“Now that you’ve had a chance to think, do you recall seeing anyone go into Ms. Donohue’s drawer.” The volume of his voice dropped as if he were glancing down and reading something.
She checked her relief. This might be a trap, she told herself.
“Uh, no, I didn’t. I work in a small conference room in the back and I’m rarely near Maggie’s desk.”
There was a long pause. She pressed her lips together tightly, commanding herself not to fill the silence.
“All righty, then,” he said finally. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“You’re welcome. I—I’m happy to help.”
“Great. I’m sure we will be back in touch.”
As she ended the call, she felt tempted to hurl her BlackBerry. What had his last comment meant? Did they definitely have her in their sights as a suspect?
She barely slept that night. Her body seemed gripped with tension and her throat ached again. At around three, as she tossed back and forth in her tangled sheets, she realized that she’d neglected to fax the kids earlier. The thought of Amy lying in her bunk bed sad and worrying made Lake’s heart ache.
It was drizzling outside when she dragged herself out of bed at six the next morning. Her sore throat seemed slightly improved but her heart had begun to race at the mere thought of the espionage mission ahead. She’d been so cavalier with Archer, jauntily agreeing to his suggestions, but now, as the time approached, she was nervous as hell.
She made coffee and noticed the message light blinking on the kitchen phone. She’d never checked when she’d returned home yesterday. The first call was from Molly, asking if she’d like to grab lunch today. The other was from Jack, saying he needed to talk to her. Go away, she wanted to scream at him.
She waited until ten to hail a cab to the clinic. The smartest approach, she knew, was to try to search through the files when everyone was preoccupied with patients. If she was lucky, she might even be able to avoid Brie altogether.
But she wasn’t lucky. After passing through the packed reception area, filled today with men, too—their sober faces made her think of soldiers being shipped off to war—she immediately came face-to-face with Brie outside her small work alcove. She was wearing crisp white pants and a long-sleeved white shirt, and with her cropped red hair she looked to Lake like a giant matchstick.
“Morning, Brie,” Lake said, trying to keep their exchange light.
“Can I help you?” Brie asked flatly, as if Lake were a stranger who’d pulled up alongside her to ask directions.
“No, I’m just dotting the i’s in my research. There are a few more things I need to read through.”
“Really?” Brie said in mock surprise. “I would have thought you’d be done with that part by now. I mean, your presentation’s tomorrow.”
“I guess I’m just a stickler for detail.” Lake knew sarcasm wasn’t the best approach with Brie, but she hadn’t been able to resist.
From there she threaded the maze of hushed corridors toward the small conference room. All the office and exam room doors were closed again today; behind some of them she could hear murmuring voices. She nearly jumped when Dr. Sherman emerged from one, closing the door quickly behind him. He nodded distractedly at Lake, his face flushed. She watched as he hurried down the hall and slipped into the lab.
In the conference room she dumped her purse and tote bag onto the table. For a moment she just stood there, deliberating. There was no reason to wait, she realized. She had to do it now. She took a pad and a pen with her in case she needed to write anything down.
As she turned the last corner toward the file room she nearly collided with Harry Kline.
“Oh, hey,” he said genially. “How goes it?”
“Fine,” she said as pleasantly as she could summon. She was still pretty sure he was the one who’d ratted her out to the cops—telling them that she’d seemed upset since the murder—and she had no interest in spending any time with him.
“I hear you’re doing your presentation tomorrow.”
“Yup. I’m just here to pick up a couple of files. Nice to see you.”
She could sense him following her with his eyes as she walked away. Just wait, she thought—he’d probably tattle to the cops that she was guilty of failing to engage in idle chitchat.
To her relief, no one was in the storage room—or in the kitchenette catty-corner to it. She had