will be the tip-off that you know as much as they suspect you do.”
“And if she’s not and they catch her going through everyone’s records, this could put her in danger,” Lake said.
“Warn her that she has to be extremely careful.”
“Okay,” Lake said. She glanced down at the table, thinking about all of this. What would be the best way to approach Maggie? She would probably have better luck if she did it face-to-face.
“Speaking of danger,” Archer said, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced back across the table. He had leaned back in his chair and was studying her intently. “Tell me what you know about Keaton.”
Lake’s heart jumped. Where was this going?
“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked.
“How do you think his death fits in with all this? Did he learn something he wasn’t supposed to know?”
Lake slowly let out a breath in relief.
“I’ve wondered the same thing,” she said. “We know that anyone from the clinic could have gotten into his apartment by using the set of keys from Maggie’s drawer.”
She wished she could tell him about seeing Melanie Turnbull’s name on Keaton’s table. Or at the very least that Keaton was going to bail on the clinic. Maybe she could say that Keaton had let that fact slip during conversation. But that would only arouse Archer’s curiosity—and she couldn’t give him even a hint of the whole truth.
“Possibly,” he said. He finished his coffee and set the mug down. “But as much as I don’t like coincidences, there’s a chance that Keaton’s death is just that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I talked to some police contacts I have. They’ve got their own ideas about what went down.”
“Oh?” Lake said, almost in a whisper.
“Keaton had a lady caller the night he was killed. There was a torn condom wrapper on the floor next to his bed. Which explains why the cops seemed interested in you. They’re gonna look at every woman he crossed paths with.”
Lake looked down, running her thumb along the handle of her mug.
“I can see your mind spinning,” Archer said. “Got any ideas?”
“No—no, I don’t,” she sputtered. “I mean, I guess a woman could have killed him. Someone he was seeing. Is that what you think?”
“That’s one possibility,” Archer said. “Or… he had sex with this woman and, lucky for her, she left right afterward. And then after she was gone, someone from the clinic—or hired by the clinic—snuck in and did the job. Maybe it was even the guy who attacked you last night.”
“There’s so much to consider,” Lake said weakly. It was all she could manage to say. She wondered if Archer suspected something and was toying with her. She needed to derail this conversation as soon as possible. She quickly drained her coffee mug and announced that she would grab her things from the living room.
They were in her car ten minutes later. Archer offered to drive and she gladly let him. Whatever sporadic calm she’d felt on and off at Archer’s apartment was shot now—in part because she was headed home but also because of the breakfast-table conversation about Keaton. The traffic didn’t help: the blaring horns on Sixth Avenue made her want to jump out of her skin. She barely spoke to Archer on the twenty-five-minute drive to the Upper West Side.
“I think I should come in with you for a minute,” Archer said as they walked up the driveway of her parking garage. “Just to be sure everything is okay in your apartment.”
Once again she didn’t fight him. Given the mystery doorbell ring from the other night, she knew someone could easily gain access to her floor.
As they approached her building, she looked around. There were a dozen people hurrying along different points on the block, probably all bound for work. Nothing ominous, at least that she could see.
The doorman, Ray, was accepting a delivery of dry cleaning, but that didn’t stop him from greeting her and giving Archer a discreet once-over. She worried briefly if having Archer come up might be grist for Jack’s case, but she figured it was okay if he only stayed a few minutes.
“Does everything seem all right to you?” Archer asked as they stepped into the apartment.
“Yes—at first glance.”
“Why don’t I take a quick look around—if that’s okay with you?”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” she said.
At that moment Smokey shot down the hall toward her.
“Geez,” Archer said. “What’s happened to this poor cat?”