Hush

Lake Googled Kit Archer himself. He was an award-winning journalist who had segued back and forth between print and television. He was now working as a correspondent for Reveal, an investigative news show. It was possible that Reveal was looking into the clinic as part of a story and that was why Keaton had gotten cold feet about joining. No doctor with a good reputation would want to find himself suddenly mired in that situation.

Lake touched the fingers of both hands to her forehead, thinking. She had sensed from the beginning Levin’s ferociousness about the clinic-in their initial meeting he had boasted of its record, dismissed some of the other East Side clinics, and said he was hiring her to get the attention they deserved. If Keaton had challenged Levin-about excessive rounds of IVF, for instance-or stumbled on abuses and threatened to expose him, Levin would have been livid and quick to defend his empire. Who was Keaton, after all, to get in the way of his glorious mission? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Levin sneaking into Keaton’s apartment and drawing a knife across his throat. She couldn’t picture it.

But he might have hired someone to do it. And Levin had just enough arrogance to keep up pretenses during a dinner in Keaton’s honor, playing the gracious host while knowing that Keaton would soon be dead.

Next Lake went to the Reveal website and clicked on Archer’s bio there. Archer looked as if he was in his early fifties, with the rugged, square-jawed good looks associated with guys who covered wars in safari jackets. What was different was his hair. Rather than the brown shellacked helmet head TV guys generally sported, it was totally white and long enough to be brushed behind his ears. Lake watched a video of one of his recent stories and scrolled through the site to see if he’d reported on fertility clinics, but there was no indication that he had.

There was only one way she was going to learn if Archer was looking into the Advanced Fertility Center and that was to call and ask him. She had no idea if he’d even talk to her, but she had to try. Her gut kept telling her that Keaton’s death was related to something going on at the clinic. She had to figure out what that was and make sure the police knew about it, too.

Lake raised her head and surveyed the cafe. There wasn’t anyone within earshot of her. No time like the present. After calling the main number listed for the show, she spoke Archer’s name into the automated system. Three rings later a deep voice announced, “This is Kit Archer.” The cadence sounded so natural that it took her a moment to realize she was listening to Archer’s voice mail message. She didn’t leave a message. She knew she’d be better off catching him off guard.

She still had an hour before she was due to meet Maggie and she felt ready to jump out of her skin. She gathered up her bags and stepped outside in the heat. For the next forty-five minutes she meandered up and down side streets, letting her mind toss around the little she knew, ticking through the staff and trying to imagine if someone other than Levin would kill to protect the clinic’s reputation. Sherman was a partner and would also feel threatened by any kind of accusations. So would Hoss; even though she wasn’t a partner, she was at the epicenter of the clinical work there. And then there was Brie. She was nothing more than support staff, but she seemed as fierce as a Doberman about both Levin and the clinic.

The blistering heat made Lake consider how ragged she must look. Her hair had begun to fall from its topknot and her back was damp with sweat.

At eleven forty-five Lake changed direction and headed back toward the coffee shop where she’d agreed to meet Maggie. She wanted to find out exactly where the keys had been and who might have known their whereabouts. Maybe those answers would tell her something.

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.”

13

“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.