Fran and Philip Matthews exchanged glances. By unspoken agreement they did not comment on what to both of them was an implied suicide threat.

Grace under pressure, Fran thought as Molly served the quiche from an exquisite Limoges plate with a slender stem and gold base. The delicately patterned floral place mats on the breakfast room table matched the wall hanging.

The wall facing the garden had a large bay window. A few green shoots visible outside hinted at the approaching end of winter. At the hilly end of the deep property, Fran noticed the rock garden and was reminded of something she wanted to discuss with Molly.

“Molly, I asked you something about house keys the other day. Did you say something about a spare key?”

“We always hid one back there.” Molly gestured in the direction of the rock garden. “One of those rocks is a phony. Clever, don’t you think? At least it beats having a ceramic Peter Rabbit with a detachable ear perched on the porch, in charge of the ‘in case’ key.”

“ ‘In case’?” Philip queried.

“In case you forget the key.”

“Did you ever forget your key, Molly?” Fran asked casually.

“Fran, you know I’m a good girl,” Molly replied with a mock-serious smile. “I always do everything right. Why, everybody always said so. You must remember that from school.”

“Yes, and they said it because it was true,” Fran responded.

“I used to wonder what it would be like if the path hadn’t been made so smooth for me. I understood that it was, you know. I knew that I had it easy, that I was privileged. I admired you so much when we were in school, because you worked for things you wanted. I remember that when you started playing basketball, you were still a runt, but you were so fast and determined, and you made the team.”

Molly Carpenter admired me! Fran thought. I didn’t think she even knew I was alive.

“And then, when your father died, I felt so terrible for you. I knew people always defer to my father, and they should-he naturally attracts and deserves respect; he was and is a wonderful father. But your dad was able to show how proud he was of you. It was both in him to do that, and you gave him the opportunity-which was never the case for me. God, I remember the look on your father’s face when you scored the winning basket that last game of our senior year. It was great!”

Don’t, Molly, Fran wanted to beg. Please don’t.

“I’m sorry so many things went wrong for him, Fran. Maybe it was like it is for me. A chain of events that we can’t control.” Molly put down her fork. “Fran, the quiche is wonderful. I’m just not hungry.”

“Molly, did Gary ever forget his key?” Fran asked. Without looking at him, she felt Philip Matthews’s stare, his unspoken command to not pester Molly with questions.

“ Gary? Forget? Heavens no. Gary was perfect. He used to tell me that one of the things he loved about me was that I was so predictable. Unlike most women, I was never late, never locked the keys in the car, never forgot my key ring. I got an A plus for that.” She paused, then smiled faintly, as though remembering. “Funny, did you notice how today I’m thinking in school terms? Grades. Marks. Plus or minus.”

Molly pushed back her chair and began to shiver. Alarmed, Fran rushed to her side. Just then the phone rang.

“It’s got to be Mother and Dad, or Jenna.” Molly’s voice was almost too low to be understood.

Philip Matthews picked up the phone. “It’s Dr. Daniels, Molly. He wants to know how you are.”

Fran answered for Molly. “She needs help. Ask him if he can come over and talk to her.”

After a few moments of a whispered exchange, Matthews hung up the receiver and turned to the two women. “He’ll be right over,” he promised. “Molly, why don’t you lie down until he gets here. You look pretty shaky.”

“I feel pretty shaky.”

“Come on.” Philip Matthews put an arm around Molly and pulled her against him as he led her from the breakfast room.

I might as well clean up, Fran thought as she looked at the mostly untouched meal. I’m certain nobody is going to want to eat anything now.

When Matthews came back, she asked, “What’s going to happen?”

“If the lab tests on any of the items they took connect her in any way to Annamarie’s death, she’ll be arrested. We should know very soon.”

“Oh, dear God.”

“Fran, I bullied Molly into keeping back most of her conversation with Annamarie Scalli. Some of it was terribly hurtful and would sound like reason for her to hate Annamarie. I’m going to take a gamble now and tell you everything she told me, in hopes that you may help her. I believe you when you say you’re out to prove her innocence.”

“Which you yourself are not convinced of, right?” Fran said levelly.

“I’m convinced she isn’t responsible for either death.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Fran, first of all, Annamarie told Molly that Gary said he was relieved when she lost the baby; he said it would have just complicated things. Then she said she overheard Gary Lasch and Dr. Jack Morrow having a serious quarrel only a few days before Morrow was murdered. Dr. Morrow then talked to Annamarie about holding a very important file for him for safekeeping, but he died before he gave it to her. Molly told me that she had the distinct impression Annamarie knew something she wasn’t telling, and that she was very fearful.”

“Fearful for her own safety?”

“That’s Molly’s impression.”

“Well, it’s something to go on. And I’ve got something else I want to look into. Mrs. Barry’s son, Wally, a young man with deep emotional and mental problems, was desperately upset by Dr. Morrow’s death, and for some reason I haven’t yet uncovered, he also was very angry at Gary Lasch. In addition he seems to have a particular interest in Molly. Only yesterday he took the key to this house off his mother’s key ring.”

The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Fran said. “It’s probably Dr. Daniels.”

She opened the door to find two men holding out their shields and ID cards for her to read. The older one said, “We have a warrant for the arrest of Molly Carpenter Lasch. Will you take us to her, please?”

Fifteen minutes later the first cameramen were on the scene to record Molly Lasch, her hands cuffed behind her, her coat thrown over her shoulders, her head down, her hair falling forward over her face, as she was led from her house to a car from the state attorney’s office. From there she was driven to the courthouse in Stamford where, in a replay of the events of nearly six years ago, she was booked on a charge of murder.

47

Feeling every day of her sixty-five years, Edna Barry waited for the evening news to come on as she sipped a cup of tea-her third in the last hour. Wally had gone to his room to nap, and she prayed that by the time he awakened the medicine would have kicked in, and he’d be feeling better. It had been a bad day, with the voices that he alone heard tormenting him. Driv-ing home from the doctor’s, he had slammed the car radio with his fist because he thought that the newsman was talking about him.

At least she had been able to make him go into the house before Fran Simmons could see just how terribly agitated he was this morning. But how much had Marta told Simmons about Wally?

Edna knew that Marta would never intentionally do anything to hurt Wally, but Fran Simmons was a smart cookie and already had begun asking questions about the extra key to Molly’s house.

Yesterday, Marta had seen Wally take the key to Molly’s house from Edna’s pocketbook and heard him say that this time he would put it back. Don’t let Marta have told that to Fran Simmons, Edna prayed.

Her mind flashed back to that terrible morning she had found Dr. Lasch’s body, to the fear she had felt since, every time a key was mentioned. When the police asked me about keys to the house, I gave them the key I’d taken from the hiding place in the garden, Edna remembered. I hadn’t been able to find my own key to the house that morning, and I was so afraid that Wally had taken it, a fear that she later found had been justified. She’d been terrified that the police would ask her more about the key, but fortunately they hadn’t.