She pushed herself away from the desk and rose, not hesitating to give me a look of contempt as she disappeared down the hallway.

A few moments later, she pulled open the connecting door. 'He'll see you in his office, third door on the right.'

She resumed her perch at the counter and I walked down the hallway.

Hmm, no patient, huh?

At the third door I peeked in and saw Alan at his desk. The office was no more than a desk with a computer on it, two chairs, and a bookcase along the far wall, which was actually so close to the desk it seemed that books would crash onto our heads in an earthquake.

He stood when he saw me. The last time I'd been at his office, he'd had dark circles under his eyes. Now the circles were even darker and his clothes were wrinkled, making him look like a train wreck. 'Mrs. Connolly, what can I do you for?'

'Thank you for your time.' I offered him my hand. 'Do you have a few minutes to answer some questions, Doctor?'

He nodded, indicating for me to sit. 'Of course, of course. Uh . . . about your feet?' He stared at my Converse-clad feet.

'No.'

He clenched his fist then relaxed it and seated himself.

'It was brought to my attention that after Helene was killed, you asked for a full toxicology scan from the medical examiner,' I said.

He seemed surprised. 'Yes. That night on the boat, I told the EMTs and the police to please request a full tox screen.'

'Can you tell me why?'

He rubbed at his face. 'I thought her death was odd. I didn't think the fall down the stairs had killed her. Her neck wasn't broken, her skull hadn't cracked. No trauma from the fall that I would deem severe or deadly. So, I reasoned that the medical examiner would call the cause of death an internal organ failure. Like, say, heart failure. While technically that may have been true, I wanted to know what caused the heart failure. I thought we at least deserved to know.'

'Were you close to Helene?'

'Sure. She was Margaret's best friend.'

It was confession time, I needed to get everything I could out of Alan and I didn't think confrontation would be best.

I t.i.tled my head and softened my voice. 'You wanted to know because you were in love with her?'

Alan eyes opened wide. 'What?'

'I have it on pretty good authority that you were having an affair with Helene.'

His face turned red. 'What authority? Who said this? Who have you been talking to?' He jumped out of his chair. 'Who's saying I'm having an affair?'

Okay, maybe eliciting a confession wasn't going to be as easy as I'd thought.

I remained seated. I couldn't disclose that I had access through Galigani to things I shouldn't have had access to.

An ugly vein was pulsating on his forehead. 'And what about my wife? Did you mention this outrageous gossip to her?'

My hand involuntarily came to my throat, maybe because he looked like he could strangle me. It kicked up a self-protection instinct in me. 'No. I haven't been able to reach her.'

Suddenly my stomach clenched and I tasted bile in the back of my throat.

My G.o.d! Where was Margaret? Had something happened to her?

A bubble of anxiety crept along my spine and I did my best to suppress the shudder it was causing me. Alan, who was still hovering over me, suddenly dropped into his chair as though he'd just realized how physically imposing he was in this confined s.p.a.ce.

'Margaret didn't know about Helene. She suspected I was seeing someone, but she didn't know it was . . .' He rubbed at his temple. 'Please don't tell her. She left me. There's no point in her knowing now, is there? She took the kids and went to her mother's. You can reach her there.'

'She hired me to investigate you. She thought you were trying to kill her.'

Alan's hands dropped to his side. 'What? That's absurd!'

'I left several messages for her. She hasn't returned my calls.'

Alan's eyes narrowed. 'I spoke with her yesterday. Let me give you her mother's number.'

He proceeded to write the same phone number Margaret had left for me on her last voice mail.

'Do you have her mother's address?'

Alan scowled, but jotted an address down for me nonetheless. 'Look, I don't know where this is going, but even though Margaret and I were having problems, I would certainly never physically harm her. I'm a doctor, for Christ's sake.'

He glared at me, waiting for me to respond, but I simply closed my mouth and looked at him. He tapped at his desk. 'Helene and I fell in love. Things weren't working in her marriage. She wanted kids and we thought . . .' He sank his head into his hands.

'What about adoption? I thought Helene and Bruce were arranging for an adoption.'

Alan dropped his hands to the desk. He held on to the edge of the desk as though he were afraid it would run off on him. After a moment, he said, 'We thought I could get custody of my kids. Margaret . . . well . . . she's had some stability problems.' He moved his head from side to side, evaluating what to say next. 'She was addicted to prescription painkillers for a long time. I'm sure any judge would give me custody. Helene was excited about the opportunity to raise my kids.'

He wouldn't 'harm' Margaret, but he'd take her kids away.

Might as well kill her.

I remembered Margaret asking me to keep quiet on Alan's access to drugs. Now that I knew she had an addiction, this made sense.

I stood.

He stood with me, his face lined with sadness. 'I need to know what happened to Helene. Do you have any additional information?'

I was furious. He was a cheat. Had practically destroyed his poor wife and was colluding to steal the kids from her. The entire thing made me feel sick to my stomach and I didn't want to help him in any way.

And Helene?

What kind of person had an affair with her best friend's husband and schemed to take her kids?

I shook my head. 'You'll have to speak with the homicide cops. Inspector McNearny is a.s.signed.'

He nodded as I stepped to the door.

'Doctor, one last question. Can you tell me where you were on Tuesday the fifteenth?'

His eyes narrowed. 'Here. I had appointments all day.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

Praying

I dialed Margaret from my car. I left her a bit of a panicked voice mail announcing that if she didn't call me back shortly, I was driving to her parents' house to find her.

I hung up and dialed Jim. 'Is everything okay with you and Laurie? I want to follow a lead.'

'What lead?' Jim asked.

I explained to him my increasing concern about Margaret. He a.s.sured me that he could manage Laurie but made me promise to phone the police at the first sign of any trouble.

Margaret's folks lived in Palo Alto, a short drive out of San Francisco. Night was falling quickly and I noticed the full moon rising. The sky turned orange and pink as the sun set on another day. I ran through my to-do list in my mind. Thanksgiving was fast approaching and I still needed to make a lot of preparations, starting with a detailed honey-do list for Jim.

I arrived at the address Alan had jotted down for me and parked my car at the curb near a large Dumpster. It didn't appear as if anyone was home. There were no cars in the driveway or lights on in the house.

Maybe the cars were parked in the garage and everyone could be at the back of the house for all I knew. I walked up the jasmine-lined walkway. Only moonlight illuminated the path but I could identify the flowers by their sweet scent. It was the same scent as Laurie's shampoo and it made me miss her terribly.

What was I doing here instead of home with her and Jim?

I waved my arms around hoping to trigger an automatic eye on the walkway light. Nothing came on. On the front porch was a tricycle with a baseball in the basket.

In the corner of the porch, I noticed a few shards of gla.s.s glinting in the moonlight. The gla.s.s from a small window on the front door was missing. It appeared someone had broken the window and made an attempt at cleaning up. Only they'd missed a few pieces.

I rang the bell and waited.

Please, Margaret, open the door.

Where could she be? And why wasn't she retuning my calls? If she was fine, where was she now? She had two small children-where were they? And what about her parents? It was a cold Tuesday night, not like there was much partying going on.

I wrapped my jacket around myself tighter and rang the bell again, leaning on it so a continuous ring sounded.

I contemplated calling McNearny. But what would I say? I think my client is missing?

What about the shards of gla.s.s and the broken window?

Had someone broken in?

Could I reach inside the door and unlock it? Then what?

No.

The last time I'd gone into someone's house who wasn't answering the door, I'd found her dead. And that had resulted in a downtown interrogation and countless night-mares.

I released the doorbell and headed down the walkway away from the house. Maybe I could see something from the street. I walked pa.s.sed the Dumpster and stood next to my car.

What was a Dumpster doing in this high-end neighborhood?

Maybe they were moving.

An uneasy feeling settled into my stomach-all my defenses on alert. Images of Margaret's twisted and ravaged body surrounded by garbage filled my mind.

No! Kate, come on, don't lose it.

She is not not in the Dumpster! in the Dumpster!

A crackling sound emanated from some nearby bushes.

A mouse?

A squirrel?

A murderer hiding out?

I swallowed past the fear that was building inside me. Why had I come here alone? I should call McNearny, just dial him now. Who cared if I looked like a fool?

Instead, I pressed my car keychain's automatic horn alarm. The car lights went on and the horn blasted alternately. With all the noise, I couldn't tell if the scurrying crackling sounds from the bushes had ceased. I pressed the alarm b.u.t.ton again to stop it.

The bushes were silent.

But what did that prove? If someone was hiding out, wouldn't they be quiet now that I'd just blasted my horn?

Suddenly a light went on in the house.

Someone was inside.

I rushed up the walkway away from the bushes.

Wait.

What if it was an intruder?

I froze.

Maybe I should get into my car and call the police.

Nervous and not sure what to do, I spun around on my heel as the front door swung open and the porch light flooded the stoop. Margaret stood before me, her hair a tangled mess. She wore an oversized white b.u.t.ton-down oxford shirt and black and white pants in what can only be described as a cow pattern. Nevertheless, probably because she was tall and thin, the ridiculous pants seemed to work on her.

'Kate! Oh! I didn't realize it was you. I thought maybe it was Alan and I didn't want to get the door. Then I heard the car alarm . . . is everything all right?'