The Cradle Will Fall

BEFORE she'd hung up, Katie had told Molly about the accident and invited her over for lunch. But Molly's twelve-year-old, Jennifer, and her six-year-old twin boys were home from school recovering from flu. She would pick up Katie and bring her back to her own house.

While she waited, Katie bathed quickly, then put on a red wool sweater and tweed slacks. As she got herself ready, she tried to rationalize last night's hallucination.

Had she even been at the window? Or was that part of the dream? It had seemed so real: the trunk light had shone directly on the staring eyes, the long hair, the high-arched eyebrows. What frightened her was the clarity of the image.

Would she tell Molly about it? Of course not. Molly had been worried about her lately. 'Katie, you're too pale. You work too hard. You're getting too quiet.' Molly had bullied her into the operation scheduled for Saturday. 'You can't let that hemorrhaging condition go on indefinitely. It can be dangerous.'

From outside, a horn blew loudly as Molly pulled up in her battered station wagon. Katie struggled into a warm beaver jacket and hurried out as fast as her swollen knees would allow. Molly pushed open the car door and eyed her critically. 'You're not exactly blooming. How badly were you hurt?'

'It could have been a lot worse.'

The car smelled vaguely of peanut butter and bubble gum. It was a comforting, familiar smell, and Katie felt her spirits lift. But the mood was broken when Molly said, 'Our block is some mess. Your people have the Lewis place blocked off, and some detective from your office is going around asking questions. Big guy. Beefy face. Nice.'

'Phil Cunningham. He's a good man. What kind of questions?' 'Pretty routine. Had we noticed what time she left or got back-that kind of thing. We hadn't, of course.' They were approaching the turn to Winding Brook Lane. Katie bit her lip. 'Molly, drop me off at the Lewis house, won't you?' Molly looked at her, astonished. 'Why?'

Katie tried to smile. ''Well, I'm an assistant prosecutor and adviser to the Chapin River Police Department. As long as I'm here, I think I should go in.'

The hearse from the medical examiner's office was just backing into the driveway of the Lewis home. Richard stood in the doorway, watching. He came over to the car when Molly pulled up. Quickly Molly explained. 'Katie's having lunch with me and thought she should stop by here. Why don't you come over with her, if you can?'

He agreed, and helped Katie out of the car. I'm glad you're here,' he said. 'There's something about this setup I don't like.' Now that she was about to see the dead woman, Katie felt her mouth go dry. She remembered the face in her dream.

'The husband is in the den,' Richard said.

In the bedroom, Katie forced herself to look at the face. She recognized it instantly. She shuddered and closed her eyes. 'You all right, Katie?' Richard asked sharply. 'I'm fine. I'd like to talk to Captain Lewis now.' When they got to the den, the door was closed. Without knock ing, Richard opened it quietly. Chris Lewis was on the phone, his back to them. His voice was low but distinct. 'I know it's incredible, but I swear to you, Joan, she didn't know about us.'

Richard closed the door noiselessly. He and Katie stared at each other. Katie said, 'I'm going to recommend that we launch a full investigation.'

'I'll do the autopsy as soon as they bring her in,' Richard said. 'Come on, let's make the stop at Molly's a quick one.'

Molly's house, like her car, was a haven of normality. The smell of good food cooking, the blare of the television set, the kids shouting. When Katie went there, it was like reentering the real world, especially after a day of dealing with murderers, muggers, vandals and crooks.

The twins came whooping up to greet them. 'Did you see all the cop cars, Katie? Something happened next door!' Peter, older than his twin by ten minutes, was always the spokesman.

'Next door!' John echoed. Molly called them Pete and Repeat.

'Get lost, you two,' she ordered.

'Where's Jennifer?' Katie asked.

'She's in bed. Poor kid still feels lousy.'

They settled at the kitchen table. Molly produced corned beef sandwiches and poured coffee. But when Katie tried to eat, she found her throat was closed. She glanced at Richard. He was eating with obvious pleasure. She envied him his detachment. On one level, he could enjoy a good sandwich. On the other, she was sure that he was concentrating on the Lewis case. His forehead was knitted; his thatch of brown hair looked ruffled; his blue-gray eyes were thoughtful. She'd have bet they were both pondering the same question: Who had been on the phone with Chris Lewis?

She remembered the only conversation she'd had with the airline captain. It had been at Molly's New Year's party, and he'd been interesting, intelligent, pleasant. With his rugged good looks, he was very appealing. She also remembered that he'd been unenthused when she congratulated him on the coming baby.

'Molly, what was your impression of the Lewises' marriage?' she asked.

Molly looked troubled. 'I think it was on the rocks. Whenever they were here, she kept yanking the conversation back to babies, and he was upset about it. Since I had a hand in the pregnancy, it was a real worry for me.'

Richard looked up. 'You had what?'

'I mean, well, you know me, Katie. The day they moved in, last summer, I went rushing over and invited them to dinner. Right away Vangie told me how much she wanted a baby, and I told her about Liz Berkeley. She never was able to conceive until she went to a gynecologist who's something of a fertility expert. Liz had just given birth to a little girl. So I told Vangie about Dr. Highley. She went to him, and a few months later she conceived.'

'Dr. Highley?' Katie looked startled.

Molly nodded. 'Yes, the one who's going to…'

Katie shook her head, and Molly's voice trailed off.

EDNA Burns liked her job. She was receptionist-bookkeeper for the two doctors on the Westlake Maternity Concept team. Dr. Edgar Highley was a gynecologist-obstetrician. As Edna told her friends, 'It's a riot to see the way his patients act when they finally get pregnant; so happy you'd think they invented kids. He charges plenty, but he's a miracle worker. On the other hand, Highley is also the man to see if you've got an internal problem that you don't want to grow. If you know what I mean.'

Dr. Jiro Fukhito was the psychiatrist on the team. The Westlake Maternity Concept was one of holistic medicine. It was based on the idea that mind and body must be in harmony to achieve a successful pregnancy.

Edna enjoyed telling her friends that the Westlake concept had been dreamed up by old Dr. Westlake, who had died before he could act on it. Then, eight years ago, his daughter Winifred had married Dr. Highley, bought the River Falls Clinic, renamed it for her father and set up her husband there. 'She and the doctor were crazy about each other,' Edna would sigh. 'She was ten years older than he and nothing to look at, but they were real lovers. It was some shock when she died. No one ever knew her heart was that bad.

'But,' she'd say philosophically, 'he keeps busy. I've seen women who never were able to conceive become pregnant two and three times. Of course, a lot of them don't carry the babies to term, but at least they know there's a chance. You can read about it yourself,' she'd add. 'Newsmaker magazine is doing an article about him. They photographed him last week in his office, and if you think we're busy now, wait till that article comes out.'

Edna was a born bookkeeper. Dr. Highley always complimented her on the excellent records she maintained. The only time he gave her the rough side of his tongue was once when he overheard her talking to one patient about another's problems. He had finished by saying, 'Any more talking and you're through.'

Edna sighed. She was tired. Last night both doctors had had evening hours, and it had been hectic. Now, while it was quiet, she'd check the calendar to make sure she'd made all the necessary future appointments. She had been told by Dr. Highley that she was to make follow-up appointments with people as they left. Frowning, she leaned her broad, freckled face on a thick hand.

She was an overweight woman of forty-four who looked ten years older. Her youth had been spent taking care of aging parents. When Edna looked back at pictures of herself from secretarial school, she was always surprised at what a pretty girl she'd once been. A mite too heavy, but pretty nevertheless.