Wade shrugged. "Tell yourself whatever you want. He was bangin' her right there in the hallway. Standin' up, like they couldn't wait another minute."

Keely opened her car door and slid back into the seat. As Wade went back to remove the nozzle and hang the hose back on the pump, Keely stared, unseeing, out the windshield, trying not to imagine her husband and Maureen, but it was no use.

"You liar," she muttered again under her breath.

Wade reappeared at her window. "Twenty-two dollars," he said, leering at her. "Cash or credit?"

40.

Mrs. Weaver," said Sylvia, getting up from behind the wide reception desk in the vestibule of Weaver, Weaver, and Bergman. "What a surprise!"

For me, too,Keely thought. She struggled not let her distress show on her face. "h.e.l.lo, Sylvia," she said. "Nice to see you again, too."

"How are the children?" the older woman asked, and Keely could see, by the guarded look in her eyes, that Sylvia knew about Dylan's suicide attempt and wanted to avoid specifics.

"Doing fine," said Keely. "Abby's with her grandmother this afternoon. Dylan is back in school."

"Well, that's great. I'm glad to hear that," said Sylvia.

"We're all fine."

"That's good. I'm sorry, but Mr. Weaver isn't here right now." Sylvia said.

"Actually," said Keely, looking down, trying to keep control of her voice, "I was thinking today might be a good day to finally . . . clean out that office. Mark's office."

"There's no hurry," said Sylvia. "I'm sure Mr. Weaver told you that."

"He told me," said Keely stubbornly. "I want to do it today."

"Well, fine. You go ahead. Don't you need a bag or something to put things in?" Sylvia asked.

Keely shook her head. "I'm not . . . planning to take anything with me today."

"Okay," said Sylvia slowly. "Whatever you say."

"It was kind of a . . . spur of the moment decision. I was in the neighborhood . . ." Keely said. "I just want to sort through a few things. Throw some things away." She was not about to tell Sylvia that she washere to look for information, evidence, proof of what she had heard from Wade Rovere.

"Well, okay," said Sylvia. "Of course, we've distributed the papers that dealt with clients' business to the a.s.sociates that are handling that business. There's only your husband's personal belongings left to sort through."

"I want to be able to take my time," Keely said.

"Perfectly fine," said Sylvia. "Take all the time you want."

Keely took out the key, whispering her thanks, and clutched it in her damp palm. The cut edge of the key gouged her skin because she was gripping it so tightly. She walked down the carpeted corridors of the law firm until she arrived at the locked door with Mark's name on it in gold letters. She jammed the key in the lock.

She had the urge to kick it open with the toe of her boot, but she resisted. No matter how satisfying doing so might feel, it would attract too much attention. Keely entered the office and flipped on the light switch. The heavyweight bra.s.s desk lamp with the tortoisesh.e.l.l shade came on and gave a warm glow to the otherwise rather impersonal room. Everything was just as Mark had left it. The leather blotter and stuffed pencil cup on Mark's desk, the law books behind it. The map she had framed for him of St. Vincent's Harbor hung over the computer monitor. She thought for a minute that she should start with the computer, but then she hesitated. All the computers in this firm were linked. Surely he wouldn't put incriminating evidence of an affair where everyone in the office could see it.

The desk calendar was opened to the page of the day he died. No one had bothered to turn it.That's what I need,she thought. She walked around the desk. The expensive carpet cushioned her steps. She stared at the calendar.No, it couldn't be there,she told herself.That would be too easy.She decided to hold off on her best hope until she'd exhausted the other possibilities.

She went to the closet and rummaged through the pockets of Mark's spare jacket and his raincoat. She felt along the closet shelf for something, anything that would give him away. She opened the drawers of his desk. Every pen cartridge and paper clip was in its place, andthere was little else to see. Clearly, the contents of these drawers had been emptied, as Sylvia said, of all the clients' paperwork, and only a few isolated folders still hung there. Keely looked in each one, searching for restaurant, hotel, or motel receipts. Nothing.

Surely, if he'd been having an affair, she thought, he'd taken Maureen places, bought her gifts. Mistresses demanded gifts as proof of love from a man who wasn't free-flowers, jewelry. And then it struck her. The smoky quartz bracelet with the gold links. She hadn't found it at home, when she'd gone through his closet looking for the stash of bills. If he had truly intended to give it to Keely, it had to be here, in this office. And if he hadn't intended to give it to his wife . . . All along, something had bothered her about that bracelet. She looked best in pearls, silver, and platinum. That was something that Mark had pointed out to her. She'd never given it much thought. Never had that much jewelry purchased for her. But now she knew. Smoky quartz and gold? Those were not her colors. Those were colors for a . . . redhead. Keely felt her face burn with shame, and she was glad she was alone in the office. Who else had known about this? Had Mr. Collier, the jeweler, been lying to her? Or Sylvia?

It would be foolish to accuse Sylvia of covering up for Mark before she'd even looked at the calendar. Keely sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk, and her gaze fell on the picture of her and Mark that he'd kept on his desk.Who were you? What were you doing?she wondered as she stared at the imperturbable expression on his handsome face. She put the picture facedown and on the desktop, then pulled the calendar toward her across the blotter. She began to thumb back through the pages, trying to think of dates and times when Mark had stayed late for business reasons, or gone out of town.

At first it was difficult to try to think of dates. Her whole life seemed like a blank to her as she looked back on it. But gradually, as she leafed her way through the spring and summer months, she was able to remember. A hiking trip and a picnic canceled here, a foray to the mall to shop for new furniture postponed there. She had never protested. It was his work. It was what he had to do. But when she was able to remember a date, a specific date, and look it up, there was nothingunusual about the page. A client's name, information about meeting times and places scrawled across the page in Mark's expansive hand. There was no mention of Maureen anywhere. It was as if she didn't exist.

She came across the day of her birthday and stopped there. She remembered that day all too well. He had promised her a night out on the town, starting with dinner at her favorite French restaurant. She had dropped both kids at Ingrid's and gotten herself perfumed and dressed for the occasion. He'd called, miserable about a last-minute meeting. She went out to a movie by herself and wouldn't speak to him when she got home. He'd pleaded and apologized and wooed her until they'd ended up making love, then eating Chinese takeout in bed. When she was laughing again, he'd given her a necklace of cultured pearls that was breathtaking. She stared at the calendar page, remembering how she had forgiven him, how silly it had all seemed.

All of a sudden she noticed, under the number of the date of her birthday, a black zigzag mark made in pen. At first glance it appeared to be a zigzag. But then she realized it could be something else. It could be anMwidened out. She flipped back to the other late nights and canceled plans she had been able to remember. The same zigzag appeared beneath each date. Keely's face flamed as she looked at it, remembering how, when she was a girl, she had used to write a giantCforcursein her diary around the date of the days she got her period, so that no one but herself looking at her diary would know.

This doesn't prove anything,she thought. It could be a doodle, made idly while he was talking on the phone. She rested her face in one hand and felt a vein throbbing in her forehead.You're being dense if you don't take this as proof,she told herself.You don't really want to know.But she couldn't get the image of him, her romantic husband, tenderly fastening those pearls around her neck, out of her mind. He couldn't have. Not that very same day. Keely felt as if she was going to throw up.I have to know for sure,she thought. She looked at her watch, then reached for the phone.

Ingrid, who was minding Abby, answered on the first ring and declared that she would be delighted to pick up Dylan after school andkeep both children until Keely got back. "Where will you be?" Ingrid asked.

"I have some errands to do," said Keely. "There's something I . . . it can't wait, I'm afraid."

Ingrid a.s.sured her again that it would be no problem, and Keely thanked her. As she hung up the phone, she heard someone speak her name in a soft voice. She turned around to look. Betsy was standing in the doorway, wearing a Tyrolean-style jacket over gray slacks. Her plain features wore a worried expression.

Keely couldn't manage a smile. "Hi," she said quietly.

"I heard you were here," Betsy said.

"Yes," said Keely, not wanting company.

"Sylvia said you're cleaning out Mark's office."

"Yeah, I thought I would," said Keely vaguely.

"You haven't gotten very far," Betsy observed.

Keely shook her head. "I'm not really cleaning . . ." she admitted.

Betsy glanced down the hallway. Then she looked back at Keely."May I come in? I'm waiting for Lucas."

"Sure," said Keely.

Betsy walked into the room and made herself comfortable in the armchair opposite Mark's desk. "So," she said, "if you're not cleaning, what are you doing?"

Keely avoided her gaze, too embarra.s.sed to confess her purpose, not knowing how to say it.

"What?" Betsy asked. "What's the matter?"

Keely made up her mind to tell Betsy, in spite of her embarra.s.sment. "Do you remember when I called you the other day? About Mark's phone calls to Maureen?"

Betsy nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Well, today I ran into . . . someone. He told me that he saw Maureen and Mark . . . together. You know-together." Keely's face reddened.

Betsy made a little huffing noise of disbelief. "Who said such a thing?"

"Someone. It doesn't matter."

"Someone reliable? Someone you trust?"

"No," said Keely. "Someone completely untrustworthy. But still . . . Betsy, I feel like I'm losing my mind. I don't want to believe it, but it's all I can think about," Keely said. "I'm searching for something that will settle it in my mind. I can't make myself believe that Mark was so two-faced."

"You want proof," said Betsy.

"Exactly. I mean, he came home every night, so thrilled with our new home and the baby and our life together. I never intended to get married again so quickly. But he was . . . insistent. He wouldn't be denied. Do you know what I mean? And now this. I never would have suspected it in a million years."

Betsy sighed. "He often said how happy he was after you got married. He told me that himself."

"I know," Keely cried. "But there were all those phone calls. And this . . . person claims to have seen them, together . . . you know . . ."

"Together, as in . . . ?"

"Right," said Keely. "He says he saw them doing it."

"Oh my G.o.d," said Betsy. "If that's true, what a betrayal."

"Exactly." Keely looked at the plain, dignified woman sitting across from her. "I know you and Lucas want to protect me, but I need to know. Did Mark ever confide in you?"

Betsy shook her head sadly. "Oh, I'm not the one to ask. He wouldn't have confided in me, dear. We were never that close. You know, when we adopted him, he was a teenager already. It was Lucas's idea. I went along with it because, well, it seemed like a decent thing to do. And you know, Prentice was off at college. The house seemed empty. But, of course, we sent Mark to that prep school, International Academy in D.C., so I only saw him on weekends. We just never-what do they say now-bonded. Now, Mark and Lucas, that was a different story. They were so much alike. Lucas saw something in Mark that he didn't see in his own son. . . . Anyway, you might ask Lucas, because they were always very close."

Keely shook her head. "Lucas doesn't know anything about it. I've already asked him."

"Keely, I'm sorry to have to say it. But there was a side of Mark, obviously, that we did not understand . . . any of us. There were always signs that he was not the man we thought he was. We just chose to ignore them."

"What signs?" Keely cried. "Iwas. . . close to him. In every way. And I didn't see anything."

"I know. But when I think about it . . . the way he dropped Maureen to marry you. We chose, all of us, to see it as romantic-a young man had finally found his true love-but you could see it another way, too. I mean, he was taking a terrible risk. Maureen was the district attorney. It was a reckless thing to do. Anyone else would have moved away-avoided her. But not Mark. He liked taking chances," Betsy said.

Keely was silent.

Betsy sat back in the chair. "You know, I remember once, when Mark was in high school. He was home for the weekend, and I thought he was up in his room studying. All of a sudden, the housekeeper came running downstairs to me, and she was in a flat spin. I couldn't figure out what she was saying. I followed her up the stairs. Mark wasn't in his room. She pointed to the window. So, I looked out the gable window, and he was standing out there on the roof. I told him to come in, but he just ignored me. I thought he might be on drugs or something. I told him it was dangerous and begged him to come inside, but he laughed. He said to me, "Danger improves the view."

Keely and Betsy stared at one another. Keely thought about all that Betsy didn't know. She didn't know that Mark and Richard had killed someone, probably around that time. And eluded capture. Another dangerous game. Keely did not want to be the one to tell her.

"I threatened to call the police," Betsy said. "That's when he came in."

Keely nodded slowly. "He bought a house with a swimming pool," she said grimly, "when he didn't know how to swim."

"Exactly," said Betsy.

"I didn't think of it that way at the time," Keely admitted.

"I'm afraid that now we have to," Betsy said. "I think he needed that element of danger to feel anything."

"You think he was having an affair with her," said Keely flatly.

Betsy sighed. "It fits a pattern."

Keely nodded.

"I'm so sorry about all this, dear," said Betsy.

"Why should you be sorry?" Keely asked.

Betsy frowned. "Well, he was our . . . son. We mustn't have set a very good example for him."

"That's not true," said Keely. "You and Lucas-I only wish he had followed your example."

There was a faraway look in Betsy's eyes, as if some memory that came to mind had made her unbearably wistful. She shook her head as if to shake it off. "Obviously, we were not model parents."

They sat silently for a moment, and then Keely stood up behind the desk and lifted her jacket off the back of the chair. "We got a bill at home from Collier's Jewelry Store for a smoky quartz bracelet set in gold. Mark didn't give that to you by any chance?"

Betsy shook her head. "No."

"He didn't give it to me, either," said Keely "Now I'm wondering if he gave it to Maureen. I mean, that would prove it, wouldn't it?"

Betsy sighed. "It would prove it to me."

"Well, I have to know for sure," said Keely.

"I don't blame you," said Betsy. "I would if I were you."

41.

As Keely stepped out of the elevator, she saw Maureen's secretary, Josie, dab at her reddened eyes with a tissue, then stuff the damp tissue into the pocket of her cardigan sweater. The door to Maureen's private office stood open behind her, no longer in need of a sentinel. Josie disappeared into the inner office as the phone began to ring.

Keely approached the door and saw Josie standing behind Maureen's desk, which was still cluttered with her notes and belongings, as if Maureen had stepped away just for a moment rather than forever.