for the papers was a ruse so he could snoop around the apartment to see what I’ve been up to.”
“You mean, like he’s trying to find incriminating evidence?”
“Maybe. God, I don’t know. He’s like a complete stranger to me now and it’s impossible to read him.”
“What if he did want to get back together? Would you?”
A month ago she might have answered yes, but she realized now that Jack’s custody bid had burned off the last feelings of love she felt for him.
“No. Not in a million years.”
“Okay, then. So tell me about the murder. The Post said the cops don’t have a clue who did it. Is that true?”
Lake wished she didn’t have to talk about Keaton.
“I have no idea. The police interviewed everyone at the clinic, but it’s not like they’re letting us in on anything.”
For a brief moment, she ached to confess everything to Molly. By coming clean she could ask for guidance, and potentially soothe the twisted, tortured feelings inside her. Yet she couldn’t. Her friendship with Molly was still relatively new, and she didn’t know if she could totally trust her. She also couldn’t put Molly at risk legally.
“Are you upset about it?” Molly asked. “It must be so weird for you.”
“Uh—yeah, the staff seems fairly freaked out by it.”
“But what about you personally? The guy was getting pretty flirty with you. It must be upsetting.”
“It’s not like I knew him,” Lake said, hearing the defensiveness in her voice. “And would you please drop the ‘He was getting flirty with you’ stuff. That’s the last thing I need going around.”
“You’re not a suspect, are you?”
“No—of course not. But the situation is a mess.”
Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to get off the phone. Talking to Molly was churning everything up again.
“Look, I better get going,” Lake said abruptly. “There’s stuff I need to do while I’m up here.”
“Are you okay up there by yourself? You’re not scared, are you?”
God, she thought, this is going from bad to worse.
“No, I’m fine. I’ve stayed up here many times without Jack. I mean, the kids have always been with me, but I’ve never felt unsafe.”
“And Smokey’s an attack cat, right? I’m sure he’ll protect you if necessary.”
“The only thing he’s interested in right now is taking down some poor little sparrow. I should go. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, okay?”
As soon as she hung up, she regretted how curt she’d sounded at the end, but the conversation had been vexing. She wondered if there was any chance the police would contact her friends as part of the investigation. In her imagination she heard Molly describing to Detective Hull how she’d suggested Lake engage in eye sex with Keaton. Wouldn’t that be great?
For the next couple of hours she worked in the garden out back, digging up weeds, dividing a few plants here and there. At one point Smokey appeared and slid his body along her bare calves. She realized that touch of his silky black fur was the only comfort she’d experienced in the past two days.
“Are you happy to be back here, Smokey?” she asked him.
He let out a soft meow and then slunk away, snaking through a row of deadheaded foxgloves.
She went back to the weeds, trying to focus, but her mind kept coming back to Keaton and the police. Would it make any sense, she wondered, to contact a criminal lawyer to see what advice they would offer her under the protection of client confidentiality? But weren’t lawyers obligated to report a crime—and hadn’t she committed one by not going to the police?
The sun was getting low in the sky. She returned to the house and showered in the guest bath. If they just catch the killer everything will be okay, she thought as she scrubbed at her dirty nails. And it won’t matter who Keaton had been in bed with that night. She glanced at her watch through the ribbons of water. It was almost six. The house had satellite TV and she would be able to catch the local news in New York. Maybe there would be some kind of update. After throwing on a robe, she hurried downstairs and turned on the TV in the little den.
A four-car collision on the Tappan Zee Bridge was the top story, but the Keaton murder was next. The anchors went live to a young redheaded reporter outside the apartment building on Crosby. Lake grimaced at the familiar sight.