Hush

them.”

11

“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