Hush

fill her in on everything.

It was Rory who ended up picking up the phone.

“Oh, hi, it’s Lake,” she said. “I was looking for Maggie.”

“Maggie took the day off,” Rory said in a low voice.

“Is everything okay?” Lake asked, her concern piqued.

“From what I hear, she said she needed a day off to de-stress.”

“Oh…well, how are you doing?”

“To be perfectly honest, I’m worried about my baby. Last night I thought I was having contractions and I ended up going to the ER. It turned out it was just Braxton-Hicks, but it scared me.”

“Oh, Rory, I’m so sorry. You can’t take some time off?”

“Unfortunately that isn’t possible, especially if Maggie’s going to call in sick. It’s important for us to keep things together here, even if we’re upset. Emily thought Maggie was being silly for acting so scared, but now that she heard about the keys, even she’s wigged out.”

“Do you think someone could have taken those keys and then put them back?”

“That’s what the police were asking. Those detectives were back here yesterday for, like, an hour-after you left. The creepy thing is, I sit right next to Maggie-our desks actually touch.”

“And you never saw anyone going into her desk drawer?”

“No, not that I recall. Sometimes people-”

She paused then, as if interrupted or lost in thought. After a moment Lake wondered if she was still on the line.

“Rory?” she asked.

“I better go,” Rory said.

“But what were you going to say?”

“Um, nothing. I need to go. Dr. Levin is waiting.”

Lake hung up reluctantly. She couldn’t tell if Rory had been distracted or had just remembered something and was holding back on it. Lake tried Hayden next, anxious to connect to someone else who could update her, but the call went to voice mail.

After popping one more ibuprofen, Lake glued herself to her desk in her home office, her laptop opened in front of her. Both the PR person and the Web designer had come through for her, emailing their initial ideas. Neither batch was so dazzling that they’d scorch anyone’s corneas, but at least she had a few decent items to add to her list. She tapped away at her computer, shepherding her bullet points into categories so her PowerPoint would be easier to create. Generally this was the part of her work that she loved-organizing all her ideas and in the process tweaking them to be even better-but today she had to constantly force herself to concentrate on her task. Her mind relentlessly found its way back to a new tangle of worries: Rory’s unfinished comment; the doorbell last night; and the police visit yesterday. Did Hull’s surliness toward her mean something? Was she a suspect in the case?

Just once she got up to make tea. Though her throat felt less raw, the achiness all over her body had intensified.

At eleven, Hayden returned her call, though her attention had already been diverted by the time Lake answered.

“I don’t care if he sends the damn love train, I’m not attending,” Lake heard her yell to some underling.

“Oh, hi,” she said, turning back to Lake on the line. “You know, I must be getting old. My idea of a good time these days is staying home with an ice-cold bottle of Pinot Grigio and a bag of rosemary-scented potato chips.”

Lake had no time right now for Hayden’s chatter. “Anything up?” she said, trying to move the conversation along.

“We’re in a holding pattern at the moment. Levin called last night to report that the police had been there again yesterday. They’re clearly concerned by the fact that Keaton’s keys were sitting in a drawer where anyone could have put their little hands on them. So far that fact hasn’t leaked out, but it’s not an easy nugget to contain. The police may even leak it themselves to see what they flush out. And of course if they do arrest someone from the clinic, all hell is gonna break loose.”

“Do you think Levin has any ideas?”

“About what to do?”

“No, I mean about the keys-who from the clinic might have used them to get into Keaton’s apartment.”

“If he does, he’s sure not telling me. My sense is that his wheels are constantly spinning but I can’t always detect what’s going on in there. Maybe he’s just thinking about ordering a new batch of four-hundred-dollar shirts.”

Lake wondered if it had occurred to Hayden that Levin himself might be the killer. But she wasn’t going to raise that point.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Lake said. “Will you let me know if you hear anything? I just want to be aware of what’s up-you know, as I plot out the marketing.”

They promised to stay in touch and hung up. After forcing herself to eat lunch, Lake began to design the actual PowerPoint. When she worked she often found herself in what people called “the zone,” the experience of being so engrossed in a task that it felt blissful. Today every step seemed like agony. At three she began to check her watch. She needed to allow herself plenty of time to get down to the Waldorf.

As she opened her closet door, mulling over what to wear, she pictured herself in the same exact spot almost a week ago, clothes heaped on her bed as she sought the perfect outfit to intrigue Keaton. If only I could take it all back, she thought. If only I’d never gone out that night.

She chose a lavender cotton suit with three-quarter-length sleeves. It was a little dressy, but she needed Archer to take her seriously.

After the cab dropped her off, she entered the Waldorf from the Park Avenue side. The lobby was cool and quiet and almost empty, like the inside of a medieval church on a hot summer day. A few groups of tourists milled around the concierge desk or made their way sluggishly to the elevators, lugging black suitcases on rollers and shopping bags from the Disney store. Most were dressed down in cutoffs and T-shirts that said things like NIKE and VEGAS 2005 and BLASTED PARROT PUB AND SHOT SHACK.

Peacock Alley was a bar and small restaurant in an open area that spilled out to the left of the lobby. Though Lake had been to the Waldorf ballroom for events, she’d set foot in that bar only once-years ago, on a night not long after she’d moved to New York. She and a girlfriend, both new to the city, had made a list of things they might do for fun, and “Visit famous hotel bars” had been one of them. She had a vague recollection of it being decorated in peacock blue, but now it was all honey-colored wood and black marble.

According to the gilded clock in the lobby, it was only five-twenty and there was no sign yet of Archer. She lifted herself onto a leather bar chair and ordered a sparkling water. The bartender slid a small dish of olives in front of her. She rehearsed in her mind what she intended to say.

The lobby clock had just chimed on the half hour when she looked up and spotted Archer. He was better- looking in person than in the video she’d seen, perhaps because his face wasn’t caked with foundation. He had on a tux, which he wore easily, not like one of those men who complained of having to wear a “monkey suit,” but like someone who’d worn tuxes all his life, who’d been thrown into pools wearing them in his twenties and had probably never had to rent one.

Her face opened up as she recognized him, causing him to make his way purposely to her.

“Lake Warren?” he asked, his hand already out to her.

“Yes,” she said, taking it. His handshake was firm, and he gripped her hand almost without moving it. “Thanks for coming.”

“Is there an actual Lake Warren someplace in the world?” he asked, his eyes curious. They were a soft blue, Lake noticed.

“Probably,” she said. “But I haven’t heard of it. And as far as I know I wasn’t conceived there.”

He kicked his head back and smiled.

“Well, even if you were, it’s nice of your parents not to tell you. Kids hate hearing that kind of stuff.” He looked at her glass. “What are you drinking? I’m going to have a beer.”