Hush (13 page)

Maggie wasn’t yet at the restaurant. Lake took a seat in the
back so there was less chance of them being spotted, and she positioned herself so she could watch the door. Though the AC was groaning loudly, it barely made a dent in the heat. Her iced tea arrived with the ice cubes already no more than slivers.

She scanned the menu without seeing it. When she glanced at her watch it was twelve-forty. She’s not coming, Lake realized. She’s changed her mind.

But as she looked up to wipe her damp forehead with a napkin, she spotted Maggie in the doorway of the coffee shop.

She lifted her hand to get Maggie’s attention and when Maggie finally spotted Lake, she edged toward her through the tables. As she came closer, Lake saw that Maggie’s face was still slack with worry.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. “We were doing a procedure and it took longer than Dr. Sherman had planned.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lake said. “I’m just glad we could get together.”

Maggie’s eyes suddenly misted.

“I so appreciate your talking to me,” Maggie said. Her brogue seemed more noticeable, as if the stress she was under had teased it out of hiding. “I don’t dare talk to anyone at the clinic. Dr. Levin wouldn’t like it, and besides…” Her voice trailed off but it was clear what the unspoken words were: there was no one at the clinic Maggie could trust.

“I’m happy to listen,” Lake said quietly. She knew she had to stay casual, not seem too grabby for information or else she might scare Maggie off. “This must be so hard for you.”

“I just feel so guilty,” Maggie whispered.

“You shouldn’t, though,” Lake said. “How could you have possibly known something like this would happen? Plus, those keys might not be connected to the murder at all.”

“It’s not just about the keys,” she said. “It’s what happened
before
. I should have known something wasn’t right with Dr. Keaton.”

“WHAT? WHAT DO
you mean?” Lake asked. All around them diners droned in conversation and waiters plowed brusquely between tables. Yet none of it mattered. What did Maggie know? Lake wondered. She held her breath, waiting.

Maggie bit her plump bottom lip so hard it looked like it would burst. “Maybe I shouldn’t be blabbing like this,” she fretted. “My mother always says I talk out of school too much.”

Damn, Lake thought. Maggie had sensed that she was pouncing and pulled back. She had to be careful.

“This must be such an overwhelming time,” Lake said, keeping her voice easy. “You must feel so confused about what to do.”

“I do,” Maggie said, shaking her head. Her dark curls bounced.

“So Dr. Keaton wanted you to water his plants while he was in California?” Lake asked. Maybe she would have luck, she thought, getting Maggie to start at the beginning.

“Yes, the trees on his terrace,” she said. “And he wanted me to bring in his mail so his mailbox wouldn’t get stuffed.”

At that, Maggie’s eyes brimmed with tears and she dabbed at them with a paper napkin.

“But why give you the keys so far in advance?” Lake said.

“He had his spare set on him when he asked me, so he said he might as well give them to me then. I should have kept them in my purse, but the one I use in summer is really tiny and I didn’t want to lug the keys around all week—so I just stuck them in my desk drawer.”

As Maggie spoke, her eyes fell to her purse on the Formica table. It
was
small—a tiny white bag of quilted leather.

“Do you think anyone saw him give you the keys?” Lake asked.

“I’m not sure,” Maggie said. “We were in the hall down by the lab when he asked me. Someone might have seen us, I guess—or maybe overheard us from the lab.”

“How about when you put the keys in your drawer?”

“There were probably people around, but I don’t remember who.”

Maggie’s desk was in an open area that people walked by all through the day. It would have been easy for anyone to sneak the keys out of the drawer—especially during the busy hours of the day when most of the staff were engaged in the exam rooms or in the OR. Or at the end of the day, when staff had begun to leave.

“Did you ever have the sense that the keys had been moved in your drawer?”

“No,” Maggie said, almost as a moan. “I almost never use that drawer. I don’t think I even looked in there once after he gave me the keys. Oh God, what if I’m responsible for his death?”

“But you’re not, Maggie.”

The waiter approached and asked for their orders.

“Were you surprised that Dr. Keaton asked you to do such a big favor?” Lake inquired after he’d walked away.

“It wasn’t that big a deal. I live in Brooklyn and his place is right off the same subway line I take home. Plus I was getting paid. The last time he gave me a hundred dollars.”

“The
last
time?” Lake asked, perplexed.

“In March. I did this in March, too.”

“I’m not following,” Lake said.

“Dr. Keaton consulted with us once before, back in March, for about a month. Toward the end he went to the Bahamas for a long weekend and I checked on his place for him.”

“Got it,” Lake said. It seemed odd she hadn’t heard about Keaton’s earlier stint, and yet she realized there would have been no reason for anyone to bring it up. When she redirected her attention to Maggie, she saw that tears were now streaming down her face.

“Maggie?”

“That’s when it happened,” Maggie said in another whisper.

“The thing you mentioned before?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it.”

“It was Friday night—the weekend in March that he went away. A friend and I were going to meet in SoHo after I stopped by Dr. Keaton’s. I was running late so I called her from the apartment, and later, at the restaurant, I realized I’d left my cell phone on his counter. I felt so stupid. My friend said she’d go with me to get it and when we went back there after dinner, I had this—I don’t know—this creepy feeling someone had been in the apartment. There was a light on in the bathroom but I know I never turned it on.”

Lake felt her stomach twist. She remembered the light
she
had seen in Keaton’s bathroom—and her fear that the killer might be hiding in there.

“Do you think someone was there?” Lake asked.

Maggie’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Omigod, I don’t know,” she said. “I mean at the time I just
thought someone had come in after I’d been there and then left. I even thought Dr. Keaton might have come back early and gone out. But when I called him, he was still at the Ocean Club.”

This could mean that someone had been after Keaton long before last week, Lake thought.

“So you told him? Was he concerned?”

“At first he did sound concerned. He asked me some questions—like what time had I been there and when did I go back—and then he said not to worry. He’d been having a problem with the bathroom drain and he said the super had probably checked on it. That’s why I forgot all about the whole thing. Because Dr. Keaton had just dismissed it. But now I wonder if it might mean something.”

“It would be easy enough to check—the police could ask the super. You told them about this?”

“Not yet. I just thought of it on the way over here. But I will, I swear. I feel so dumb. When I told them about the keys, I could tell they thought I was a total idiot.”

“Had you just forgotten about the keys when you first talked to them?” It did seem like a stupid oversight to Lake.

“
Forget
’s not really the right word. When we were being called into the conference room that day to hear the news about Dr. Keaton, Brie whispered to me that he had been murdered. Dr. Levin had told her right before we walked in. She said someone had broken into his apartment. I knew he had a terrace so I figured the burglar had gotten in that way. It was only later, when I was talking to my brother and he said that Dr. Keaton had either let the person in or the murderer had used a key, that I remembered.”

“Do you think someone from the clinic
could
have done it?” Lake asked, her voice a whisper now, too.

Maggie’s elbows were on the table and she rested her face onto her fists, squashing both cheeks. Then she wiggled her head back and forth in a no.

“I just can’t believe that’s possible,” she said mournfully. “What would the reason be? People seemed happy that Dr. Keaton was joining the clinic.

“Maybe it’s all a coincidence, then,” Maggie added, lifting her head. “I mean, me having the keys and someone getting into the apartment. If you add it up, Dr. Keaton was only at the clinic for about seven weeks total. How could anyone get to hate him in such a short time?”

“Yes, it’s probably just a coincidence,” Lake said, smiling wanly. Despite her reassurance, there was every chance someone from the clinic
had
swiped the keys. Seven weeks
wasn’t
a very long time, but it was long enough for Keaton to have stumbled onto unscrupulous doings and confronted the person responsible. And that would have given the person reason enough to silence him.

They ate their sandwiches without enthusiasm, though Lake forced herself to ask Maggie a few benign questions about her background and how she’d ended up in reproductive medicine. She listened to the answers without hearing them. When Maggie said she didn’t have time for coffee Lake asked for the check.

“You know, I can never look at one of these without thinking of a story a patient once told me,” Maggie said, gesturing toward the untouched pickle on her plate. “The day after her transfer, she developed this incredible craving for pickles. She ate an entire jar one night. And then half of another jar. She thought it meant she must really be pregnant. But it turned out it was all in her mind. And now she says the sight of them makes her sick.”

Lake imagined the woman forking spear after spear from the jar and devouring them. That’s like me now, she thought. Half crazy in desperation.

They paid the bill and walked out of the restaurant. Lake glanced quickly around, making sure no one from the clinic was in sight.

“Are you going back to the clinic now?” Maggie asked her.

“Uh, no. I have some other appointments,” Lake said.

“Well, thanks for listening,” Maggie said. “I feel a little better. I still can’t believe that someone from the clinic did it.”

As they stood listlessly on the sidewalk a new question surfaced in Lake’s mind. “I’m just curious—how complicated was it getting into Dr. Keaton’s apartment?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Maggie said.

“I’m just wondering if someone might have gained access to the apartment
without
the key. Could they have jimmied the lock easily, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “There were just two keys in all, not counting the mailbox key—one to the lobby of the building and another to his apartment door. They
were
easy to use. Then again…”

She paused, thinking.

“What?” Lake urged.

“He had a different lock this time,” Maggie said. “And it was a little tight. He said I’d need to jiggle the key a little.”

“Wait,” Lake said. “You’re saying that since you were there in March, Dr. Keaton had his lock changed?”

“Yes.”

Maybe Keaton had been far more concerned about the light in the bathroom than he’d let on and had his lock changed because of it. But Maggie seemed oblivious to this connection.

“You need to mention that to the police,” Lake said.

“You think it means something?”

“It’s just good for them to have every piece of info,” Lake said, not wanting to say more.

“Oh, okay.” Maggie smiled at Lake. “It’s great that you’re so concerned about this.”

“Well, of course,” Lake said, trying not to sound defensive. “I care about the clinic—and the people there.”

“You just seem to care more than some of the others. Like Dr. Hoss. She’s just charging around as if everything’s absolutely normal. You’ve only worked here for a few weeks and you’re way more concerned than she is.”

Let it drop, Lake thought. The last thing she wanted was for Maggie to tell everyone how involved she was with the murder.

“I better let you go,” Lake said. “Take care, now—and let me know if I can help in any way.”

As Maggie walked away, Lake turned and headed north on Lexington. The heat normally would have been an incentive to take a cab, but she needed to walk and think. She felt stunned by what she had learned—about Keaton changing his locks, about the light left on in his bathroom once before. Had someone actually been after Keaton for a while? Maybe it was all connected to the gambling problem—a light left on by the intruder as a warning to pay up or else. Keaton may have instantly known what it meant and that’s why he’d had his lock changed.

She wondered if there really
had
been a gambling problem. What if Levin had made that up as a form of misdirection? Which led her back to the clinic. It was entirely possible that someone had overheard Keaton’s conversation with Maggie, swiped the keys, had copies made overnight, and returned them to the desk drawer first thing the next morning.

Lake had to figure out why Keaton had changed his mind about joining the clinic. If only she could talk to Kit Archer.

She tried his line again but again got voice mail. She considered he might be someone who screened all his calls. She tossed her phone in her bag in frustration. When she looked up she saw that she was almost face-to-face with Steve Salman and his wife, Hilary. They were headed south, in the direction of the clinic, their expressions blank, as if they’d been walking without talking to each other. Hilary, always pretty and bubbly, seemed undone by
the heat today. Her cheeks were blotchy and her shoulder-length brunette hair looked as if it had frizzed and then been beaten into some kind of chunky submission.

“Oh, hi,” Steve said, spotting her. “Are you done for the day? Someone said they thought you’d left.”

“Yes, I’m done for now,” Lake said. “Hello, Hilary. Were you guys having lunch together?”

“Lunch?” Hilary said, sounding mildly annoyed. “Please—we all know doctors don’t have time for lunch.”

“We were doing some quick tile shopping,” Steve said. “For a new master bath we’re putting in. I was looking for you earlier, by the way. Everything okay?”

“What do you mean?” Lake asked. Why was he always putting her on the defensive?

“I heard you were behind closed doors with Levin.”

“Actually, he did throw me a bit of a curveball,” she admitted. “He asked me to give my presentation this week instead of next. Maybe you could reason with him. It’s not so much that I need the extra time. I just don’t think it’s such a great idea to launch any kind of marketing and PR blitz right now. We should wait until the clinic is out of the eye of the storm.”

“Let me see what I can do,” Steve said. “I’m running late right now, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

As she said goodbye to the couple and turned to walk away, she wondered if Steve had heard about the keys in Maggie’s drawer. She wished she could talk candidly to Steve about the clinic, but after what he’d told the police about her, she wasn’t sure he could be discreet.

She took a cab the rest of the way home, and when they reached the corner of her block she saw that the street was nearly deserted. Families had decamped to the Hamptons or the Poconos or upstate New York. Even the afternoon doorman, Bob, was taking a break
from the heat, reading a tabloid newspaper in the small, dim room just off the lobby. His head snapped up as he heard her walk by.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Warren,” he said, folding the paper over and walking to the lobby. “By the way, I spoke to Carlos. He told me your safety concerns.”

“I appreciate that,” she said.

“That wasn’t the guy who was killed downtown, was it? The fertility doc?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

“Sounds like a bad situation.”

Oh God, she thought. She didn’t want to be getting into this with him.

“It is. I just want to be super careful.”