The rain had stopped and the night was clear. A huge, yellow moon hung low in the sky. The man on the doorstep peered at her through hooded eyes. His blond hair stood up over his black roots like a skunk's stripe. The pockmarks in his complexion looked like craters in the moonlight. He was smoking a cigarette. When she opened the door, he flicked the b.u.t.t into the bushes beside the steps. Keely stared out at him.

"Remember me?" he said. When she did not reply he added, "Wade Rovere. From the pizza place."

"I know who you are," she said. Her heart was hammering. It was almost as if he had appeared on the doorstep in response to her thoughts. "I'm glad to see you," she said truthfully. "Did you remember something?"

"Well, maybe," he said evasively.

"Maybe?" Keely asked. Suddenly, she was on her guard. This was not the response of someone eager to help. "I'd rather not play games," she said coldly. "This is very important to me."

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "How important?"

"Excuse me?" said Keely stiffly. "What do you mean? Very important."

"Are you going to ask me in?"

Keely hesitated. Suddenly, she realized how alone and isolated she was here. She thought about the fact that this man had a prison record.Too late to worry about it now,she thought. She stood aside and said tensely, "Come in."

Wade sauntered past her into the house. He looked around the living room, picking up a silver bowl on the table and turning it over to read the hallmark. He squinted at the painting over the mantle and tried to read the painter's signature. He looked over his shoulder at her, c.o.c.king his thumb at the painting.

"Is this real?" he said.

Keely frowned at the painting. It was a framed watercolor that she and Richard had bought one day long ago at an outdoor art show. "It's a real painting," she said.

"Famous artist?" he said.

"No," said Keely irritably. "I got it at a sidewalk sale."

Wade snorted. "Right," he said.

"Would you care to sit down, Mr. Rovere?

"Just call me Wade."

Now that he was in the house, she thought again about the foolishness of admitting him. How would she get him out if he didn't want to leave?Stay calm,she told herself.You need this guy. Find out what he has to say."Look . . . Wade. If you have any information, I'd be interested to hear it," she said. "I'd be very grateful for anything you could tell me about this."

Wade started to sit down on a damask-striped chair but then hesitated, his rear end hovering above the seat. "Mind?" he asked.

Keely shook her head. He seated himself and then took out a cigarette and lit it, without asking if she minded that. He shook out the match and then looked around for an ashtray. Stifling an impatient sigh, Keely found an old blue-and-white porcelain ashtray on a bookshelf and handed it to him. Wade sighed with contentment and settled back in the chair. "Nice house," he said nodding. "I'll bet this place is worth a bundle."

Keely crossed her arms over her chest and remained standing. "Does this house look familiar to you? The night my husband drowned," she prodded him. "Was this the house you stopped at first?"

Wade blew out a smoke ring and watched it rise. Then he grinned, although the expression in his eyes was hard and dull. "Uh-huh."

Keely felt a pleasurable shock run through her. "So youwerehere that night. Did you actually knock on the door? Did you see my husband?"

"Tall guy, nice looking. Had on some kind of banker's shirt without the tie."

"That's right," Keely yelped. "You saw him."

"I saw him."

"Did you see anyone else? Was anyone with him? There was one car in the driveway when I left-his silver Lexus. Did you notice any other cars? Even a description of a car in the driveway might be helpful. You look like the kind of guy who'd probably know a lot about cars . . ."

"Hold it, hold it," he said. "Not so fast."

"Sorry," Keely mumbled, anxious to please. "What were you going to say?"

"I know what you want, lady," he said. "I have what you want, as a matter of fact." Keely felt her heart start to hammer again.Oh G.o.d,she thought. Her mind leaped ahead, envisioning being able to tell Dylan. To prove her faith in him. To throw it in Maureen Chase's face and show the world, for good, that her son was not to blame.

"Please . . .Wade. You cannot imagine how important this is."

"Well," he said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and closing one eye as the smoke drifted up and back. "There's a little problem."

Keely gazed at him suspiciously. "What kind of a problem?"

Wade grimaced as if it gave him pain just to think about it. "It's just that I feel like I need to be . . . um . . . compensated, if you know what I mean?"

It took a moment for his intentions to register in Keely's mind. "You want me to pay you?" she said at last.

Wade nodded, took an enormous drag, then stubbed out his cigarette b.u.t.t. "Yeah," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "That's right. That's what I've been thinking."

Keely closed her eyes and tried not to let anger get the best of her.Why am I even surprised?she asked herself. He had asked about a reward at the pizza place. She felt like gagging on the smoke from his cigarette. It was some kind of crime, wasn't it, to make people pay for information like that? Extortion. She didn't know the legal details, despite having been married to a lawyer. But she knew she could say it and make it sound authoritative.

For one second she thought about threatening to call the cops, but instantly, she thought better of it. This was a man who had spent time in jail. Any mention of the cops was going to be a red flag to a guy like this. It couldn't do any good, and it might possibly alarm him enough to make him deny that he knew anything. And who could prove he did? After all, the police weren't looking for any information about Mark's death. She was the only one who even believed there was something more to know about Mark's death.

"All right," she said evenly, although she felt clammy and shaky all over. "I did mention a reward. I guess it would be . . . all right to pay you . . . for your trouble. Let me get my checkbook."

"No, no," he said. "No checks. Cash."

Keely's eyes widened in surprise. "I keep about a hundred dollars in my wallet. Would that be enough?"

Wade began to cough and then looked up at her with an expression of bemused disbelief. "A hundred dollars." He shook his head. "No.That would definitely not be enough. I was thinking more of like . . . five grand. You'll probably have to go to your bank to get it."

"Five thousand dollars? Are you insane?" Keely asked.

"That's the price," he said sullenly.

He reached into his pocket for another cigarette. Without thinking, Keely s.n.a.t.c.hed the pack out of his hands. "Don't smoke in my house," she said.

Wade jumped up from the chair and grabbed her wrist. "Give me those," he said.

His face was so close to hers, Keely could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes flashed.

"All right," she said. "Here." She handed over the cigarette pack, and he stuffed it into his shirt pocket and dropped her wrist.

She didn't want him to see that he had frightened her. She tried to keep her voice steady. "Let's hear this information you supposedly have," Keely demanded.

Wade shook his head. "Oh no," he said. "Then you'll never pay me."

"Maybe I'll never pay you, period," she said.

Wade shrugged. "If that's how you want to play it. It looks like that husband of yours left you pretty well fixed. But if you don't want to waste any of those precious bucks to find out what happened to him . . ."

"Don't try to bully me," said Keely. "How do I know you're not going to make something up?"

"I told you I saw him, remember?"

Keely nodded thinking about Mark in his business shirt without the tie. "Yes," she said softly. "But maybe that was all you saw."

"Have it your way," he snapped. He started for the door.

"It's greedy and disgusting. n.o.body's going to pay you five thousand dollars," Keely said.

"Don't bet on it," he said. "I have other options."

Keely rushed to the door and blocked his way. "Wait a minute," she said. Suddenly, she saw her best chance getting away. "Look," she said. "What you're doing is wrong. It's wrong and it's illegal. But I won't deny that I want to know. So let's try to come to an agreement. A reasonable agreement."

Wade studied her, weighing his options. Then he shook his head. "No. It was a mistake to come to you first. I was just trying to be nice."

"Nice?" she cried.

"Get out of my way," he said, and before she saw it coming, he reached out and batted her away from the door as if she were a rag doll. She fell against the table in the hallway and knocked it over. A vase of flowers on the table toppled and crashed to the floor. As Wade hurried out the door, Keely landed, winded by the shock of it, in a puddle of water and a pile of broken crockery on the floor. For a minute, she struggled to catch her breath.

Suddenly, she was aware of someone standing in the doorway, and for an instant she felt a strange mix of hope and fear that Wade had come back. She looked up and saw Dan Warner looking down at her. He was holding a furled black umbrella. A patch of sky blue was visible among the folds. "Keely!" he cried. He set the umbrella into the stand by the door, crouched down, and tried to help her up, but she shook off his aid. She felt unaccountably furious at her well-meaning neighbor. Already she was thinking about Wade, about how she could take back what she said, pay his price-pay anything.

"I'm fine," she said as she stood up.

"I came over to return this umbrella. I saw that fellow leaving."

"I'm fine. Really."

"What happened here?" he asked "Please-I don't want to discuss it."

Dan frowned. "You're as white as a sheet," he said sternly. "Just sit down over here. Come on."

Keely was resentful of his interference. "I don't need any help," she snapped.

"At least let me clean this mess up," he said. "Which way is the kitchen?"

Keely sank down into the corner of the sofa and pointed down the hall. Dan went in that direction. Keely shook her wrist absently and then peered at it. There were red fingermarks where Wade had grabbed her. Keely's gaze fell on the cigarette b.u.t.t in the ashtray.Why did I do that,she thought miserably?I sent him away and now I have nothing.

Dan reappeared with a trash basket and a rag he must have found under the sink. Then, while she watched, he walked over to the hall table and righted it, wiping off its surface. He bent down and began to pick up the mess, collecting the flowers and the shards of vase in the trash can.

When he was done, he straightened up and looked at her. "You can tell me it's none of my business," he said, "but who was that guy?"

Keely shook her head.

"Hey, I know what it feels like to talk to yourself 'cause you've got no one else to tell," he said. "It's the story of my life."

The forced composure in his voice and the lost expression in his eyes were all too familiar. Keely felt suddenly chastened. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you do understand. How long has your wife . . . how long have you been alone?"

"Annie died three years ago. Breast cancer."

Keely felt her head start to throb. "How do you manage?" she said miserably.

"Who manages?" he asked wryly. "You've seen my house."

"It's a cheerful house," she said.

Dan sighed and sat down at the other end of the sofa. "It's pretty much the way she left it," he said. "Only messier."

"I feel as if I know your Annie, just from being there," said Keely kindly.

Dan nodded, and his gaze swept over the living room. Keely wondered if her own house said a lot about Mark when someone new walked in. Somehow, she doubted it. Mark had not lived here long enough to make an impression on the place.

"Anyway . . . like I said," Dan continued stubbornly. "I know how it feels not to have another grown-up you can talk to when you have a problem on your hands. And it looks to me like you've got a little problem there. What did that guy want from you? Are you in some kind of trouble? I'll keep it to myself. You don't really know me, but I'm highly reliable."

Keely managed a wan smile. It was a tempting offer. She could tell that he would be good listener. He had an intent expression, as if he wasreally seeing her when he looked at her. And for a moment, she wanted to tell him. She knew he would be indignant at Wade's demands, and his indignation would be comforting. She could halve her burden by sharing it with him.

But then she reminded herself that it was Nicole who had told her about the delivery man from Tarantino's. She'd only been trying to help. But if Dan found out, he'd probably feel responsible. He seemed to be that kind of man-chivalrous. He'd insist on going down there and having it out with Wade. Wade would clam up, and she would never find out what she needed to know. "It's nothing," she said. "Really. Just a misunderstanding."

25.

Keely didn't bother to go to bed. She knew she would just toss and turn all night. Instead, she mulled over her encounter with Wade Rovere. He implied that he could sell his information elsewhere. But where? Surely he was just bluffing, trying to make her pay for some useless nonsense he had made up on the spot. But then she reminded herself that he knew what Mark had been wearing. A lucky guess, or was it possible that he did know something? The normal thing to do would be to call the police, but when she thought about Phil Stratton and his questions, she knew she would not be doing that. And if she wanted to cash out a bond, she was going to have to tell Lucas, who had the paperwork on all their investments. He had offered to help, and she had willingly turned over their portfolio to him to manage. Still, the thought of telling Lucas why she needed to cash out a bond-to pay extortion money-bothered her. Maybe he wouldn't ask, she told herself. It wasn't as if she had to account for her spending. But she knew Lucas. He would be concerned. He would want to know.

Finally, just before dawn, she lay down on the couch and fell into a restless sleep. Her dreams were a riot of incomprehensible images. When she awoke, she lay on her back on the sofa, thinking about Mark. What would he advise her to do? He was always so competent, so confident-a cool head in any emergency. Suddenly, she remembered what Mark once said to her:I always keep a large bundle of cash in the house. I hide it in the closet, in case of an emergency.

Keely had never paid much attention, never bothered to ask or even to wonder what sort of emergency he meant. She had always felt safe with him in charge. In fact, she'd never given it a thought until thatmoment, when the memory of his words came back to her like an answered prayer.

Keely ran up the stairs and stood at the door of Mark's clothes closet, looking in at the muted array of expensive suits, the neatly arranged shelves of shirts, stiffly starched and still in their boxes from the laundry, and the rows of shoes on the floor, each one glossy with polish and shaped by a shoe tree. This was going to take a while.

She was searching through the folded sweaters on the top shelf when she was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. It was Dr. Stover's secretary at the Blenheim Inst.i.tute, saying that he wanted to see her immediately.

"Is my son all right?" Keely cried.

"I don't know anything about what Dr. Stover wants to discuss with you," said the secretary.

"I'm on my way," said Keely.

She changed her clothes, got Abby ready, and quickly arrived at Dr. Stover's office. "Excuse me," she asked the secretary breathlessly. "I'm Mrs. Weaver. You said Dr. Stover wanted to see me right away. Do I have time to take my baby to the hospital nursery?"