Silent Fall

feelings," she said, ignoring the jab. "If she didn’t call you at the station, who else would she have called?"
    "I can’t think of anyone." He paused. "Maybe...
    God, I wonder if Blake Howard is a member of the Metro Club. It would be just like him to belong to an exclusive men’s club where he could network with the rich and powerful. If that’s true, and he knows Erica --"
    "Then he’s another connecting link between Erica and all the players we’ve named so far," she said, with a rush of new excitement. "That would certainly point away from your father. How do we find out if Blake is a member?"
    "I’ll call his assistant, Rita. She’ll know. Even if he is a member, it’s a long shot he’s behind this. Blake doesn’t have that much of a reason to hate me; nor, as I said before, is he that smart."
    "Sometimes people play dumb on purpose. It lets them slide under the radar."
    "Possibly. I know he’s ambitious, and he’s also rich. He has some family money backing him. I can’t recall him reacting in any particular way to my story on Ravino, although I never asked for his opinion. If he is a Metro Club member, then he probably knew the senator, too, or hoped to." Dylan paused. "You have a good sense of direction. My grandmother’s house is on the next block."
    "I know. I paid attention when we left."
    "You’d make a good reporter, Catherine."
    She let out a small laugh. "No way. I could never objectively report the news. I’d get too involved and probably be really depressed most of the time."
    "You build up a thick skin over the years. Well, maybe not you," he admitted.
    "Thanks."
    "It’s not an insult."
    "Really? I can’t imagine that you like emotional women."
    "I don’t like women who are drama, drama, drama. But that’s not you. You’re just... complicated."
    "I’ll give you that," she said, as she parked the car in front of his grandmother’s house. "And I’ll take complicated over crazy any day of the week."
    As she stepped out of the car Catherine realized that the neighborhood had come to life since they’d left earlier that morning. Down the street a man watered plants in front of his house. Across the block two kids were playing catch. It was a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon, the fog lingering on the edge of the horizon but still several hours away from blowing in off the ocean and covering the city.
    She followed Dylan up to the house, keeping an eye out for anything unusual, but everything appeared normal. It was doubtful anyone knew where they were, but sooner or later the news about Erica would come out. And certainly Dylan would be a person of interest, if not an outright suspect.
    "Do you think you should call your lawyer again?" she asked as they entered the house.
    "Mark said he’d e-mail me with news, so I’ll check my computer in a minute."
    Catherine set the bags of food on the kitchen counter and began unpacking the deli sandwiches she’d picked up. She’d also gotten a rotisserie chicken and some salad makings for dinner. The fewer times they had to leave the house the better.
    "Wow," Dylan said as she handed him his turkey-and-ham combo with all the fixings. "I was expecting eggplant with tomatoes on some type of whole-grain bread."
    "That’s mine," she said with a smile. "How did you guess?"
    "I must be picking up on some of your psychic powers."
    "That must be it. Speaking of which..." She sat down at the table, not sure she wanted to bring up her latest vision, but then again, it could be important, and she might not be able to understand the significance without Dylan.
    He set down his sandwich and gave her a wary look. "Why do I get the feeling I’m about to lose my appetite?"
    "I was standing in line at the supermarket and there was this mom and her kid in front of me, and the little boy had a Band-Aid on his forehead. I suddenly flashed on another scene. I think it was you and your mother. You had fallen and scraped your knee. She said, ‘ Don’t worry, Dylan. Mommy will make it better .’ "
    Dylan didn’t blink for a long moment, and then he sat back in his chair with a definite shake of his head. "That couldn’t have been my mother. She didn’t do anything to make my life better."
    "You were small, maybe five or six," Catherine said, seeing the echo of pain in his eyes. "I think you were on a deck. It was summer. There was a