Not Guilty Part 39

"Where?" Lucas asked. Keely shook her head to rid it of that image, then looked at Lucas."I'm sorry, what?"

"Where is Dylan?" he asked.

Keely closed the closet door. "He went to get some ice and some sodas. He'll be right back. He'll be so surprised to see you." Anxiously, she remembered what she had told Dylan-that Lucas was about to be arrested. What if Dylan blurted it out? Then, there'd be no pretending that she didn't know, that she hadn't figured it out. She looked anxiously at the door.

"Well, it will be good to see him," said Lucas. "How did the return to school go?"

"Fine," said Keely. "It went fine." She thought of how vehemently Lucas had defended Dylan from Maureen Chase's persecution. How they had leaned on him. It couldn't be, she thought. Lucas was a champion of the law. He believed in justice and fairness. "Dylan's the reasonwe came down here, actually. He needed to do a paper on the Supreme Court. I thought it would be fun for him to actually visit the court."

Lucas nodded. "Good idea. It will give him a real feeling for the place. I argued before the Supreme Court once, you know."

"Oh?" she said. Her face was a mask of polite interest as her brain worked feverishly, trying to a.s.sess the situation they were in. Was he dangerous to them? It wasn't possible.

"Oh, yes," Lucas continued. "I was almost paralyzed with fear. It's quite a feeling to stand in that courtroom as those venerable old justices come in and take their seats. You never forget it."

Keely looked at him, feeling perplexed-and suddenly protective of him. He had had such a successful life.How could it have been Lucas?she argued with herself. There were lots of diabetics. For a moment, she couldn't remember why she had a.s.sumed it was Lucas. There was no reason to think it couldn't have been someone else. "You've had such a fantastic career, Lucas."

"Yes, well . . . I always had a kind of simple-minded belief in truth and justice and all that. Always thought the good guys would win in the end. The outlaws would end up behind bars. Just like in all the old westerns. I grew up on those, you know. When I was a boy, you could sit in the movies all day. Watch the serials, the westerns. Even poor as we were, my dad would manage to scare up the money for my brother and me to go to the pictures while he and my mom were working in the store on Sat.u.r.days. That was a happy time in my life. I didn't even know we were poor then. Not till my dad died when I was eight. By then, I was already hooked. I was gonna wear the white hat and save the day."

For a moment, Keely was distracted as she thought she heard the door open and shut in the room next door.No,she thought.It couldn't be Dylan. Dylan would come in here first.He was bringing the ice to her. He had sodas for them both. Besides, Dylan would turn the TV on the moment he came in. The TV was like life support for a teenager. She didn't hear its tinny drone through the wall. She sat down carefully on the other bed. "And you did, Lucas," she said. "You did. You always did. Mark always said-"

"Mark," Lucas said. "Now there was a hero-"

"Where's Betsy tonight?" she interrupted brightly, desperately.

A muscle twitched in Lucas's wrinkled cheek, and he worked his fingers restlessly on the top of his stick. "Oh. At home," he said ruefully."With no idea-"

"No idea where you are?" Keely interjected. "Why don't you call her and tell her you're here and you'll be back soon? You know she always worries about you."

Lucas stared blankly in front of him. "The police are probably there by now," he said.

Keely's heart thudded at the mention of the police.Don't tell me,she thought.I don't want to know."Always some defendant needing your help," she said weakly. She picked up a colorful plastic ball with a bells in it that had rolled away from Abby. She handed it back to the baby, then stood up, wringing her hands. "I wonder what's keeping Dylan with that ice," she said. "Maybe I'd better go look for him."

Lucas looked up at her from under his thick eyebrows, still dark, despite his white hair. "You're nervous," he said.

Keely stared back at him like someone caught at a crime. Suddenly, she felt calmer. Defiant, almost. It was as if Lucas was imprisoning her in this little room. She wanted to throw him out, but she didn't dare."He's my son. I nearly lost him once," she reminded him.

Lucas nodded slightly. "That's what it's all about," he said. Then he sighed and looked around the room. "Where are all his things?" Lucas asked. "It doesn't look as if a teenage boy is staying here."

Keely didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to tell him that Dylan's room was next door. She felt as if the simplest thing, the most innocuous truth, was somehow dangerous. But she didn't dare lie, even about something so seemingly minor. There was a volatility about Lucas tonight that frightened her. It was as if he were holding a bomb on his lap. "Actually . . ." she began.

The connecting doors between the rooms opened, and both of them jumped. Keely looked up and saw Dylan standing in the doorway. He was wearing a pair of faded color-blocked cotton jams from the summer and a T-s.h.i.+rt. The wound on his neck looked discolored and painful, but no longer raw.

"Dylan," she cried. She wanted to warn him-Don't say anything. Don't mention what I told you about Lucas-but she didn't dare.

"I'm ready to go swimming," Dylan said. "Hey, Mr. Weaver." He looked surprised but not shocked. Almost as if he had forgotten what she said about Lucas's trouble with the police.

Lucas peered at the boy. "h.e.l.lo, Dylan."

Before Dylan could remember and ask why Lucas was there, Keely said quickly, "I didn't hear you come in. Where's the ice, Dylan? Where are the sodas?"

Dylan gestured back to his room. "In my room," he said. "You want one?"

"Yes, please," said Keely.

"You want a soda, Mr. Weaver? I bought extras."

"No, thank you, Dylan," said Lucas politely.

"You probably have to get going, don't you?" Keely asked the old man.

Lucas ignored her question and kept his piercing gaze trained on Dylan. "A heated pool, presumably."

"I hope so," Dylan said.

"I'll come down there with you," said Lucas. He turned to Keely."Are you going in?"

Keely shook her head.Please go away and leave us alone,she thought.

"What about Abby?" Lucas asked.

"No," Keely snapped.

"We'll all go down there and watch you swim, Dylan," said Lucas.

Keely realized that this was a command from Lucas. She wanted to protest, to order him to leave, but she wasn't sure how he would react. She could make a scene, but she wasn't sure what the consequences might be. It seemed she would be going down to the pool whether she wanted to or not. Slowly, Keely gathered up a couple of Abby's toys and picked up the baby.

Dylan turned around and started back into his room. Lucas stood up. "Where are you going?" he demanded suspiciously.

"To get my leather jacket," said Dylan. "It's too cold out there to walk around like this."

Lucas limped to the connecting door and watched as Dylan picked up his jacket off the bed and put it on. Keely wondered why Dylan had not told the old man to mind his own business.I trained him well,she thought.He'd say that to me, but he's polite to senior citizens. Maybe I trained him too well,she thought ruefully.

Dylan came back through Keely's room, and Lucas ushered them all out the door, pulling it shut until the lock clicked behind them."Lead the way, Dylan," said Lucas.

Obediently, Dylan began to shuffle down the walk. The rain was tapering off now, but it had gotten colder, and you could see your breath. Keely walked along with Abby in her arms, clutching the baby close to her for warmth. Although he limped, Lucas kept up with them with no problem. At the end of the outside walkway, they went through a set of double doors that led down a door-lined corridor.At least the pool is a public place,Keely thought.That would be better.

Other than a dark-haired, brown-skinned chambermaid who nodded and said,"Buenos noches,"as they pa.s.sed, they encountered no one else. They left the hallway and traversed an empty sitting area with an unlit gas fireplace flanked by two matching sofas covered in a nubby maroon fabric. They climbed two steps, then Dylan opened the door to the pool area. A blast of steamy air greeted them. There were a number of white plastic chairs and chaise lounges scattered around the concrete perimeter of the pool. A trim woman with wrinkled skin and a white bathing cap was methodically swimming laps. At the far end, a young couple wearing swimsuits relaxed on side-by-side chaises, their hands linked. They looked up, frowning, as Keely came in carrying Abby. There were no other children, and Abby's babyish shrieks and gurgles echoed in the nearly empty, cavernous room.

Lucas indicated a pair of chaises with his walking stick, and Keely walked toward them. Beside the long chairs was a small play area with a construction of large, colorful plastic blocks that instantly attracted the baby. Keely and Lucas sat down and leaned stiffly back against the sloping backs of their chairs. Lucas carefully set his walking stick down against the chair. Dylan tossed his leather jacket and his T-s.h.i.+rt at the foot of Keely's chaise and walked over to the edge of the pool.

The warm air was damp and heavy, and Keely felt conspicuous in her street clothes. She began to perspire in her cotton sweater and long black pants. She crossed her feet at the ankles, and the toes of her leather boots pointed toward the low, vaulted ceiling. Glancing over at Lucas, who was still wearing his raincoat, she could see no evidence of sweat. He was old, she thought. He was probably always cold.

"This feels good," he said, as if reading her thoughts.

Keely did not reply. She turned her attention to her son as he approached the edge of the pool. His lanky frame was pale and vulnerable in the greenish light from the agitated surface of the water. His shoulders were beginning to broaden and his waist to narrow, but his body was mostly smooth and white, like a child's except for the purplish scar at his throat.

"Something heartbreaking about a boy at that age," Lucas observed."So vulnerable. Not quite a man, but not a child either."

"Yes," said Keely.

Lucas sighed. "I remember when Prentice was Dylan's age. He was always overweight and awkward. Even as a small child. And then the acne. It was awful. He was so self-conscious. There seemed to be no way to rea.s.sure him. His suffering was so intense. And as a parent, of course, you're helpless. You think to yourself, 'If there is only some way I can spare him this pain . . .' "

Kelly turned and looked at Lucas's wistful eyes, his sculpted features. "It's a kind of torture, isn't it?" she said.

"Oh, most definitely," Lucas agreed. "And you know, the irony is that to me, he was beautiful . . ."

"I know," Keely said quietly.

Dylan seemed oblivious to them as he dunked a toe in, then swept it through the water. Then, apparently satisfied, he walked around to the deep end and dove, unhesitatingly, into the water. Keely could see his long, thin frame, a dark knife beneath the surface, and he came up sputtering.

Ordinarily, she would have called out to him, asked him how cold it was in the water. But she felt as if her voice was stuck in her throat.Dylan did not look back in her direction. He fishtailed back under and began to swim.

"He's a good swimmer," Lucas observed.

"Yes," Keely said shortly.

"Unlike his stepfather," said Lucas.

Keely felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She gripped the arms of the lounge chair with splayed fingers.

Lucas sighed. "He wasn't worthy of you, you know-Mark. He didn't deserve to be their father. If only you could have accepted things as they were after Mark died-left it alone."

Despite the warm, humid air in the room, Keely felt a chill. He was going to continue, and she wanted to stop him-and knew she couldn't.

"I wouldn't have let anything happen to Dylan. Not in a million years. If you had just trusted me. But you kept pus.h.i.+ng . . ." he whispered.

Keely felt paralyzed, as if her arms and legs were glued to the plastic slats of the chaise. "Lucas," she pleaded. "Please. Let's just drop it now."

Lucas chuckled and shook his head. "That's amusing. Now, you want to drop it. Now, when it's too late. How much do you already know?" he asked.

"I don't know anything," she said desperately.

"Oh, yes, you do," he said bitterly. "I saw Phil Stratton at your house today. Why do you think I waited, and followed you? He told you, didn't he? You were h.e.l.l-bent on finding out. Nothing else would do. Don't you realize that sometimes it's better not to know?"

She felt her heart sink, like someone drowning beneath the waves.

45.

The old woman in the bathing cap climbed out of the pool, tore off the rubber cap, and ran her fingers through the damp, gray spikes of her hair. She wrapped a towel around her tanned, grizzled body, collected her belongings, and walked out of the pool area, past Lucas and Keely, leaving a trail of small puddles in her wake and giving them a curt nod in pa.s.sing. Keely had the urge to reach out to her, ask her for help, but she knew how preposterous that request would seem to anyone looking at Keely, the baby, and the white-haired gentleman on the chaise beside her.

"How much do the police know?" Lucas asked smoothly. "What did Phil Stratton tell you?"

Keely shook her head and tried to think carefully before she spoke."He . . . said that . . . um . . . it seems like Maureen Chase's death was not a suicide after all. Somebody killed her . . ."

"And that somebody was?"

"Lucas, I don't know," she cried. Then she had an idea. "I a.s.sume they thought it might be me. He asked me a lot of questions. As if I was a suspect. That's why I thought we ought to get away . . ."

Lucas turned and looked at her, but Keely kept her gaze fastened on Dylan, in the pool. "You are such a terrible liar," he said. "I mean that as a compliment."

Keely felt her face redden, but she did not look back at him.

"I heard they were running toxicology tests on the body. I have my sources, you know. I imagine they've identified the drug in Maureen's system," he said.

"I don't feel like discussing this," Keely said. Her cotton sweater felt soggy with sweat. She knew there were beads of perspiration on her forehead.

"Phil Stratton told you it was insulin, didn't he? Did you guess right away, when he told you?" Lucas asked.

Keely hesitated, then abruptly pushed the heels of her hands down on the arms of the chair and stood up. The leather soles of her boots slid on the wet cement, and she caught herself from falling as she walked over to the edge of the pool. "Dylan," she called. "That's enough; let's go."

Dylan shook his wet head, and water drops scattered like crystals and fell back into the pool. "Mom, I'm just getting started. It's warm. You should come in."

"Dylan," she cried. But he dove back down beneath the surface. Behind her she could hear Lucas pulling himself up from the chair, coming toward her.

Leaning on his stick, he spoke in a low voice, near her ear. "I thought you wanted to know," he said bitterly. "You and Maureen. Oh, she wanted to know in the worst way. Your husband's lover. She had to know what happened to him. After all, she loved him. Well, let's be honest-it was an obsession. But I have to give her credit. In the end, she figured it out . . ."

Keely turned and stared at him. She couldn't help herself. "Figured what out?" she breathed.

"That I killed him," Lucas said.

Keely gasped, startled out of any pretense of ignorance. "No. Lucas. That's not true . . ." she said.

"I'm afraid it is. Maureen finally realized it was me. She'd seen me driving up your street as she was leaving their little tryst that night. She knew Mark was alive and well when she left him. But of course, she never suspected me. After all, Mark was . . . my son.

"No, she blamed Dylan, as you know. She a.s.sumed that he'd left the gate open. She was determined to blame Dylan. To make him pay for his deliberate carelessness, shall we say. But then, young Julian turned up looking for Veronica, which put Veronica in the forefront of her mind. And you brought her that suicide confession from Richard, mentioning a murder from long ago. She began to dig, and she put two and two together.

"It was unfortunate that Julian chose to arrive when he did.Otherwise . . . Well, I suppose it's justice in the end. Maureen took me by surprise. She invited me to her house, and then she confronted me, accused me. And I'm afraid that all I could think of at that moment was that I didn't want Betsy to have to find out. I didn't go there planning to kill her. Of course not. She ambushed me. She laid out her case and then she handed me my coat and told me to get out. Said she was going to ruin me as revenge for Mark's death. As if he deserved vengeance. She handed me my coat, and I felt my drug kit in the pocket. And I just . . . I have no excuse, Keely. It was an impulse. Then I had to make it look like suicide."

Keely saw spots in front of her eyes and started to sway. Lucas braced Keely up as she sagged, then gently steered her back to the lounge chairs. He helped settle her back into her chair like an indulgent father putting a toddler to bed. Then he resumed his seat beside her.

"But why Mark?" she whispered. "You loved Mark."

"Yes, Mark. Mark, who betrayed me for my trouble. Mark, who killed Veronica. And my unborn grandchild. Who took away the only thing that Prentice had to live for, and then he lied to me for eighteen years. Right to my face."

"But you don't know that for sure," Keely said angrily. "You don't know it was Veronica. You don't even know that Veronica is dead. I mean, yes, Richard said they killed someone. But Veronica? That was just some . . . whim that Maureen had. Some hunch. She had no proof. She was going to have the body exhumed. To see if the DNA matched. How could you just jump to such an extraordinary conclusion? How could you a.s.sume that Mark had killed Veronica with no proof, no reason?" Keely struggled to comprehend his reasoning. "You're a rational person, Lucas. Why would you do that?"

Lucas glanced at his watch, as if checking the time. Then he squinted up at the vaulted ceiling of the pool enclosure. "Oh, no, no, Keely. I wasn't jumping to conclusions. I knew it for a fact. Long before Maureen suspected anything, I knew it for a fact. No. Although I don't doubt that she would have persisted until she had it all. No, I've known about Mark's crime since last summer. It just took me a little while to exact my revenge."

"No. That's impossible. How did you know?" Keely cried.