Part 31 (1/2)

Seizing the other woman's silence as an opportunity, Keely continued. ”I can't help but think that this might explain-”

”It's impossible,” Maureen whispered. ”It couldn't be . . .”

”If it was deliberate . . .” Keely persisted.

”You're talking about something that happened years ago,” Maureen murmured vaguely, as if she were thinking out loud. ”Why would someone wait all those years . . . ?”

”Do you see what I mean?” said Keely eagerly, leaning forward.

Suddenly, Maureen hunched her shoulders and resumed her defensive posture. Her chilly gaze returned to Keely's face. ”You're telling me this is a suicide note. Pardon me if I find the timing of this to be a little bit . . . suspicious. Did you forget you had it?”

Keely ignored the sarcasm. ”I never saw it before. I never saw it at all until this morning,” Keely said.

”Oh really? And your husband died . . . what, five years ago and about a thousand miles from here? That's very interesting. How did that happen, may I ask?”

It was difficult to continue, difficult to explain in the face of Maureen's incredulity. Keely knew she could not allow herself the luxury of anger with this woman. She had to make her understand.

”As you well know, my son Dylan found his father's body. But he admitted to me, just after he got out of the hospital-the Blenheim Inst.i.tute-that he found a suicide note as well. It was on the computer screen. He deleted it and never told me about it. He wanted to protect me.”

”Protect you? A nine-year-old boy?” said Maureen.

”Yes,” said Keely firmly. ”My son has always had a good heart. He didn't want me to know this terrible thing about his father. He thought he had deleted it, but he'd only closed the file on Richard's computer. Then, after it was done, I guess he was afraid to admit it to me. Once Dylan finally told me what he had done, he figured out a way he could retrieve it from Richard's old computer. This is the note.”

”Dylan,” said Maureen. ”I might have known.”

”What does that mean?” Keely asked.

”He's more cunning than I gave him credit for,” said Maureen. ”I almost admire him for that.”

”What are you saying?” Keely asked.

”I'm saying did he retrieve it or did he create it last night?” Maureen asked.

”Create it?” Keely cried.

”Did you ever think that maybe he just made this whole story up?”

”It was on Richard's computer the whole time,” Keely protested.

”Or he put it there,” said Maureen. ”Look, Mrs. Weaver, this is a computer printout. Anybody could have written it. There's no handwriting here. Nothing to identify it as being written by your husband's hand. You just can't seem to get it through your head that this child is a liar. That he'll say or do anything to keep himself out of trouble.”

Keely's eyes blazed. ”What is it about my son that bothers you so, Ms. Chase? Why are you h.e.l.l-bent on blaming him?”

”Well, I find it easier to believe that Dylan's a liar than to believe that Mark Weaver was a murderer. I mean, you'd rather believe thatbothof the men you married were murderers than that your precious son might be inventing a story to protect himself. Talk about deluded!”

”Dylan didn't make this up. He wouldn't.”

”He hated Mark Weaver,” said Maureen.

”He loved his father,” Keely shot back. ”He adored Richard. When he found that note, he couldn't bear to believe what Richard had admitted about himself. Dylan thought he could make it go away by erasing it, but it was in his heart and it was eating at him.”

”Very dramatic. But I'm not interested in sob stories, Mrs. Weaver. I have work to do,” Maureen said shortly. ”Send it toReader's Digest.Maybe they'll pay you for it. Meanwhile, you have wasted enough of my time for one day.”

Keely could feel her head starting to pound from the frustration, the futility of her effort. ”You have a very small mind, Ms. Chase. You say you care about the truth, but the only truth you want to know is the one you choose to believe. I think I'll take this note to somebody who isn't so biased.”

Maureen picked up the crinkled page and held it out to Keely with the tips of her fingers. An expression of distaste contorted her features.

”Keep it,” said Keely. ”We have copies.” With all the dignity she could muster, Keely shouldered her bag and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

Maureen let go of the page, and it drifted to her desktop. She put her elbows on the desk, steepled her palms, and rested her foreheadagainst them. She stayed that way for some time, then opened her eyes and picked up the letter again. She reread it several times, as if hoping the words on the page might have changed. Then, she buzzed for Josie. While she waited for her secretary to respond, she stared at the faces of the two red-headed children in the picture frame.

Josie opened the door. ”Can I help?” she asked.

Maureen nodded. ”Come in. Sit down. There is something very important that I need you to do.”

35.

Keely dreaded facing Dylan. She had been so hopeful that the meeting with Maureen Chase would prove useful, hopeful that the other woman could get beyond her petty need for vengeance and help her to find the truth. All the way home, she tried to think of how she would describe the meeting to him, so that it wouldn't sound like a total loss. As it turned out, she didn't need to explain the moment she came in, because Dylan had left a note saying that he had taken Abby and gone to the Warners'.

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 G.o.d,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-a.s.signments.”

”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.