"Did you ever think to use the doorbell?"

"I did," I said flatly. "No one answered."

She sat up, plucked a towel from the chair next to her, delicately wound it around her shoulders, and took a sip of lemonade. Beads of moisture on the tall glass matched those on her body, and I looked at them longingly as she said, "I'm afraid this really isn't a good time."

"All I need is Lauren's appointment book."

"Oh, right." She slid into thongs and veered toward the door.

"One other thing."

She stopped but wouldn't turn.

"How much did Lauren tell you about her family?"

"Very little. She hated to talk about anything personal."

"Did you know she had a younger brother?"

"Brian. He died from SIDS," Nicole replied, bored.

"No, it wasn't SIDS. Lauren's mother killed him with an iron."

She spun around and laughed, abrasive and mirthless. "Where do you get this stuff?"

I didn't smile. "From a twenty-six-year-old newspaper clipping. The Fairchild case made the front pages. Nell Fairchild killed her son, then herself."

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"Why? Why would she hurt him?" For the first time, Nicole's tone held no flippancy.

"He had been crying a lot the night before, and she snapped. She probably hit him to try to quiet him, and unfortunately, succeeded in doing it permanently."

"Where was Lauren?"

"I don't know."

"You don't think shea""

"I don't know," I interrupted, nerves frayed. "All I have to go on is what was in the Denver Post, which isn't much."

"Does Patrice know?"

"I'm not sure. I was hoping you could help me find out."

"Me? How?"

"By talking to her."

"Why me? We're not as close as you might think."

"But you've known her for six years."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to do it yourself. I'm finished with the Fairchilds."

"Please!"

"Listen, I have no intention of getting in the middle of this. If Lauren didn't have the guts to tell me, I'm certainly not going to tell her sister."

"Maybe you shouldn't be so hard on Lauren. Maybe she forgot."

Nicole snorted. "She was nine years old! How could she?"

"Very easily," I said softly. "It happens all the time. It's the most merciful human instinct: amnesia."

"I'm sure it happens to some people, but I rather doubt that's the case here. What's more likely is that this is one more tidbit Lauren kept to herself. The story of our relationship. End of discussion." She climbed onto the deck. "Wait here, and I'll get the calendar."

Nicole entered the house and firmly shut the door. I lowered myself onto the vacated lawn chair and watched a squirrel perform tricks in a spruce tree. I was about to take a swig of lemonade when, from an upstairs window, I heard two women engaged in heated arguing. I could identify Nicole, but not the adversary, and as hard as I strained, I couldn't discern words.

Five minutes passed before a red-faced Nicole, having donned an oversized T-shirt, returned. She handed me the appointment book.

"Thanks!" I patted the leather binder. "I hope this will help."

"Don't count on it. I told you before, find Dr. W, and you'll have your answer."

"Hmm."

"You don't believe me, do you? Don't you suppose I'd know if my own lover was having an affair?"

I shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."

"I certainly would," she retorted haughtily. She inspected her watch and added, "I'd love to keep chatting, but if you don't mind ..."

"Okay," I said and stood awkwardly, waiting for direction. Surely she didn't expect me to exit the way I had entered.

After an uncomfortable interval, she said, "I'll show you out."

She led the way, through an all-white, modern kitchen and a cluttered dining and living room, to a black-tiled entryway, where she grabbed my arm. "I almost forgota"you asked for a picture of Lauren." She reached onto a nearby shelf and retrieved a photo, which she wouldn't immediately relinquish. "You probably expected a picture of the two of us, but I couldn't find any recent, flattering ones. This was taken three months ago, on Ashley's fifth birthday. Don't bother returning it. I had double prints made of the roll."

She thrust the photo and almost struck me with it. "Don't they look happy together? Lauren was a different person when she was around Ashley."

I stared at the print, blinking rapidly. "But Ashley'sa"" I couldn't finish my sentence.

Nicole gave me a curious look. "Patrice didn't tell you?"

"No."

"I should have known. She never tells anyone. She wants them to believe she has a perfectly healthy child."

A lump formed in my throat. "But she's wearing hearing aids. Is she deaf?"

"Partially. That's why she goes to Children First. It's a school for children with disabilities. She had spinal meningitis when she was a baby, and it damaged her brain. She's never spoken a word."

It took several seconds for me to close my gaping mouth.

8.

Returning home from Nicole's, I counted the blocks, anxious to finish the commute and begin a nap. Once inside my apartment, I ignored the message light on the answering machine and went straight to bed, if not to sleep.

I closed my eyes, relaxed my body, and tossed and turned, but sleep wouldn't come. Not in the first hour, or the second, or the third. By the fourth, I gave up.

Exhausted beyond reason, I stumbled into the living room, found Lauren's photo and calendar, and collapsed to the floor, ready to plow forward with my investigation.

Just as I opened the appointment book, a buzz interrupted my stupor. Only partially coherent, I rose and spoke into the intercom. "Hello?"

"Fran Green here. Let me up."

"I'm kind of busy now."

"Never mind, I'm on my way."

So much for the tight security I paid a fortune to enjoy in my luxury apartment. Although I never pressed the button to unlock the front door, Fran nonetheless gained entrance by attaching herself to a resident entering with a passcard.

I barely had time to shove the photo and calendar underneath the couch before I heard a knock. Reluctantly, I cracked open the door. "Hi."

"Hey, kiddo, how ya doing?"

"I've had better days."

She pushed across the threshold and patted my arm. "Destiny called and told me about your brother. Terrible thing."

"She didn't have to do that."

"Said you wouldn't. You ought to let her in more."

"She has a key," I said, deliberately missing the point.

"You caught my drift."

"Yeah, yeah," I said dismissively. "Come in if you want. There's pop in the refrigerator, or water, or something. I don't know." I gestured lamely toward the kitchen.

"This ain't no time to worry about hostessing. You slept yet?"

"Not really."

"Better do that. How about the suicide case? You haven't told the sister about the kid's murder, have you?"

"No, Fran. I've been a little busy since our last call."

"Good," she said, overlooking the sarcasm. "Better postpone it, or leave it to me."

"You?" I slumped against the wall.

"You forgetting comforting folks used to be my job, in my former life as a nun?"

"No," I said slowly. "But I can't believe you'd do something like this."

"Believe it. I'll work the case awhile, if you like, just 'til your motor's humming again. It's your call."

I sighed. "I appreciate the offer, but I can handle it."

Her eyes narrowed. "You sure?"

"I felt fine this morning when I stopped by Nicole's and picked up Lauren's appointment book."

"Hot diggity!" Fran danced. "What's in it?"

"I haven't opened it yet," I lied.

Her face fell. "No rush, I guess, but you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes!" I said emphatically. "All I've thought about all day is David convulsing, and all I've heard is his grunting and moaning, these awful sounds he makes when he's seizing. The only time any of that left my heada"even for a seconda"was when I was at Nicole's."

"You ain't trying to be a hero?"

"Not at all."

"Okay, but the offer stands. You call on me for anything, you hear?"

I rolled my eyes. "I will."

"Good. Meanwhile, how would you like to speed things up, find out why Lauren did it?"

"I'd love to, but how?"

"Easy. Stroll in to the shrink's office and dip into Lauren's file."

I gasped. "Gloria Schmidt, the therapist she visited every Thursday? We can't!"

"Why not, the patient's dead. What's the harm?"