Hush

by Kate White

  “Please, hear me out, Rory,” Lake said. “First of all, innocent couples are being affected by this. Secondly, I think there are dangerous people at the clinic. A man tried to kill me last night-and I’m almost positive he was hired by a person at the clinic.”

  “Kill you?” Rory said. She drew her body back, startled. “How?”

  “He pulled a knife on me in a park. Fortunately I was able to get away.”

  “But maybe it was just someone trying to mug you.”

  “I don’t think so. He followed me from where I’d gone to meet a former patient-who never showed, by the way. This guy seemed to know where I’d be. Plus, think about what happened to Dr. Keaton.”

  She hated even saying Keaton’s name, but she needed to use whatever she could to elicit Rory’s help.

  “Dr. Keaton?” Rory said, clearly shocked by the reference. “What do you mean?”

  “I think-I’m wondering if he may have stumbled onto some of this information himself. It may be why he was killed.”

  Rory wrinkled her nose. “But Dr. Levin said he had a gambling problem and some Soprano-type probably broke into his apartment and killed him because he owed lots and lots of money.”

  “There was no forced entry apparently. And his keys had been left in Maggie’s drawer for days.”

  “But Maggie said he had a terrace. The killer probably got in from there.”

  “That’s not possible,” Lake said. “There’s-” And then she caught herself. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d just been. She watched Rory’s mouth drop open and close.

  “What do you mean?” Rory asked flatly.

  In her mind Lake fumbled for a way to cover her slip.

  “Maggie,” she said after excruciating seconds. “She told me he lived on a high-up floor. How-how could anyone have gotten access to a terrace so high? Unless they were like Spider-Man.”

  Rory stared at Lake, her face as frozen as a mask. Lake couldn’t tell if she had guessed the truth-that Lake was personally familiar with the apartment-or was simply weighing whether someone from the clinic could have killed Keaton. Lake held her breath, waiting.

  After a moment, Rory shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. We live in an old gate house, and I don’t know anything about city apartments.”

  Lake relaxed. Rory may have felt a flutter of suspicion, but she’d clearly dismissed it.

  “If Dr. Keaton was killed because of this situation at the clinic, you can see how important it is that we stop them,” Lake said.

  “But what exactly would you want me to do?” Rory asked worriedly.

  Lake told her about the series of letters she might find in Alexis’s file, and possibly others.

  “Except for the Hunt file, it’s not necessary to comb through drawers in the storage room,” Lake said. “You could just look at each patient’s chart as she comes in for her appointment. No one should find that suspicious.”

  “What do the letters stand for?” Rory asked.

  “I’m still trying to figure that out,” Lake said, not wanting to divulge her theory.

  Rory scrunched her mouth, clearly mulling over everything she was hearing.

  “Rory, I know it’s a lot to ask,” Lake said, frightened now that Rory would say no. “But just think if someone had done this with your embryos.”

  “Okay,” Rory said finally. “I guess I could try to do it Monday.”

  Lake smiled gratefully. “That’s wonderful. And if you do find those letters on the information sheets-especially the Hunts’-it would help so much if you could make photocopies. But only if you can do it discreetly. I don’t want anyone to see you.”

  “All right.” Rory looked off, thinking. “I really should go now. It’s not good to be under a lot of stress when you’re pregnant.”

  “I understand completely,” Lake said. She reached into her purse for a business card. “My cell is on here, as well as my home phone. If you run into any difficulty at all, please call me right away.”

  Rory pulled a small note pad from her purse and wrote down her home and cell numbers.

  “My husband-Colin-had to go away again today and I’ll be on my own this weekend. I’m not telling him any of this, by the way. He wouldn’t want me to get involved.”

  Lake felt a twinge of guilt.

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Rory. Just be as careful as possible.”

  “I’m actually glad I can help you, Lake,” Rory said, smiling for the first time since she’d arrived. “I hope this doesn’t sound silly, but I really admire you. That’s why I wanted to tell you what I know. Can I call you this weekend? Just to go over everything again?”

  “Of course. And thank you for what you just said.”

  Lake reached across the table and laid her hand over Rory’s. Underneath she could feel Rory twitch in discomfort, as if Lake had cupped her hand over a small toad on the ground. Quickly, Lake pulled her hand away. Don’t push it, for God’s sake, she chided herself. Leave well enough alone.

  She stayed for a few minutes after Rory left, finishing her wine. Every nerve ending in her body seemed fired up in anticipation. Finally there was someone who could help her dig for the truth. There was no guarantee of Rory coming across anything, but this was a start. It felt like that moment when a nightmare begins to disintegrate from feeling utterly terrifying and you sense for the first time that you’ve been dreaming.

  Plus, there was the new information about New Century Research. That might turn out to be a valuable piece of evidence against the clinic, adding to whatever else she turned up. The only thing that worried her about this evening’s conversation was the slip she’d made about the terrace, but it appeared to only have aroused momentary curiosity in Rory.

  Out on the sidewalk, she checked nervously around and left Archer a message as she tried to find a cab. Ten minutes later she was finally on her way home. As her cab shot west through Central Park, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, expecting to see Archer’s name, but the phone number was unrecognizable.

  “Hello?” she answered hesitantly.

  “Mommy,” a young girl’s voice said.

  “Amy?” Lake asked.

  “Yes.” There was a stifled sob.

  “Amy, are you all right?”

  “No, Mommy. I’m not.”

  26

  “WHAT DO YOU mean, Amy?” Lake asked urgently. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the infirmary.”

  Involuntarily, Lake let out a moan of distress.

  “Mommy?”

  “What happened, honey? Tell me.”

  “The doctor thinks I have strep. They put this stick in my mouth and it made me gag.”

  Lake almost laughed ridiculously in relief.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

  “Mommy, it hurts so much. I can barely swallow.”

  “Is the doctor there now-can I talk to him or her?”

  “No, just the nurse is here. She’s in the other room. And I’m not supposed to be using a cell phone. It’s Lauren’s.”

  “Okay, as soon as we hang up, I’m going to call the camp and see what they can do.”

  “But I’ll get in trouble for using the phone.”

  “Don’t worry-I won’t tell. But I’m going to find a way to help you get better, okay?”

  Lake heard the sound of a sob catching in her daughter’s throat.

  “Mommy, I wish you were here. I feel so sad.”

  “I’m going to send you a long fax today to cheer you up. And when you start to feel better, you won’t feel so sad.”

  By the time Lake hung up, her panic had quelled, but she could feel anger filling the void. Why hadn’t the camp contacted her? She hated thinking of Amy so miserable. Immediately she punched in the number for the director’s office. He had stepped away, she was told and there was no one else who could help her at the moment. Lake asked that he call her the moment he returned.

  As the cab swung onto West End Avenue, she was rel
ieved to see that there were people in front of her building-a red-haired woman with a stroller, a tall thin, black man, vaguely familiar from the building, and her neighbor, Stan, holding his jacket over his shoulder with a hooked finger. They stood in a group as if chatting. It was only as she stepped closer that Lake noticed the slack faces. Something was wrong.

  “Is everything okay?” Lake asked, grabbing Stan’s eye.

  “The doorman’s MIA,” he said.

  “What?” Lake exclaimed.

  “Bob-the one who works afternoons,” Stan said to her. “We’ve called the super and he should be here any second.”

  “He never showed up for work?” Lake asked.

  “Apparently he was here earlier, but now he’s nowhere to be found. He seems to have vanished into thin air,” Stan said.

  “Maybe he’s just run over to buy a lotto ticket,” the tall man said.

  The woman shook her head in irritation.

  “This is so wrong. The door’s been left unguarded for at least half an hour-maybe longer.”

  “How do you know?” Lake asked her. She could feel the familiar panic begin to balloon again.

  “Because he wasn’t here when I went out to run an errand earlier. I know he was on duty earlier. I figured when I didn’t see him that he was just helping someone with a delivery, which is wrong, too, but some people in this building are just so demanding. But then he still wasn’t here when I got back.” The little boy in the stroller began to kick his legs hard in impatience. “Don’t do that, Cameron. Mommy doesn’t like it.”

  Lake’s feet seemed welded to the sidewalk. She hated being out there, exposed, and yet she didn’t dare go up to her apartment. What if her assailant from last night had found his way in when Bob had disappeared? What if he had something to do with Bob being gone? She clenched her fists, trying to figure out what to do. Then something caught Stan’s attention and as he turned his head toward the intersection, she followed suit. The super was hurrying toward them, his belly jiggling as he ran.

  The woman did most of the talking, rattling on to the super as her son moved on to banging his head against the back of the stroller like a ball attached to a paddle with a rubber band. Stan touched Lake’s arm.

  “You going up?” he whispered. “I promise to slay any dragons that may have snuck in.”

  She smiled weakly at him. “Yes, thanks.”

  “Well, I’m planning to stay in for the night,” Stan said as they reached their floor. “Just give a shout if you need anything.”

  There was a moment when she considered asking him to check out her apartment, despite how silly she would seem to him, but as she turned the key in the lock she found that the dead bolt was still secured, indicating that no one had entered.

  She opened her door and stepped inside. It was utterly still, as if it was a house that had been empty for years.

  “Smokey,” she called out, heading hesitantly down the long hallway toward her bedroom. She’d left the AC running in there for him, with the door partially closed. As she walked she looked left and right, into the living room and kitchen and then her bedroom, checking. She wished Archer were here now, helping her like he had before.

  Pushing the bedroom door the rest of the way open, she glanced toward the bed, expecting to see the cat curled there. But he wasn’t.

  “Smokey,” she called again. “Here, kitty.” There was no sign of him. Please, no, she prayed, don’t let this be happening again. She retraced her steps to the front of the apartment and slipped into the family room. Smokey suddenly shot from beneath an armchair. Lake jumped in surprise and followed him with her eyes. He stopped in the living room as abruptly as he’d started. Sitting back on his haunches, he licked a paw with his tongue. Lake glanced worriedly around the family room, and then, seeing nothing wrong, approached Smokey. She wondered what had made him hide like that. Was he just angry that she’d been out so much?

  As soon as she began to stroke him, her mind went instantly to Amy. In her wigged-out state about the doorman, she’d completely forgotten about her daughter’s plight. She raced back to the hallway where she’d left her purse and checked her BlackBerry. No call from the director yet. She punched the camp’s number again and this time she was told he was available.

  “Mrs. Warren, I was just picking up the phone to call you back,” Morrison said. “You got my message about Amy, correct?”

  “Your message?”

  “Yes, I left it on your home phone. I thought that was why you were calling.”

  Walking as they spoke, Lake spotted the blinking light on the answering machine in the kitchen.

  “Oh, right, yes. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “Amy is resting in the infirmary today,” he said. “Her throat is raw and scratchy and she’s running a slight fever. We’ve taken a culture for strep because we’ve had one other camper come down with it this summer. We should have the results later today.”

  “When did this start?” Lake asked.

  “She first visited the nurse today but apparently she hasn’t felt her best for a day or two. I wish she’d spoken up sooner.”

  Lake remembered her own sore throat, which had blossomed Tuesday. Maybe she’d passed something to Amy when she was there for parents’ day. She felt overwhelmed with the need to be with Amy and comfort her.

  “I have a small favor to ask,” Lake said. “Amy has been a little down in the dumps this summer-her father moved out several months ago, as I think you’re aware. I’m afraid that the combination of being sick and being away from home and everything else is going to make her feel very blue. I know it’s against the rules, but I think Amy could really use a visit from me. I’d appreciate it if I could stop by tomorrow.”

  “Oh dear, I’m not sure what to say,” he said. “Parents really aren’t supposed to drop by. And I’ve already let your husband come by one night since he was unable to make parents’ day.”

  “I understand completely. But I want Amy to enjoy her last days at camp-especially since I’d love her and Will to come back next year.”

  He hesitated, obviously registering the pressure she’d just imposed. “All right, then. We’ll just have to be discreet. When you arrive, ask for the infirmary and go directly there.”

  “There’s just one hitch,” she said. “I’d like to check in on Will, too. I can’t very well come to the camp and not see him. Could one of the counselors walk him down to my car afterward? I’ll make sure he doesn’t tell anyone.”

  His sigh of dismay was audible over the phone.

  “All right. But I’m just remembering-tomorrow is field trip day, and the kids are going to a water park. Will won’t be back until five.”

  Lake squeezed her temple, thinking. She had to make this work.

  “Okay, why don’t I get there just before five? I’ll visit Amy and then surprise Will with a quick hello when the bus returns.”

  “All right, then, I’ll let Amy know,” he said. She could detect from his tone that she’d left him vexed and grumpy. Tough, she thought.

  After she signed off, she dragged the hall table in front of the door again. Two photos toppled over as she gave it a final shove. For a moment, she just stood and stared at the scene in front of her. It looked right out of a horror movie-the door barricaded as if she were expecting the arrival of a homicidal doll or a serial killer hoisting a chain saw. Though Jack would be picking the kids up from camp in less than a week and a half and taking them to the Hamptons for another week, after that they would be back here with her. How could she explain the nightly barricade to them? Or what had happened to Smokey? How could she put them in danger?

  There was only one way to stop all this, and that was to expose the clinic. Everything-the kids’ safety, her safety, life as she’d once known it-rested on that. And that, in turn, depended on whether Rory could find the information she needed and if Archer could supply it to the right people. It had been ages since she’d relied on anyone, and now she was bank
ing on two people she barely knew. It felt unfamiliar, uncomfortable.

  She faxed the kids, telling Amy she couldn’t wait to see her but saying nothing to Will about her visit. For dinner she nuked a frozen French bread pizza that tasted of ancient freezer burn. She ate it with Smokey at her feet while she searched online for the New Century Research company that Rory had mentioned. Nothing came up. It was an organization that clearly preferred flying under the radar.

  At eight she tried Archer again. Still voice mail. It seemed odd not to hear from him since he’d seemed eager for an update. Maybe he was on to the next best story. Next she rang downstairs on the intercom. It was the night doorman who answered, having obviously been called in early. He had no news of Bob, he said. She dug the number for her neighbors out of a drawer, thinking Stan might have heard something. An answering machine picked up. Great-so much for his staying in for the night.

  Exhausted, she decided to turn in early and bunk down in the living room again-she felt more secure somehow, knowing she could keep an eye on the door. As she tossed a bed pillow and summer blanket onto the couch, she recalled how safe she had felt at Archer’s last night-a place where no one could find her.

  She was leafing listlessly through a magazine when the phone rang. It had to be Archer, she told herself. But when she picked up the receiver and glanced at the screen she saw that the caller was Molly. She nearly dropped the phone in shock, as if it had morphed into something venomous. And yet she knew it wouldn’t be smart to put off the conversation-she had to pretend things were perfectly normal.

  “Hi there,” Lake said, as a way of answering.

  “You okay?” Molly demanded. “I got that frantic message from you last night and then couldn’t reach you.”

  “Oh-sorry. I-I was a little worried about how my presentation went-the one at the clinic-and I just needed to talk. Sorry if I made it seem like an emergency.”

  “Your voice sounded really rattled. So it didn’t go well?”

  “Actually, I’ve heard some feedback since then and they liked it,” she lied. “Sometimes it’s just so hard to know in the moment.”