21

CAROL SINGER WAS IN a terrible mood by the time her husband got home and came into the family room where she was watching L.A. Law. At four-thirty that afternoon Doug Fiore surprised her by coming into her office. It was something he did only on rare occasions since they became lovers six months earlier. He was carrying a briefcase and had his coat over one arm.

“Hi. Got a second?” he asked.

“Sure. What’s happening?”

“I’m on my way to the airport. Something urgent just came up with one of my clients in New York. I’ve got to hold his hand over dinner at LaGuardia.”

“Oh.”

He could see that his words upset her. “I’m sorry, Carol. I was looking forward to tonight at the Sheraton as much as you were.”

“Who’s the client?” she asked.

Fiore hadn’t anticipated the question and deflected it. “I’m running late. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, I promise.”

Carol got up. “I’m not working on anything that’s rush rush. Let me drive you to the terminal.”

That was the last thing he wanted. “Thanks anyway,” he said. “It would take us almost half an hour to walk over to your garage and get out of there. If I grab a cab now, I can probably beat most of the traffic.”

She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek.

“I really wanted to be with you tonight,” he told her. “I’ve been saving up to make a large deposit.”

She returned his smile even though the disappointment was beginning to turn to anger. But she would have been in a rage if she knew that Fiore made his reservation for the flight five days earlier—using the name Paul Rome again—and simply neglected to tell her.

* * *

Carol ate dinner at home alone that same night. She was reviewing a case file at the kitchen table when a woman called on the telephone, asking for Bruce. Carol said that she didn’t expect her husband back before ten o’clock. The caller introduced herself as Jenna Richardson from the Providence Herald and said she needed some information for a story she was checking out.

“Perhaps you can help, Mrs. Singer. I’m just following up on a rumor going around the Statehouse that your husband plans to run for governor this year. Are you able to confirm that?”

Carol had no idea that Richardson was looking at her watch to see how many seconds passed before she got an answer. The question produced a sudden ache in her stomach. It was as if she was told by her doctor during a routine checkup that she had a life-threatening illness. She had to breathe deeply several times before she could speak.

Jenna was already convinced that the “No” she expected to hear momentarily would be a meaningless denial. She was unprepared for the words that came through the phone: “God, I hope not,” Carol answered.

“Thank you, Mrs. Singer. I won’t quote you on that. I’ll try and reach Mr. Singer at his office tomorrow. Or he can return this call at 241-5000. Goodnight.” Jenna hung up the phone and started biting her thumbnail as she considered Carol Singer’s answer. It was something she was doing quite often without realizing it.