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.

Keely put Abby in her high chair and handed her a block from the counter. Then she began searching in the cupboards for some food for Abby.

"You'll want to see this," said Dan. He perched on a barstool beside the counter.

"Oh, really?" Keely searched a cluttered shelf. She found the jar she wanted and extracted it. She examined the jar of applesauce, then began to try twisting open the lid.

"Here," said Dan. "Give me that. You take this." He handed her a priority-mail envelope with a return address from her cell phone company. Keely's heart leaped.

Dan took the gla.s.s jar, popping the lid with one quick twist. "I found it stuck in my door this afternoon. The post office strikes again. I think it's the list of phone numbers you were hoping for."

"I can see that," Keely said impatiently, moving away from him. Keely tore open the envelope and stared at the lists of names and numbers.

Dan studied her expression. "Anything interesting?" he asked.

She put the papers down on the counter and began to spoon Abby's applesauce into a bowl with trembling hands.

"I know you were waiting for this. I wanted to get it over to you right away."

"And I'm grateful," said Keely evenly. "Okay?"

There was a silence between them. Abby squealed at the sight of her Peter Rabbit bowl.

Dan cleared his throat. "You still seem a little bit angry. Look, if this is about what I said the other night, about Dylan . . ."

Keely set the spoon and the applesauce down in front of Abby. "I don't care what you think about Dylan." Although even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. She was hurt that he suspected Dylan. That he didn't share her faith in Dylan. But why should he? They hardly knew one another. "I do know that you've been less than honest with me," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

"You never mentioned to me that you and my first husband were friends."

"We were?" said Dan.

Keely turned her head and gazed at him. "You're saying you don't know who my first husband was?"

Dan shrugged. "I a.s.sume his name was Bennett. Since that's Dylan's name."

"You don't read the papers?"

"Not always," he said defensively. "Sometimes I skip the local rag. I have theWashington Postdelivered."

"Richard Bennett," said Keely. "Ring any bells?"

"Richard Bennett?" Dan asked.

"That's right," said Keely. "When you were growing up, he lived across the street from you."

"I did know a kid named d.i.c.kie Bennett. He was a few years younger than me. That was your first husband?"

"Surprised?" she asked sarcastically.

Dan ran his hand nervously over his salt-and-pepper hair. "Well, frankly . . . yes. I am surprised. I mean, as kids, we were pretty friendly. I'm sorry I didn't put two and two together, Keely. I thought you moved here from somewhere else . . ."

"Did you know Mark as well?" she murmured, renewing her search in the cupboard.

"No, of course not. Look, I don't see any reason for you to be angry about this. It's not as if I was keeping it a secret or something. I just didn't realize . . ."

Keely turned and stared at him. "I'm tired of people's secrets," she said.

"It wasn't a secret," he insisted. "I just didn't remember."

"Oh, right-just a coincidence."

"Yes. Why are you so angry about this, anyway? It was an innocent mistake. People cross paths. Especially in a little town like this one. Why wouldn't I have known him? I knew most of the kids from here."

"Well, just like you said about Dylan. Anything's better than admitting you lied."

Dan shook his head. His face wore a cold, closed expression. "Fine," said Dan. "If that's what you want to think."

Keely immediately felt guilty for her harshness. He seemed to be genuinely surprised by this connection.I don't trust anyone,she thought.How can I?Before she could begin to explain, Dan turned and left the kitchen, calling for Nicole as he went down the hall.

"Can't I stay?" Nicole hollered down the stairwell.

"We've overstayed our welcome," Dan called back. "Come on. Now."

Keely knew she should apologize. Perhaps he really hadn't known or remembered about Richard. She was reaching the point where everyone's behavior was suspect. She walked out into the hall behind him as Nicole came clattering down the stairs.

"Why do I have to go?" Nicole said irritably.

"Come on," he said. "I'll take you out for some Chinese food."

"Can Dylan come?" she asked.

Dylan, who had followed her down the steps, looked hopefully at his mother, but then saw the expression on her face.

"Not me-I can't," Dylan said. "I've got a lot of work to make up."

"Let's go," Dan said abruptly, opening the door.

"Dan, thanks," Keely mumbled. "For bringing the envelope."

But without another word, Dan and Nicole were gone, the door slamming behind them.

"Mom," Dylan demanded. "What's the matter with you?"