by C.G. Banks
Chapter 36: Skate on Ice
Beverly came to the partially opened door and chanced pushing it back the rest of the way. Doctor Skate was in the same position she’d maintained since earlier that day, bent to the scatter of work splayed across her desk as if time had stopped back here while continuing running its course up front. Skate noted her presence in the room with a lifted eyebrow and looked up from her notes. Beverly thought she looked tired, distracted. “I, um, it’s five o’clock,” she said. “I’m heading out and wanted to know if you need anything.” Then, on impulse, “It’s Brad’s birthday tomorrow and I haven’t gotten him anything yet.” She didn’t know why she offered this, but some sort of cover seemed imperative even though Skate had never asked a word about her family. Beverly suspected this was because she lived alone. And as far as she was concerned, psychologists were a nutty bunch anyway. But the nervousness? She didn’t know where that had come from because Skate had never been anything less than cordial. Aloof, yes. Sometimes to the very edge, but never mean. It was just lately that the woman was making her uncomfortable.
“Oh…yes,” Skate said. She brushed back a strand of hair from her face and readjusted her reading glasses. Her face was drawn and pale, anyone would say the same. She looked at her wristwatch and blew out a breath. “Five already?” she said, shaking her head and rubbing her forehead. She gave her receptionist a cursory nod. “Go on,” she said. “I’ve got a few more things to do. Just lock the door on your way out and I’ll handle the rest when I leave.”
“Okay,” Beverly said. “Well,” and she paused in the doorway. “Goodnight then.”
“Yeah, uhh, goodnight. See you tomorrow,” and Skate returned her attention to the notebook computer on her desk and the wild conglomeration of papers scattered about it. She, however, quit the subterfuge the second the door latched. Reached up and pulled the computer closed. Her heart pounding, short of breath. It had not been a good day and she didn’t know why; there’d been no great catastrophe to deal with and she wasn’t sick. But something was not right.
Something, she thought and let go a quick, sardonic laugh. Laughed because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what that something was. Patsy Standish. She couldn’t keep the woman from her mind. Of course she’d tried to call her back but hadn’t been surprised when no one answered. She hadn’t been expecting anything else down inside where the truth lived. This whole thing rankled and its cause was a mystery. She saw people every day in much the same if not much worse situations and these didn’t stick in her head like a bad song that wouldn’t go away.
This was different, strange.
She’d looked through the notes on their meeting and come up with nothing new, but the conversation she’d had with James kept resurfacing like a drowned body. For the past hour or so she’d poured over newspaper accounts of the strange goings-on in Standish’s neighborhood. She’d accessed the stories through the internet and as of yet nobody except James and her seemed to have connected any dots. But from the look of things that wouldn’t take much longer. Most probably, only another incident or two, and that’s what had her scared. Because something was telling her loud and clear the woman, Patsy Standish, was in danger.
And Skate knew it. She didn’t know how but she knew.
She looked down at the papers and considered the folly of her newest idea. Completely ludicrous. Was she really thinking of driving out there? The comments James had made about the place kept rolling through her mind like an endless, looped reel. Intuition, instinct. Completely unquantifiable ridiculousness. But there it was anyway. “Shit,” she said quietly and turned her eyes to the ceiling as if the answer to her questions might be scrawled up there. She tapped on the desk and stood up. Checked her watch again. Fifteen minutes had slid into the sink. She thought of going home and the emptiness that waited. Knew she’d be mulling over this problem for hours yet and hated the image of freefall.
Maybe just a drive through, she thought randomly. She’d already found the address on one of the many maps she kept in her desk drawer and knew it wouldn’t take long to swing through. Hell, if she left right now she’d still be able to make it back to her place before dark. So…
She remembered her father on his deathbed, her hand clenched tightly in his. He’d always been an impulsive man and now she felt the pull of this latent trait. Never waste an opportunity because time doesn’t forgive; that had been his mantra. It had taken her to the top of her high school class, had spurred her on through the bachelor and graduate work to bring her here, now. She looked down at the hand he’d held and thought of his face, his bright eyes in that wonderfully seamed face. He’d always had confidence in her.
She stood up and walked over to the bureau where she kept her purse. Slid the top drawer back. Grabbed the Gucci bag inside and nodded. After all, what could a little after-work ride hurt?