could fill her in on the news about Keaton’s keys. Or could he possibly suspect her of something? When it came to deceit, shrinks were like truffle hounds—they could
smell
it. She squeezed her eyes tightly and tried to will herself into unconsciousness. But in her mind’s eye she suddenly saw Will and Amy lying in their bunk beds, the camp cabins engulfed by the black night. What if I’ve endangered them? she thought in anguish. It was hours before she finally felt her thoughts fray around the edges and she slipped into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, she forced herself to review all the notes she’d taken on the clinic. She’d promised Levin she’d make an initial presentation next week, and she needed to have the first batch of ideas ready. She’d come up with a few marketing concepts so
far, but she needed more—and stronger ones. As she worked she wondered how she would pull it off with her mind as crazed as it was. Maybe Levin would suggest an extension. Surely he himself couldn’t be in much of a mood to discuss a marketing plan in light of everything that had happened. She plugged away and lost track of the time, realizing with a start that she was ten minutes late for her meeting with Harry.

Harry was already at the restaurant when she arrived, skimming a folded section of the
New York Times
. Though he wore the same basic uniform she’d usually seen him in at the clinic—dark slacks and a cobalt-blue dress shirt open at the neck—he seemed different to her today as she approached. More relaxed, she thought. Weekends were likely when he allowed himself to unwind from the stress of counseling couples in the depths of despair.

When she reached the table, he looked up, and smiled. It was impossible to tell from his expression what his agenda was. Be friendly, she told herself. But volunteer nothing.

“I thought we might be the only two people in Manhattan this morning,” he said, rising. “But apparently seven other people decided to stay in town, too.” He lifted his chin to the half-filled tables behind her.

Their bistro table was small, and for the first time she had a chance to take in his face up close. He wasn’t classically handsome—the small bump on his nose got in the way of that—and yet his face was appealing: soft brown eyes, smooth skin, and the wry smile he often wore. His black hair was longish, a little wavy, and brushed back along the sides of his head.

“Do you usually stay in the city on weekends?” she asked.

“Sometimes I do—I love how quiet it is,” he said. He pushed his dark-rimmed reading glasses up onto his head. “So you only managed a
half
weekend in the country, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said. She was completely disinterested in small
talk but she knew she had to play along. “I needed to get back here. I still have a lot of work to do on my presentation.”

“How’s that going, anyway?” he asked.

Could he sense her discomfort? she wondered. He had that shrink way of watching neutrally as you spoke, never tipping his hand.

“Pretty well, I think,” she said. “But it’s challenging. It’s one thing to plan a marketing campaign for a spa or a new brand of body butter. This is so different. The people who need the procedures are vulnerable, and I don’t want to hit the wrong note.”

“I know. And some of what’s happening today is just so crazy,” he said. “I hear there are clinics that actually promise money-back guarantees if you don’t conceive. Can you believe that? And some of the egg-donor stuff is absurd. There’s one clinic down near Washington that offers ‘doctoral donors.’ You don’t just get a baby. You get one with a shot at becoming an astrophysicist.”

This
can’t be why he asked to meet with her, she thought—to discuss issues in the fertility business.

“Do you wish the clinic hadn’t decided to become more aggressive about promoting itself?” she asked.

“I certainly see the need for
some
marketing. It’s a business, after all, and things are getting much more competitive out there. I’m just not sure where you draw the line.”

The waitress interrupted then, wanting to take Lake’s order. Lake asked for a cappuccino.

“It must be heartbreaking dealing with the patients,” Lake said.

“It can be, yes. The worst part is that they often blame themselves. They sometimes talk about feeling cursed.”

“I saw one patient in the hall last week and she just broke down, sobbing,” Lake said. “I felt so bad for her.”

“I wasn’t in that day but I heard about it. Apparently Rory convinced the woman to make an appointment with me, but then she canceled it. Unfortunately I can’t force someone to come in to talk to me.”

“She looked fairly young. I assume she’ll keep trying.”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Why only maybe?”

“She’s already been through eight IVFs—that’s part of the reason why she’s so wrung out.”

“
Eight?
Wow, that’s a lot. It must be tough on her body.”

“You sound like Mark Keaton.”

The comment took her completely aback.

“What do you mean?” she said, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

“He didn’t seem to like how many rounds she’d been through, considering her situation. When I was looking through her chart, I noticed some comments from him that suggested that.”

“Do you think it
was
too much?”

He twisted his head and rested his cheek on his fist, turning the question over in his mind.

“I’m the guy who figures out what’s going on in their heads, not their bodies,” he said. “What I do know is that the clinic does good work. They help a lot of women get pregnant—and that’s why patients come to us.”

“I know you also have a private practice,” she said. “Why do this kind of counseling on top of that?”

“My sister-in-law had fertility problems, and she just unraveled. My poor brother was clueless about how to deal with her. I could see how counseling would have helped them.”

“What ended up happening?”

“After lots of treatment, they gave up. They’re still together fifteen years later, but their childlessness is the proverbial eight-
hundred-pound gorilla in the room. It didn’t help that I’d had no trouble myself.”

“You have children?”

“A daughter, nineteen. She’s a sophomore at Bucknell.”

Lake felt her face betray her surprise. She’d pegged Harry for early forties, but he had to be older than that to have a child in college.

He grinned, reading her. “I was only twenty-two when she was born—in my first year of grad school. Not the best way to start a marriage, needless to say, and in the end we didn’t make it. But Allison is great, and I’ve got no regrets.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. Where is this
going
? she wondered again.

“I should ask you the same question you posed to me. Any particular reason you decided to work for a fertility clinic?”

For a split section she felt the urge to explain the weird connection she felt between the patients and herself—because they’d all been betrayed by their bodies. He was such a good listener, and how soothing it would be to unburden the thoughts she never really shared with anyone. But she didn’t dare show anything of herself to him.

“When Steve mentioned the project it just sounded interesting. I’ve had friends who’ve struggled with fertility, but I was lucky.”

“Your kids are young, right?”

“Nine and eleven. They’re at sleepaway camp right now, up in the Catskills—near where I was when you called and asked if we could get together.”

She hoped her mention of the call would serve as a nudge. Harry stirred in his seat and she saw he’d taken the hint.

“Well, I appreciate your meeting me on such short notice, especially with all the work you have on your plate.”

“What was it you wanted to see me about?”

“To be honest, I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“How I’m
doing
?” she asked. She felt herself bristle.

“I may be wrong, but I sensed the murder really disturbed you. I thought you might want to talk about it. Even if stuff like this doesn’t affect us directly, it can still have an impact.”

She’d been right, she thought anxiously. He’d picked up on her panic. If she tried to deny what he was intuiting, he’d know she was lying. Her mind fumbled for a way to force him off track.

“The murder
was
upsetting,” she said after slowly taking a breath. “But there’s actually something else that’s been troubling me. I guess I’ve worn my heart on my sleeve without meaning to.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked as the waitress returned with Lake’s cappuccino.

No, I don’t, she thought. But she might not convince him if she didn’t cough up something. She took a sip of her drink before speaking.

“I was in the process of what seemed to be a fairly amicable divorce, and then out of the blue, my husband filed for full custody. It’s been very stressful.”

“What a creep,” Harry said. He started to shake his head in dismay but stopped and smiled. “That’s my professional opinion, by the way.”

Lake couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m so used to having to suck it up and speak neutrally about him in front of the kids; it’s nice to hear someone make a nasty comment about the man.”

“I’m sorry to hear you’re going through that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“I will, thanks.”

Harry glanced at his watch.

“Are you getting hungry?” he asked. “We could grab a bite of lunch here if you’d like.”

“Um, thanks—but I need to get back to my presentation. Maybe some other time.”

He said he would stay and have his lunch at the café. She took a last swig of her cappuccino. When she set the cup down on the table, Harry reached over and lightly touched her hand with the tips of his fingers.

“I hope that doesn’t hurt,” he said. When he withdrew his hand, she saw that he meant the marks Smokey had made when she’d tried to pull him out from behind the chair.

“Oh, no,” she said. “It’s just—a scratch. I can’t even remember how I got it.”

Flustered, she picked her bag up and rose to go.

“Good luck with your presentation,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll be brilliant.”

Hurrying home, she replayed the conversation with Harry in her head. She hoped her confession to him about the custody situation had quieted any suspicions he might have.