Hush (7 page)

After grabbing her things in the conference room, she turned to leave and was surprised to see Harry Kline was standing in the doorway.

“Oh, I heard you were back,” she said, smiling. There was something so calm and easy about him; just setting eyes on him seemed to slow her pulse.

He smiled back. “I hadn’t planned to come in today but with everything that’s happened I decided it would be a good idea,” he said.

“I’m sure it’s a relief for everyone to have you here,” she said.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked. “I heard you were with the group at dinner that night.”

“It’s upsetting. I mean, I barely knew him, but still…for him to die so horribly. You know this happens in the city, but it always seems so removed. And now…”

Her nerves, she knew, were making her ramble, and when she looked up, she saw Kline watching her closely. Was he using his shrink skills to read her? Did he find something odd or troubling about her manner?

“I’d be glad to talk to you about it—if you think it would help,” he said.

“Oh—that’s nice of you. But I’ll be okay.”

“Here,” he said, pulling his wallet from his pants pockets. “I’ll
give you my card, and if you change your mind just call me. It’s no bother.”

She thanked him, accepting the card. She was touched by his offer, but there was no way she’d tell him a thing.

“Oh, by the way—is everything okay with
you
?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he said, his brown eyes looking puzzled.

“They said you had a personal emergency the past few days.”

“Thanks for asking; fortunately things are fine now.”

She said goodbye, now desperate to get out of the office. Instead of grabbing a cab, she walked west to Madison Avenue. She thought again of the bomb that Levin had dropped. If Keaton
had
been a reckless gambler, possibly leading to his death, it might make Hull and McCarty less intrigued by her. But at the same time she could be in even greater danger than she’d imagined. The person or people who’d killed Keaton might get wind of the fact that a woman had been in the apartment that night. What if the killer
had
been in the bathroom and seen her?

Since she was close to Central Park, she decided to walk home through the park, thinking it might quell her nerves. But by the time she reached Central Park West, her feet ached and she felt bedraggled. After trudging the four long blocks to West End Avenue, she was finally home and couldn’t wait to walk through her door. As she approached her building, though, she jerked to a stop.

Jack was standing under the awning. He was clearly waiting for her.

WHY THE HELL
was he here? she wondered. Had he stopped by to gauge her reaction to his nasty custody gambit? All she knew for sure was that a face-to-face with him was the last thing she needed now. She started to turn, calculating how to retreat without him seeing her.

But before she had fully spun around, Jack spotted her.

“Lake,” he called out, less a salutation and more of an order for her to stop. Though he usually wore business casual for work, today he was really dressed down—khaki pants, a pale yellow polo shirt, and, to her shock, flip-flops—as if he were about to split for the Hamptons that afternoon with a bunch of twenty-four-year-olds. He stuffed both hands in his pockets and strode toward her with that cocksure gait of his.

In the first weeks after his departure, she had yearned for her encounters with him—on those weekends and occasional week-k nights when he’d come to pick up or drop off the kids. As betrayed
as she’d felt, she missed him, literally ached for him some nights. In her mind back then he was like a person who’d gone off his meds. She believed that if she was simply patient enough, he’d straighten out and come back to her.

But it soon became clear there was no way of communicating with him. The first few times he’d brought the kids back, he’d agreed to join her for coffee in the kitchen—with Amy and Will ensconced in their bedrooms—and each time she’d experimented with a different tactic. Calm and slightly detached hadn’t worked; neither had a sympathetic ear. Finally she’d resorted to pathetic imploring—please, come back, she’d begged, for the sake of the kids and their fourteen years together. He’d shrugged her off, saying that he’d made up his mind, that they didn’t share the same needs and goals and that it was definitely over. Talking to him, she realized, was like driving onto a stretch of black ice on the highway and being hopelessly unable to gain traction.

So for the sake of her sanity—and self-esteem—she’d stopped the coffee klatches and instead went down to the lobby to meet him for each pickup and drop-off. She willed herself not to be so affected by his presence. Sometimes her eyes barely met Jack’s during their brief exchanges.

But her reaction this morning was totally different. The sight of him, in light of the recent lob via his lawyer, nearly made her sick.

“Have you got a minute?” he asked as he approached.

“Now’s not a good time,” she said coolly.

“I just need a few papers from the apartment.”

When Jack had conceded that it made sense for Lake and the kids to keep the apartment, they had agreed that he’d be able to store some clothes and papers there until his sublet was up and he bought a place of his own. He usually picked up items he needed when he brought the kids home. This out-of-the-blue request seemed odd, suspicious even.

She knew she couldn’t let him go upstairs. He might pick up a hint that something was terribly wrong in her life.

“I’m not even going up right now,” she said. “I just realized I left a folder at a client’s and I need to go back for it.”

“Look, I really need those papers today.”

Damn, she thought, if I don’t say yes, he’ll tell the psychologist I’m uncooperative.

“All right,” she said, keeping her voice flat. “Why don’t you tell me where the papers are and I’ll bring them down.”

He grimaced and shook his head.

“I’m not exactly sure where I left them. I’m going to have to come up and hunt around a little.”

She took a deep breath.

“For God’s sake, Lake, I’m not going to
bite
,” he said. “It’ll take all of five minutes.”

She felt a sudden urge to shove him down on the sidewalk.

“Fine,” she conceded.

They rode up the elevator in silence. Now that she was standing closer to him, she could see that Jack’s slightly round, boyish face was more tanned than it had been in years, and his dark blond hair was coarse—the kind of coarseness that comes from lots of sun and salt water. Obviously he’d been true to his pledge to live large this summer, to—how had he put it?—
go big or go home
. She felt a wave of disgust. He might in fact feel entitled to his new major-player lifestyle, but the deep tan and flip-flops came across to her as desperation.

“I’m just curious,” she finally said to him, still trying to keep her voice even. “Were you just going to wait outside the building until I came home?”

“You mean was I
stalking
you, Lake—is that what you’re asking?” There was anger in his voice.

“Of course not. But it seems like an awful waste of time.”

“You didn’t pick up your cell phone so I called that clinic where you work. They said you’d just left so I took a chance and came over here.”

“Did you call me there yesterday, too?” she asked, startled by the revelation.

“Yes—is that a problem?”

So Jack was the mystery caller. “I’m just wondering how you got the number,” she said.

“I decided to blow a buck and called 411.”

“I meant, how did you know the name of the clinic?”

“You mentioned it at one point when we were talking about the kids.”

She didn’t remember ever doing so, but she couldn’t be sure and decided it was best to drop it. Jack seemed hyped up now, irritated, and she sensed that her smartest strategy was to avoid pushing any buttons with him.

She opened the apartment door, with Jack right behind her. Smokey had obviously heard the key in the lock and was waiting in the foyer. He curled his body around Lake’s calves and then Jack’s.

“Hey, Smokes,” Jack said distractedly without bothering to pet the cat.

“Most of your stuff is still in Will’s closet,” Lake said. “Except your black suitcase—that’s in the back of the closet in our room.”

Our
room. She couldn’t believe she’d called it that.

“What I need is in the suitcase,” Jack said. “I’ll just head back there, okay? It shouldn’t take more than a minute.”

His tone had changed slightly. He sounded friendlier, less confrontational, which made her more suspicious. As he strode down the hall toward the master bedroom, she wondered if she should follow him, check out exactly what he was doing. Was this whole “I need a few papers” thing actually a ruse to
snoop
, to try to spot something he could use against her? Maybe that’s why he’d sud
denly sounded friendlier—to throw her off her guard. She felt her anger begin to rise.

As she started down the hall behind him, the phone rang. She wanted to keep tabs on Jack, but if she didn’t answer it, Jack would hear the message on the answering machine. She stepped quickly into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. Her hello seemed to echo through the quiet apartment.

“Don’t tell me that guy who was murdered is Dr. McSteamy from the clinic?”

It was Molly. At full throttle.

“Yes—it was him,” Lake said, lowering her voice.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Jack’s here. Picking up some papers. Or so he says.”

“What do you mean, ‘Or so he says’?”

“I’ll have to tell you later.”

“Okay, so back to McSteamy. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I was going to but it’s been crazy. Can we talk later? I need to get off.”

“Call me, okay? ’Bye.”

“Something the matter?” Jack said from behind her, nearly making her jump. With the phone still in her hand, Lake spun around to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, two folders under his arm, his head cocked in curiosity.

“As I told you—I’m busy today. Do you have what you need?”

“Yup. Thanks. And, by the way, I’m closing on my new apartment next week, so I’ll be getting the rest of my stuff out of here really soon.”

“All right,” she said, leading him down the long hallway toward the front door. Did he expect her to gush with gratitude?

“Are you planning to attend parents’ day at the camp tomorrow?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, incredulous at his question. She could
feel her blood begin to boil. “Did you assume I’d spend the day at Barneys along with the other neglectful mommies?”

She regretted the remark as soon as it had shot from her mouth. It was the kind of sniping Hotchkiss had warned her against.

“You shouldn’t take everything so personally, Lake,” he said, stopping in the foyer. “Are you just driving up for the day or are you going to be using the house this weekend?”

Now
what? she wondered. “Why?” she asked.

“If you’re not going to use the house, I’d like to stay there tonight. I have to go on to Boston from the camp and it’d be nice not to have to make two long trips in one day.”

“Actually I
am
using the house this weekend,” she lied.

He studied her face, though she couldn’t tell what he was looking for. A sign that she’d just fibbed? She wished he’d just leave already.

“Okay, then,” he said coolly after a moment. He reached for the door handle—and then hesitated. “Are you coming?”

“What do you mean?” she asked. It was as if his whole visit was some mind game meant to drive her nuts.

“You said you had to go back to your clients’.”

She remembered her earlier lie. “I do. But I have a call to return first.”

After he’d left, she leaned for a moment in relief against the foyer wall. Then she hurried down to her bedroom and swung open the closet door. His old black suitcase was exactly where it had been, though slightly askew from having been put back haphazardly. She surveyed the room. She’d totally changed the bedroom a month ago, making it all white and spare, far different from what it had been when Jack had shared the space with her. But it was less than tidy today, with a few items scattered on the low dresser—a Starbucks receipt, a clipping she’d torn from the
Wall Street Journal
. She walked over and glanced
at them. She was pretty sure they had been moved. Jack
had
snooped around.

Kicking off her shoes, she fell back onto the bed. Everything right now seemed Kafkaesque to her—Jack’s behavior, Keaton’s death. She thought of her lie about using the house in the Catskills. The kids’ camp was only twenty-five minutes from the house, but her plan had been to drive all the way to the camp from Manhattan and return to the city later that day. She had avoided going to the house all summer, mainly because of what was happening with Jack—she was afraid of memories. But maybe it would do her good to be there. The house had always been a refuge for her, and it might be exactly what she needed right now. Nothing there could conjure up Keaton and the horrible mess she was in. It would be great for Smokey to poke around outdoors. And there was no reason she couldn’t leave right now.

It took her only a half hour to pull everything together for the trip. She gathered her folders and her laptop, with the hope of working on her presentation at some point during the weekend. She packed the cooler with a small steak from her freezer and a fresh head of lettuce. As usual, Smokey resisted the carrying case, so she spent a few minutes gently easing him inside.

“You’re gonna get to be outside tonight, Smokey boy,” she told him. “Won’t that be nice?”

Ten minutes later, as she waited for the garage attendant to bring her car around, she considered how escaping the city would put her out of the loop with people at the clinic, who’d be among the first to hear news about the murder investigation. Cell service was spotty where she was headed, so if someone decided to call her, it might be impossible to get through. After pondering this for a few minutes, she called the clinic and asked for Maggie.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be at my house in the Catskills this weekend,” Lake told her. “The cell service
around Roxbury is bad so I thought I’d give you my number up there—in case you want to reach me.”

“Is one of the doctors supposed to call you?” Maggie asked.

“Um, no—I just thought it would be good for you to have it. You know, in case someone needed me.”

“Okay,” she said obligingly. “But I’m sure it won’t be necessary. Since we have no transfers today, Dr. Levin is sending everyone home at lunchtime. He thought we all needed the break.”

Lake also left a message on Molly’s voice mail, telling her about her plans and that she would catch up with her later.

The traffic north was heavy and aggravating, though Lake managed to make the first part of the trip in just over two hours. When she finally pulled off the highway for the last leg—along several rural highways up through the Catskill Mountains—she felt a rush of pleasure override her anxiety. In her mind there had never been a better word to describe the landscape up there than
piney
—endless fir trees hugging the mountains that rose steeply from the road. The temperature was seven or eight degrees cooler here than in the city, and she rolled down the window to breathe in the mountain air.

Nothing had changed in the months since she’d last been here, but then again it never did. The small towns she passed through, with their general stores, painted clapboard houses, and weathered steel bridges, seemed untouched since the 1950s. She and Jack had bought the weekend house here ten years ago based mostly on the affordability of the area, but she’d come to love the region—it reminded her of parts of the Pennsylvania landscape where she’d been raised.

Jack, however, had eventually grown bored of it. “Every other restaurant is made from an old caboose,” he’d said snidely during a drive up just a few months before their split. It had been no surprise when he’d told her she could keep the house.

Just outside of Roxbury she stopped at a farm stand to pick up fresh tomatoes and fruit. When she pulled into the town a few minutes later, it seemed deadly quiet, and there was the usual dustiness the town always seemed to wear in August as the summer wound down.

Her house was at the far end of town. When she and Jack had gone house hunting they hadn’t been able to afford a place with lots of land, so they settled on a lovely center-hall colonial in a short row of houses across from what was called the village green, but what was really a smidgen of park with a few tired benches. The house didn’t provide much privacy, but the backyard was spacious enough for the kids to romp around in. And she loved her next-door neighbors, David and Yvon, gay partners in their fifties.