Mrs. Erlich sighed. "I think I'll be going."

"Wait just a minute." Keely cried, intercepting her. The woman turned her back on Keely and walked toward the French doors at the far end of the room. "How can you judge me like that? You don't even know me."

Mrs. Erlich seemed unaffected by Keely's desperation. She was peering out the French doors, a quizzical look on her face. "Didn't you say your husband drowned in your pool, Mrs. Weaver?" she asked.

"Yes," said Keely bitterly.As if you didn't know,she thought.

"And yet you continue to leave that gate standing open like that. Just asking for trouble . . ."

"It is not standing open," Keely said furiously, stalking back to the French doors as Abby fussed in her arms. "It's locked. Why would I . . ." As she reached for the doork.n.o.b, she looked out into the back, past the patio, and her words stuck in her throat.

"It looks open to me," said Mrs. Erlich.

Clutching Abby close to her, Keely rushed out the French doors, across the patio, and down the steps. She could hear the little clipping sounds of the social worker's heels as she followed her. Keely stopped at the gate and stared at it. The latch, which was fastened with a spring lock, was dangling open. The gate to the pool stood ajar.

Is this somebody's sick idea of a joke?Keely thought.Who would do this?She looked around wildly, but the yard was quiet, the only noise being the chirping of birds. Keely felt her stomach churn as she looked at the gate, gaping open. The pool was covered, true, but enough rainwater had collected in the center that it posed a serious danger to a child as young as Abby. A toddler who fell in there could easily drown.

"If I were you," said the social worker, "I'd be more careful."

21.

The social worker leaned her clipboard against the open door of her car and scribbled notes. Keely, watching her from inside the house, was tempted to run out and grab the clipboard away from her and beg her to reconsider her opinion. From the moment they'd met, Keely had felt as if the social worker was hostile to her. Every word she said had been cast in a negative light. And then the open gate to the pool had provided the grand finale. There was no reason for the social worker to a.s.sume the worst, and yet Keely was sure that Mrs. Erlich would have nothing good to say about Dylan's home. And then what? Her anxious speculation was interrupted by the phone's ring.

Reluctantly, Keely left her vantage point at the window and answered the phone. It was the hospital calling. Keely listened in silent misery as the woman in charge of patient services informed her that Dylan was being transferred this afternoon to Blenheim Inst.i.tute, a psychiatric facility for adolescents, and that she would not be able to see him until the evening, and then, only for half an hour. Keely said that she understood, and then she hung up the phone.Don't panic,she thought.Don't panic. It's standard procedure for Dylan to be transferred there.The doctor had been able to tell her that much. Keely tried Lucas's office, only to be told that he was still in court. "Sylvia, tell him I'm desperate," Keely said.

Sylvia promised that she would and rea.s.sured Keely that she had both Keely's home phone number and her cell phone number.

Keely hung up and buried her face in her hands. After the day she'd had so far, all she wanted to do was lie down and hide her face in a pillow against the light. The idea of sleep and temporary oblivion from all hertroubles shimmered before her like a mirage in the desert. But for Dylan's sake, she couldn't allow herself the luxury of sleep. Hours stretched before her during which she would not be able to see him. There was no use in worrying about the social worker. Keely would explain it all to Lucas and find out what to do. Meanwhile, she still had to press on and make good on her promise to Dylan. Maybe if she learned something this afternoon, she would have news to report to Dylan tonight at the hospital.Come on now,she prodded herself.Get moving.She didn't need to consult her list of the tasks she had outlined for herself. They were easy to remember. She had made all the phone calls, with little or no success. Now she had to go out and talk to her neighbors to try to find out if someone-anyone-remembered any detail from the night Mark died.

Abby made a few feeble cries in protest about being changed and dressed for the outdoors. Her sunny disposition was restored as Keely allowed her to keep holding on to a stuffed animal as she was placed in her stroller. Before long, they were standing at the end of the driveway, looking up and down the quiet street.

With a reluctant heart, Keely admitted to herself that they had to start next door, with Evelyn Connelly. Keely wheeled the stroller down the street to Evelyn's walkway and then up to her front steps. The drapes were drawn in the windows, as usual. Admonishing Abby to wait quietly, Keely mounted the steps and rang the bell. Inside, the dogs began barking furiously. Keely waited for what seemed a long time until Evelyn opened the door a crack. Evelyn's expression grew wary at the sight of Keely. Keely pretended not to notice.

"Evelyn," she said, trying to sound brisk and businesslike, "I hate to bother you, but I wondered if you had a minute."

Evelyn did not open the door wider or invite her in. Evelyn shifted her weight from one foot to another and tapped one of the dogs, who was straining to get past her. The dog obediently retreated. "What about?" Evelyn asked.

"It won't take long. I just wanted to ask you about the pool gate. Someone opened the pool gate today."

Evelyn sighed."Oh, all right, I'm sorry. I had to get in there for a minute."

Keely stared at her. "You opened it?"

" 'You opened it?' " Evelyn mimicked her unkindly. "Good Lord. What is the big deal?"

Keely could hardly believe her ears. "Why in the world . . . ?"

"I was out back on the terrace, all right? I was. .h.i.tting tennis b.a.l.l.s to the dogs. They were playing fetch. I never get to actuallyplaytennis anymore because I am practically a prisoner here . . ."

"And . . ." Keely said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"And I hit one into your yard. I couldn't find it, and then I thought I saw it by the pool. How did you know anyway? You weren't home."

"You left the gate wide open," Keely said grimly.

"Oh, excuse me," Evelyn said sarcastically. "Are you going to have me arrested for trespa.s.sing?"

"Abby could have fallen into that puddle in the tarp and drowned," Keely exclaimed.

"Not if someone was keeping an eye on her. Oh, for heaven's sakes-let's not get carried away. The pool is covered, after all. Anyway, there's no harm done."

"No harm done?" Keely cried. "Is that what happened the night my husband drowned? Did you just go looking for tennis b.a.l.l.s and forget to close the gate? Did you say, 'No harm done' that night, too?"

Evelyn's eyes blazed angrily. "I told you what happened that night. I was in the den with my father, watching TV with the air conditioner on. The only reason I heard anything was because I went to take the dogs out. If your baby didn't have such a loud, persistent shriek, I wouldn't have been aware of them at all."

Keely nodded, trying to control her own anger. "Yes, that's what you said."

"I'm not a liar. I have no reason to lie to you . . ."

Keely could feel the woman's hostility, but she was determined not to let it dissuade her from her course. "I'm just trying to figure out how the gate to the pool got opened that night. I know it seems a bit late for that, but . . . it's important . . ."

"I should think it's obvious," said Evelyn. "After what your son did the other night, could his guilt be any plainer?"

Keely felt a little bit shocked at Evelyn's accusation. She had expected a word of sympathy, not this. "Dylan did not leave it open," she said stiffly.

"Oh, don't be so blind," Evelyn scoffed.

"You left it open today," said Keely angrily.

"Thatwas an accident. From what I read in the paper, your son did it deliberately."

"I'll thank you not to repeat lies."

"You can't tell me what to do," Evelyn insisted, and inside the house, the dogs began to bark, hearing the anxiety in their owner's voice.

The barking dogs made Keely suddenly concerned for Abby. If Evelyn were to let them out, Abby would be down there at a dog's eye level. As much as she wanted to make Evelyn sorry for what she'd said and done, she didn't dare. She had to think of Abby first.

She turned her back on Evelyn. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Evelyn." Keely stepped down and unlocked the brake on the stroller.

Evelyn hesitated, then pulled the door wide open. "I'm not the one who should be ashamed. I'm the one who has to live next door to you people. I'm all alone here with my elderly father. Now I find out this boy killed his own father, then his stepfather. I saw with my own eyes what he did to his sister. And then to slash his throat-it's gruesome. I mean, what if next time he decides to come after me? I don't mind telling you that it is a nightmare living next door to a disturbed person like that."

Keely's face felt frozen. She gripped the handlebar of the stroller with sweaty palms. "I know exactly what you mean," she said bitterly.

Evelyn did not recognize the reference to herself. She continued to rant. "I pray every night that someone will buy that house of yours so that I can sleep peacefully again. I feel like I'm living in one of those dreadful housing projects with a juvenile delinquent next door. I will not have a moment's peace until you people are gone. I mean gone, and I don't care where."

"Well, for your information," said Keely calmly, "Dylan's doingmuch better at the hospital. I'm hoping to be able to bring him home soon."

Evelyn shuddered with disgust. "Heaven help us," she muttered. She slammed the door, and Keely could hear her turning the lock.

"Come on, Abby," Keely whispered, walking slowly, with her head held high, across the walkway and down the driveway. She wanted to just turn up her own driveway and disappear into the house and hide. Her stomach was churning as though she was going to throw up, and her face flamed at the thought of her neighbor's cruelty. Anyone driving through this neighborhood would think it was the most civilized of streets. No one would suspect that such venom could lie in wait behind these affluent facades. But as she reached the sanctuary of her own driveway, Keely thought of Dylan, squeezing her hand in his hospital bed, and she hesitated. Evelyn's vehemence had startled her, but she couldn't let it stop her. She had promised Dylan. Reluctantly, on leaden feet, she continued on down the street.

There was no answer at the door of the sprawling Tudor-style house on the other side of her own home. She had never met the young couple who lived there. Both of them worked at high-powered jobs in Baltimore and were rarely home. On the weekends they seemed always to either entertain or be out of town. Resolutely, she crossed the street to the Warners' house. She had not seen Dan Warner or his daughter Nicole since the day of Mark's funeral. But the fact that they had come to the services made her feel better about showing up at their door.

She pressed the doorbell. After a few minutes the door was opened by Dan Warner, a nice-looking, salt-and-pepperahaired man in his midforties wearing a chamois work shirt and holding a screwdriver in one hand.

"Hi, Dan," she said. He'd introduced himself that way one time when he'd brought over a package of theirs that had been delivered to his doorstep.

Dan's gaze fell on the soft contours of Abby's face, and he smiled. Then he looked back at Keely. "Mrs. Weaver," he said.

Keely took a deep breath. "Call me Keely," she said. "I'm sorry tojust drop in on you like this. I've been wanting to stop by and thank you and your daughter for coming to my husband's funeral. That was very kind of you."

"Well, we wanted to let you know that we were terribly sorry about what happened. Tragic." He shook his head.

"Well, thank you," said Keely. "It really helps when people care."

"How well I know," Dan said grimly. "Well, where are my manners? Come in, come in."

Keely lifted Abby out of her stroller. "I won't keep you." She followed him through the house, which had the comfortable feeling of a place that had been thoroughly lived in. Every surface held framed family photos, including a wedding picture of Dan, wearing a mustache and long wavy, hair, his arm around a beautiful, freckle-faced woman with long, shiny brown hair.

"I was working on these shelves," he said pleasantly. "I'm not the world's greatest carpenter. I've been saying I was going to fix them for weeks. Now, you've given me a reason to take a break. Would you like a c.o.ke or something?"

Keely shook her head.

Abby squirmed in her mother's arms as they reached the cheerfully disorganized kitchen. "You can put her down," Dan said. "We're used to kids around here." Dan came over, reached in a cabinet, and matter-of-factly handed Abby a m.u.f.fin pan, which the toddler began to examine with rapt interest. "Although there's only one left at home," he continued. "But we'll soon have a baby in the family again. The first grandchild's due any day."

"Really," said Keely surprised.

"I know," he said. "Tell me I look too young. I can't hear it enough."

Keely smiled. "You look too young."

Dan laughed appreciatively at her cooperative response. He opened the refrigerator, pulled out a can of c.o.ke, and snapped the top. "Annie and I started young," he said with a sigh.

Keely examined a smiling photo of the freckle-faced woman in a heart-shaped magnet on the refrigerator door. "Is that your wife?"

"That was the winter she got sick," he said.

"She was lovely."

Dan pressed his lips together and nodded. "She was a beauty," he agreed. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"Dan," said Keely, "this isn't just a social call. I came to ask you something. I know it's . . . unlikely . . . but . . ."

"Fire away," he said.

"It's about the night that my husband drowned . . ."

"Terrible. A young man like that . . ."

"Do you recall the night it happened?"

"Oh, sure," he said, nodding. "My poker night. When I was driving home, I saw all the police cars and the ambulance . . ."

"So you weren't here that night," Keely said, then sighed, her shoulders slumping, the discouragement evident in her voice. "You got home after the police arrived."

Dan swigged his soda and set the can down on the counter. "Right," he said.

"Never mind, then. It was just a long shot," said Keely, forcing herself-to smile. "You probably can't even see our house from yours," she said, peering out at the dense greenery around the kitchen windows. She bent down to pick up Abby. "Well, thanks for your time." She tried to gently wrestle the m.u.f.fin tin away from Abby, who did not want to let it go and yelped in protest.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I'm ashamed to admit it but I remember thinking as I turned up the street that I hoped they weren't at my house-the police and all."

"Oh, that's okay," Keely admitted with a sigh. "I thought the same thing. I was hoping it wasn't us . . ."

"I'm sorry," he said. "You can't help it when you've got a teenager in the house. I was afraid it might be Nicole. She was here by herself that night. Hey, maybe you want to talk to her?"

"Could I?" asked Keely.

"Of course," said Dan. "But I've got to warn you. She's mostly oblivious." He walked to the bottom of the stairs. "Nicki," he shouted. "Nicki, can you hear me?"

Keely felt her heart racing with hope again. Any possibility.Anything. She relinquished the m.u.f.fin tin, and Abby returned to her game.

"What?" a girl's voice demanded from upstairs.

"Come on down here, honey," he said.

There was no further demand for explanation. Keely heard the thud of footsteps above, and then a barefoot girl in a T-shirt and chinos, her blond hair twisted into a formless knot with brushy ends, descended the stairs.

"Honey," said Dan, "this is our neighbor, Mrs. Weaver. My daughter, Nicole."

The girl smiled, revealing the metal band of a retainer. "I know-you're Dylan's mother. I saw you at the, you know, funeral."

For a second Keely was taken aback that the girl would even mention-the funeral. Most kids would rather choke on the word than say it. It made them feel so awkward and uncomfortable. Then she remembered. Nicole had firsthand experience. She'd already lived through her own mother's funeral.

"I wanted to thank you for that. For coming," said Keely. "That was kind of you. I think it meant a lot to Dylan. To have a friend there."

"We're not really friends," said the girl. "I see him in school but . . ." Then her gaze fell on Abby. "Oh," she crooned. "Aren't you sweet." She began making noises at Abby, who responded with delight. "I love babies," she said. "If you ever need a sitter . . ."

"Nikki, honey, you remember the night when Mr. Weaver drowned. I wasn't home. I was with the poker guys," Dan asked.

Nicole's eyes widened. "Oh, yeah." She looked at Keely pityingly. "How did it happen, anyway?"