Oh no,thought Keely angrily. She had warned him to keep their business quiet—not to tell anyone about the suicide note. She was seized with the irrational feeling that Dylan was consorting with the enemy. She wondered how he would like it if he knew what Dan Warner had suggested the other night. Another so-called friend who wanted to believe that Dylan was a liar, that his carelessness was to blame for Mark’s death. And there was the possibility that Dan was in on Richard and Mark’s secret—Ingrid had said Dan was Richard’s boyhood friend.
Keely felt tears rising to her eyes, and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths. She was so tired, she couldn’t think straight. There was a pile of laundry, bills had to be paid, and the refrigerator was nearly empty. She should go to the store while she had the chance. But she couldn’t face it today. She knew she should probably call the Warners, to tell them she was back home, but she didn’t want to hear Dan’s voice.
On leaden legs, she climbed the stairs to her room, crawled on top of her bedclothes, and pulled a light quilt up over herself. But she found herself unable to sleep. The house was silent and full of shadows. When she closed her eyes, all she could think of was the men she had married.What was wrong with her that she had chosen so poorly? She forced herself to think back to her first choice.
Richard had always seemed to be a tortured person. As an undergraduate, she had found his brooding and his sad eyes to be attractive. She had never dreamed that the sadness in his soul came from carrying such a terrible secret. She could understand why he didn’t tell her right away. But over the years, hadn’t she proved her loyalty to him? Why, despite all his professions of love, had he never trusted her enough to tell her the truth?
Keely tossed around under the quilt, trying to get comfortable, trying to reduce, in her mind, the impact of Richard’s confession. But it wasn’t possible.Who did you kill?she wondered.And why?
And then her thoughts turned to Mark. He was nothing like Richard. Where Richard had been tortured, Mark was positive, aggressive. There was nothing about him that suggested guilt or anxiety. When he courted her, she was finally won by his determination, his insistence that she would be his wife. Now that she looked back on it, it seemed as if he must have singled her outbecauseshe was the widow of his partner in crime. But it didn’t make any sense. Why would he want to tempt fate like that? And how could anyone live with the secret of having killed someone and remain upbeat?
“We’re home,” Dylan called out.
Thank God,she thought. This house was unwelcoming enough when the kids were home. Without them, it was unbearable. “I’m coming,” she called out, and headed for the staircase. Halfway down the steps, she heard the murmur of other voices. She took a few more steps so that she could see into the living room. Dylan and Abby were not alone. Nicole and Dan Warner were with them.
Dan turned and saw her coming down the stairs. He smiled at her. Keely could not bring herself to reciprocate.
“I didn’t know we were having company,” she said coldly.
“Not company,” said Dylan. “Nicole was helping me with my makeup-assignments.”
“And I have brought you something,” said Dan.
Keely reached out for Abby, who came cheerfully to her mother’sarms. “I need to start dinner,” she said. Without another word, she headed for the kitchen.
“I’ll help you,” said Dan, trailing behind her.
Keely put Abby in her high chair and handed her a block from the counter. Then she began searching in the cupboards for some food for Abby.
“You’ll want to see this,” said Dan. He perched on a barstool beside the counter.
“Oh, really?” Keely searched a cluttered shelf. She found the jar she wanted and extracted it. She examined the jar of applesauce, then began to try twisting open the lid.
“Here,” said Dan. “Give me that. You take this.” He handed her a priority-mail envelope with a return address from her cell phone company. Keely’s heart leaped.
Dan took the glass jar, popping the lid with one quick twist. “I found it stuck in my door this afternoon. The post office strikes again. I think it’s the list of phone numbers you were hoping for.”
“I can see that,” Keely said impatiently, moving away from him. Keely tore open the envelope and stared at the lists of names and numbers.
Dan studied her expression. “Anything interesting?” he asked.
She put the papers down on the counter and began to spoon Abby’s applesauce into a bowl with trembling hands.
“I know you were waiting for this. I wanted to get it over to you right away.”
“And I’m grateful,” said Keely evenly. “Okay?”
There was a silence between them. Abby squealed at the sight of her Peter Rabbit bowl.
Dan cleared his throat. “You still seem a little bit angry. Look, if this is about what I said the other night, about Dylan . . .”
Keely set the spoon and the applesauce down in front of Abby. “I don’t care what you think about Dylan.” Although even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. She was hurt that he suspected Dylan. That he didn’t share her faith in Dylan. But why should he? They hardly knew one another. “I do know that you’ve been less than honest with me,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You never mentioned to me that you and my first husband were friends.”
“We were?” said Dan.
Keely turned her head and gazed at him. “You’re saying you don’t know who my first husband was?”
Dan shrugged. “I assume his name was Bennett. Since that’s Dylan’s name.”
“You don’t read the papers?”
“Not always,” he said defensively. “Sometimes I skip the local rag. I have theWashington Postdelivered.”
“Richard Bennett,” said Keely. “Ring any bells?”
“Richard Bennett?” Dan asked.
“That’s right,” said Keely. “When you were growing up, he lived across the street from you.”
“I did know a kid named Dickie Bennett. He was a few years younger than me. That was your first husband?”
“Surprised?” she asked sarcastically.
Dan ran his hand nervously over his salt-and-pepper hair. “Well, frankly . . . yes. I am surprised. I mean, as kids, we were pretty friendly. I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together, Keely. I thought you moved here from somewhere else . . .”
“Did you know Mark as well?” she murmured, renewing her search in the cupboard.
“No, of course not. Look, I don’t see any reason for you to be angry about this. It’s not as if I was keeping it a secret or something. I just didn’t realize . . .”
Keely turned and stared at him. “I’m tired of people’s secrets,” she said.
“It wasn’t a secret,” he insisted. “I just didn’t remember.”
“Oh, right—just a coincidence.”
“Yes. Why are you so angry about this, anyway? It was an innocent mistake. People cross paths. Especially in a little town like this one. Why wouldn’t I have known him? I knew most of the kids from here.”
“Well, just like you said about Dylan. Anything’s better than admitting you lied.”
Dan shook his head. His face wore a cold, closed expression. “Fine,” said Dan. “If that’s what you want to think.”
Keely immediately felt guilty for her harshness. He seemed to be genuinely surprised by this connection.I don’t trust anyone,she thought.How can I?Before she could begin to explain, Dan turned and left the kitchen, calling for Nicole as he went down the hall.
“Can’t I stay?” Nicole hollered down the stairwell.
“We’ve overstayed our welcome,” Dan called back. “Come on. Now.”
Keely knew she should apologize. Perhaps he really hadn’t known or remembered about Richard. She was reaching the point where everyone’s behavior was suspect. She walked out into the hall behind him as Nicole came clattering down the stairs.
“Why do I
have to go?” Nicole said irritably.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you out for some Chinese food.”
“Can Dylan come?” she asked.
Dylan, who had followed her down the steps, looked hopefully at his mother, but then saw the expression on her face.
“Not me—I can’t,” Dylan said. “I’ve got a lot of work to make up.”
“Let’s go,” Dan said abruptly, opening the door.
“Dan, thanks,” Keely mumbled. “For bringing the envelope.”
But without another word, Dan and Nicole were gone, the door slamming behind them.
“Mom,” Dylan demanded. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m just stressed out,” she said.
“Well, chill out. You’re being mean to our only friends.”
“Sorry,” she murmured. She went back into the kitchen to finish making dinner for Abby. The pages from the phone company were lying on the counter. Keely quickly heated up some food for Abby. While Abby ate, Keely sat down at the pine worktable to study the list. It took her a few minutes to figure out the abbreviations and symbols but when she did, she was able to quickly locate what she was seeking. There were no outgoing calls on the night Mark died during the time that shewas out of the house. There were two incoming calls. One of the numbers, she knew by heart. It was the office. The other one, she did not recognize. As she looked back through the records, she realized that the same number appeared on the records every day—sometimes nine or ten times a day.
Keely frowned, trying to think whose number it might be. A client? She went into Mark’s office and found the list of clients that Lucas had given her. The frequently appearing number was not on the list. She went back to the kitchen, found the address book, and began to comb through it. She did not find a match. This was no way to find out, she thought disgustedly. Finally, she decided to dial the number. It was the most direct way to find out. She thought about how she would explain to whoever it was who answered. She decided that some version of the truth would be best. She would say she was trying to clear up Mark’s affairs. She’d found the number and wanted to know if there was anything . . . anything what? It sounded lame, even to her. She hesitated.
Then she found her resolve. Whatever she decided to say, she had to try. She dialed the number and waited for four rings. Her palm was sweaty as it gripped the receiver. The minute the phone was picked up and the voice began, she knew it was an answering machine. At first, she felt a sense of relief. She did not have to explain. Perhaps she’d hear the person’s name. But instead, the voice on the message simply recited the phone number. Then, with a growing sense of disbelief, she thought she recognized the voice as it said, “There’s no one to take your call right now. Please leave a number and we’ll call you back.”
She hung up the phone, then dialed again. Once more she listened to the message. This time, she was absolutely certain. The voice on the tape belonged to Maureen Chase.
36
It took a few minutes for the reality to sink in. Maureen Chase. Keely flipped through the pages of the bills again. All those calls. There had to be hundreds of them. And Mark had never mentioned it. They rarely spoke about Maureen. Why would they? According to Mark, there was nothing to say. And yet, clearly, he and Maureen were in constant communication. Of course, Maureen was the local prosecutor and Mark was an attorney. But even if they had cases to discuss, why would she call him at night and on the weekends? Keely never questioned Mark when he got a business call. He had a high-profile practice. It made sense that he would have to do some business in the evening. But judging from the volume of calls from Maureen’s number, Maureen was the business he was engaged in.
Keely tried to think about Mark as she knew him, but suddenly, he seemed like a stranger to her. A murder in his past. A nightly fusillade of phone calls from his former fiancée. Whathadhe told Keely the truth about? A pain seared up through her as she looked back over her brief life with Mark. What had really been going on?
She couldn’t stand it, just sitting there wondering. She had to find out something. And there was one person who would know. She was still holding the receiver in her hand. With trembling fingers, she punched in Lucas’s number at home. After a few rings, Betsy answered.
“Betsy,” said Keely, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Is Lucas there?”
Betsy sighed. “No. I saw him for a minute. He got your message. He just hasn’t had a moment. He had business out of town all day, and then, when he got home, he had to go out again to meet with a client. But I’msure he’s going to call you just as soon as he can catch his breath. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Keely hesitated. Then she said, “Betsy, maybe you can. This is going to sound . . . paranoid. But . . . I’ve just been . . . doing the bills and . . . going over our old phone records. I know this sounds . . . well, it’s just something odd . . .”
“Yes?” Betsy asked.
“Well, it just seems as if there are a huge number of calls here to and from Maureen Chase. Mostly from her. But still . . .”
There was silence from the other end.
Keely’s face flamed. “I know. You probably think I’m insane. Being a jealous wife at this point. I mean, there’s not much point with Mark . . . gone, but I just . . .”
Betsy made a little strangled murmur of protest.
“Never mind,” said Keely “I’m being horrible. I’m sorry I bothered you . . .”
“No,” said Betsy with a sigh. “No, you’re not being horrible.”
“I mean, what does it matter now who Mark called . . . right?”
“Oh, Keely,” said Betsy sadly.
Keely’s blood ran cold at the commiseration in the other woman’s voice. “Betsy, you sound . . . funny,” she said.
“Keely . . . I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. Lucas and I . . . we didn’t know anything for sure.”
Keely lifted her chin, as if preparing to take the blow. “What are you saying?”
“Well,” said Betsy uneasily. “As you say, it doesn’t matter now.”
“I want to know,” Keely insisted.
“Of course you do,” said Betsy. She sighed again. “I wish I could put your mind at rest. But I can’t.”
“But you were implying . . .”
“There was gossip . . .” Betsy said. “That was all. Just rumors. Lucas told me about it. He didn’t want to believe it any more than I did. I mean, that woman was . . . Some people seemed to think that maybe Mark and . . . that woman . . .”
Keely waited, not breathing.
“I never wanted to believe it,” said Betsy. “I mean, there was no reason. Anytime I tried to talk to him about it, he would just say he was very, very happy with you. And the children. And it’s true. He was happier than I had ever known him to be.”
Keely felt as if she had been punched. She sat, holding the phone, stunned by what Betsy was suggesting. “An affair?” she breathed.
“Keely,” Betsy pleaded. “It does no good to tie yourself in knots over this now. Oh, I wish I’d never said anything.”
“No, it’s all right,” said Keely woodenly.
“Mind you, we didn’t have any real evidence. It was more the change in . . . temperature between them. I mean, considering that he had jilted her to marry you—well, their relations were extremely frosty for a while. And then . . . we noticed a change. They seemed to be . . . maybe they were just being very civilized about things . . .
“I have to go, Betsy,” Keely said. She hung up without waiting for Betsy to reply.
A few minutes later, Dylan shuffled into the kitchen, a stormy expression on his face. “I’m taking this bandage off,” he announced, and began to peel back the tape on the gauze at his neck. “It itches, and I’m sick of it. It’s like wearing a sign saying ‘This jerk tried to off himself and he couldn’t even do it right.’ ”
Keely did not reply.
Dylan hesitated, then pulled the gauze off o
f his throat, revealing the jagged wound just beginning to heal on his throat. He frowned at his mother, who was seated at the table and staring into space. He dropped the bandage into the garbage, expecting her to protest, but she did not respond.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
Keely shook her head. “I . . . I don’t know. I’m trying to understand something.”
“You look like you’re on planet X.”
“Dylan, I’m all right,” Keely said sharply. “Leave me be.”
“Sorry,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m getting hungry. Is there anything here for supper?” He opened the door of the refrigerator and looked inside. “Slim pickings,” he said, shaking his head.
“Make yourself a sandwich, Dylan. I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Keely snapped.
Dylan looked at her ruefully. “I should have gone out for Chinese food,” he said. He began to rummage in the refrigerator drawer for cheese and cold cuts. He slapped together a dry sandwich and sat down across from his mother. Keely looked up at him and winced at the sight of the jagged gash on his throat, on the mend but still angry looking. Dylan noticed that he had her attention.
“So, how come you’re in such a pissed-off mood?” he asked. “What happened when you went to see the D.A.?”
Keely did not reply.
“With the printout of Dad’s letter,” he prodded. He took a bite of the sandwich and stared at her, chewing.
“She dismissed it,” said Keely.
“Dismissed it,” Dylan protested. “Has she got a better idea about what happened? Or is she just determined to pin it on me?”
Keely blinked at Dylan as if he had just awakened her, and an idea began to form in her mind. After all, why had she wanted the phone records in the first place? She wanted to see who might have come to see Mark on that terrible night.
Abby had started to wail. Robotlike, Keely picked her up, wiped her mouth, and set her down on the floor. All the while, her mind was racing. Suddenly, she was seeing everything in a whole new way. What if Mark and Maureen had . . . resumed their relationship? Perhaps it was Maureen who had come calling on Mark that night. Maureen who had a quarrel with him about their relationship. Maureen who pushed Mark into the pool, and then, not yet satisfied with her revenge, tried to blame it on Dylan.
Not Guilty Page 29
