“Yes,” Rory said. The kettle screeched and she flicked off the burner. “He walked out with me and asked what I was doing this weekend. He told me I should probably savor my time alone since I wouldn’t have much afterward. Why don’t I get the files now? I have to let the tea steep.”
Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky and a clap of thunder followed a second later. The cell of the new storm was moving their way. Rory walked back into the living room, and as Lake took a seat at the kitchen table, she saw Rory pull a handful of files from a cabinet.
“I didn’t have time to go through very many,” Rory said, returning. “But at least I found some.” She handed Lake the stack, all still in their hanging files.
The one on top was the Hunt file and Lake slowly opened it. On the basic information form, by both Alexis and Brian’s names, was a faint scribble of letters: BLg and BLb. The other charts, as Rory had promised, all had the codes, too, and it was clear Lake had been right-they all corresponded to hair and eye colors.
“Had you ever noticed these notations before?” Lake asked.
“No, but I rarely look at that page,” Rory said. “It’s just for basic information-nothing that matters so much in their treatment.”
As Lake studied the files, Rory set their cups of tea in front of them. A butter cookie was cradled next to the cup in each saucer.
“I hope you don’t mind herbal tea. Once I got pregnant I threw out everything with caffeine so I wouldn’t be tempted.”
“No, that’s fine, I’m wired enough,” Lake said distractedly and took a sip. There was honey in the tea, which she hated, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Rory.
“Are the letters a code-something that has to do with the embryos?” Rory asked.
“Yes. I can’t explain right now, but I will later, once I get more information.”
“Do you really think this is why Dr. Keaton was killed?”
Lake tore her eyes away from the files and looked at Rory.
“I think it’s definitely possible. If Dr. Keaton learned about this and threatened to expose the clinic, that would be a very big motive.”
Rory seemed to look through her, distracted, and Lake wondered what she was thinking. Suddenly she was jostled by a thought. She recalled an odd little pause when she’d spoken to Rory about Maggie’s desk.
“Do you have any ideas, Rory?” she asked. “Did you ever see anyone near Maggie’s desk?”
“Well,” Rory said. She sat down at the table across from Lake and took a long, slow sip from her cup.
“Rory, please,” Lake urged. “Tell me.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. But one day-it was just kind of odd. I saw Dr. Kline there. He doesn’t usually come by the nurses’ station.”
“Harry?”
“Um-hm. And he seemed kind of surprised when I came up behind him. He said he was looking for a pencil sharpener.”
Lake felt as if someone had shoved her from behind.
“I almost told you the other day,” Rory added. “But I didn’t want to upset you. I can tell you…you know-like Harry.”
“What do you mean?” Lake asked.
“I thought you two might even be dating.”
Lake shifted her body in surprise. Clearly Rory had picked up the interest on Harry’s part and thought it went both ways.
“I like Harry as a person,” Lake said. “But we aren’t dating.”
“Oh, my mistake, then. I think Harry’s great, too. I know he had problems with Dr. Keaton, but I can’t imagine him ever hurting him.”
“What do you mean, ‘problems’?” Lake asked. The hair on the back of her neck lifted.
“Because of what happened with his daughter-and Dr. Keaton.”
28
LAKE STARED ACROSS the kitchen table at Rory. She’d heard the words but it seemed as if they’d been said out of order and she could barely make sense of them.
“I’m not understanding at all,” Lake said. “What does Harry’s daughter have to do with Dr. Keaton?”
Rory cocked her head and lowered her eyes, as if she felt qualms about sharing the information.
“Please, Rory,” Lake urged.
“Okay,” she said, looking back up. “His daughter did a kind of internship during her spring break in March. Her name’s Allison. I guess she’s a biology major or something and she wanted to learn about embryology and help out-though I’m not sure what help anyone thought she could be. Well, that’s when Dr. Keaton was consulting the first time around, and she was very, very flirty with him. You could tell it made him uncomfortable, and when he ignored her she got mad. She told her father Dr. Keaton was the one being flirty and then Harry became very upset with Dr. Keaton.”
Lake couldn’t believe this. Harry had made no reference to the situation when he’d spoken of his daughter. Why not at least mention that she’d worked at the clinic?
“How did Dr. Kline feel when it was announced that Keaton was joining the clinic?”
Rory lowered her eyes again and took another long sip of tea.
“I don’t think very good,” she said softly. “I have a feeling it’s why he wasn’t around that day. It’s like Dr. Levin had told him that if he didn’t like it, tough luck.”
Lake’s mind began to reel. Flirting didn’t seem like much of a motive for murder. But what if Rory didn’t know the whole story? Maybe Keaton had been interested in Harry’s daughter. Maybe he’d even seduced her. He’d been so slick-it wasn’t hard to imagine. And then, in a rage, Harry had killed him. Perhaps this explained why Harry had tried so hard to tune into what Lake was feeling-he’d suspected she’d been with Keaton and knew something that could incriminate him. Maybe he was the one who’d shaved Smokey and put the catnip in her bag. But then who was the man who had forced her to jump in the river? Was the embryo stealing a whole separate issue?
Lake took a quick sip of tea to steady her nerves. “Have you told the police this?” she asked bluntly.
“The police? You don’t really think Harry killed Dr. Keaton, do you? Just because of what his daughter said?”
Lake didn’t answer. She was trying to get a grip on their situation. Harry had asked Rory what she was doing this weekend. He knew she was home alone. She’d have to convince Rory that staying at her apartment was the right thing to do-at least for a night or two.
A bolt of lightning lit up outside again, followed by an instant crack of thunder. The lights in the house flashed off and then on again.
“Oh God,” Rory said. “If the lights go out, I’ll die.”
“You’ve got flashlights, I hope,” Lake said. Her heart was beating fast now. She didn’t like being here. And she would like it a hell of a lot less, she realized, without any electricity.
“Somewhere,” Rory said. She jumped up and yanked a couple of kitchen drawers all the way open. “I don’t see them. Well, I know I have candles-probably in the living room.”
As Rory hurried into the other room, Lake pressed her fingertips to her lips, thinking. She doubted she’d have any more difficulty persuading Rory to leave. She took one last sip of tea and poured the rest in the sink, setting the cup there. As she turned, the yard outside seemed to explode in whiteness, as if it was being lit by a strobe. Thunder rolled over the house and the lights flashed off and on again. Lake could now hear that it was pouring hard outside.
Rory scurried back into the room, carrying a smudged cellophane-covered box with two white taper candles inside. It looked like it had been purchased in some other decade.
“This is it? You don’t have any more?”
“Yes. I mean, no, I don’t have any more.”
“All right-I’ve got a flashlight out in the car,” Lake said, digging her key out of her purse. “Have you got a slicker I can throw on?”
“Yes,” Rory said, following her to the door. “It’s in the hall.”