As she said goodbye to the couple and turned to walk away, she wondered if Steve had heard about the keys in Maggie’s drawer. She wished she could talk candidly to Steve about the clinic, but after what he’d told the police about her, she wasn’t sure he could be discreet.
She took a cab the rest of the way home, and when they reached the corner of her block she saw that the street was nearly deserted. Families had decamped to the Hamptons or the Poconos or upstate New York. Even the afternoon doorman, Bob, was taking a break from the heat, reading a tabloid newspaper in the small, dim room just off the lobby. His head snapped up as he heard her walk by.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Warren,” he said, folding the paper over and walking to the lobby. “By the way, I spoke to Carlos. He told me your safety concerns.”
“I appreciate that,” she said.
“That wasn’t the guy who was killed downtown, was it? The fertility doc?”
“Yes. Yes, it was.”
“Sounds like a bad situation.”
Oh God, she thought. She didn’t want to be getting into this with him.
“It is. I just want to be super careful.”
“We always take precautions, as you know. But we’ll be extra careful.”
“Thanks, Bob,” she said and hurried past him.
As soon as she entered the apartment, she went through the rooms again, looking for anything askew, her new ritual. Then, after scooping up Smokey, she flopped on the couch and shut her eyes tightly. She needed to turn on the AC but wanted to sit and collect herself for a moment. She felt like she was in some horrible limbo without any sense of what to do next. Smokey nuzzled her hand with his nose, urging her to pet him. His furless body looked unbearably sad to her. Who did this to you? she wondered for the umpteenth time. And why?
The intercom buzzer pierced the silence, making her body jerk. She scooted Smokey off her lap and hurried to the hallway.
“Yes,” she blurted.
“Mrs. Warren?” the doorman said.
“Yes, Bob, what is it?”
“The police are here to see you.”
14
“WHAT?” LAKE ASKED. She’d heard him, but his words had nearly knocked her over.
“Two policemen. Detective Hull and…um, Detective McCarty. Oh, and I checked their IDs.”
She stood frozen in place, terrified. Had they managed to place her at Keaton’s apartment? she wondered. Were they going to arrest her? Then she remembered the keys. They would want to follow up with everyone at the clinic about the keys in Maggie’s desk. Please, please, let it be that, she begged silently.
“Uh, you can send them up, Bob,” she said.
Her legs felt like lead but she forced herself to the living room and let her eyes sweep over the room. It was essential, she knew, for her to come across as perfectly normal—a homebody, even hopelessly dull. But since the kids had been away at camp, many of the trappings of family life had been tucked away, and with its melon-colored silk drapes, ceiling-high bookshelves, and wood-framed landscape paintings, the room looked like it might belong to someone sophisticated and perhaps even posh. Quickly she pulled several books down from a shelf and tossed them onto the bare coffee table. Through the doorway into the family room she could see a Uno box on the card table. She darted in there, grabbed the box, and went back to drop it next to the books. She tossed one of the throw pillows onto the floor and scattered the others around the sofa.
What else? she thought frantically. But just then she heard the doorbell sound. It was too late for anything else.
She walked out into the hall, bracing herself. Suddenly she felt something soft on her bare calf. She glanced down to find Smokey wrapping himself around her leg. Lake clasped her hands to her mouth. She’d forgotten all about him.
She grabbed the cat and raced down to her bedroom.
“Good kitty,” she whispered, dropping him on the bed.
She was shutting the bedroom door when the buzzer rang again, insistent, irritated by the wait. As she made her way back down the hall, she closed her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
When she opened the door, she almost didn’t recognize the two detectives. Hull had worn his hair slicked back today, maybe because of the heat. McCarty’s face was coated with a sheen of sweat—and there were wet half-moons under each arm of his khaki suit jacket.