“She’s not guilty, I tell you. What chance does she have with that idiot you were married to defending her?” I could feel granddad’s piercing gaze boring a hole into the side of my head.
“Jack’s not a horrible lawyer.” I tried hard not to sound like I was making excuses for him. “He sure took me to the cleaners.”
“Harumph.”
“Besides, it’s not our decision to make.”
“Damn fine woman like her deserves the best. And Jack Davis isn’t it.”
Well, I certainly couldn’t dispute that.
Chapter 9
I sat at my desk the next morning, more than a little creeped out by my surroundings. The carpeting had been scrubbed and the office thoroughly detailed by professional cleaners who do that kind of work after an untimely death—or even a gory murder. Still, I found myself gazing over at the empty chair more times than I cared to count, each time expecting to see a dead body there.
True to his word, Dr. Dick had replaced the death chair, as I’d come to think of our old wingback. But the new chair was almost an exact replica, the only difference the lack of blood and the solid burgundy fabric. Not quite blood red, but still a poor color choice, if you asked me, not that they had.
I studied the chair legs looking for tell-tale scratches from the night cleaning crew, scratches that would brand it as a reupholstery job and not a new piece of furniture. So far, so good.
But no matter what task I did, my peripheral vision picked up the chair, and I went back to thinking about the murder. If this kept up I’d to need treatment for PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder.
Granddad had mentioned that very thing this morning during Lecture 709, How to Handle Your First Day Back at Work After Discovering a Corpse. Only he’d called it STD – not realizing those initials stood for Sexually Transmitted Disease. It didn’t matter. I knew what he meant. But it didn’t stop me from almost choking on my morning coffee, much to that damn cat’s amusement.
A slight rustling brought me back to the present, and I dragged my focus away from the new wingback. A young blonde woman who appeared to be in her early twenties entered the office and took a seat on the sofa across the room from my desk.
I checked the schedule and didn’t see an appointment for anyone matching her description. I was fairly confident she wasn’t one of our clients.
But since neither of the psychiatrists were available, I couldn’t ask them to make sure. This wasn’t the first time this had happened in the five months I’d worked here. Our strange little blonde visitor would wander in and out of the office at the strangest times. I’d asked her her name many times, but she’d never answered me. And so I still didn’t know her. She was a mystery. Not that we needed any more of those around here.
“May I help you?” I asked gently.
Instead of answering me, the young woman removed a craft project from a plain paper bag and proceeded to bead a bracelet, acting as if she hadn’t heard me. I studied her as she worked, her hands skillful, her movements sure. Her straight white-blond hair framed her pale face. She could
definitely use some sun. Or a tanning booth.
“I can’t seem to find you on the books today,” I ventured and got up from my desk to stand in front of her.
Realizing I probably loomed over her, I sat beside her. Her hands, which had become still while I was standing, resumed their rhythmic motions.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,” I stated firmly but with kindness.
She peeked up at me from under her darkly fringed lashes and smiled. Her eyes were a shade of lapis blue that I’d only seen with people who wore tinted contacts, but this close to her, I could tell that she wasn’t wearing any.
“Would you like to make an appointment with one of our doctors?” I asked, fascinated at how swiftly she worked, turning the bracelet into a work of true beauty.
Still she didn’t answer me.
I sighed and got up, and she settled deeper into the couch. I returned to my desk and studied today’s appointments. I’d actually remembered to bring a selection of CDs from home and made notes of which ones would work best with today’s clientele. Before I could implement my plan, the door to the office flew open and Anna Blake stormed in.
“Where’s Marcy?” she demanded.
Momentarily forgetting our mystery guest, I focused my attention on the newcomer. This was going to be interesting.
“Dr. Palmer is due in any minute.” She’d called to say she planned to get in some shopping since she didn’t have an early morning appointment. I thought it a little odd that the first day we reopened for business she chose to make an urgent Nordstrom run. But being a therapist and all, she probably knows the best post-death-by-letter-opener office procedure. I checked the schedule. Anna Blake wasn’t listed. “Did you have an appointment?” I asked.
“Not exactly. But I hoped you could squeeze me in.” Anna glanced briefly at the other woman before returning her attention back to me. “Who’s she? Is she here to see Marcy?”
I stiffened. You never inquired about anyone else in the office.
Never, ever.
When I didn’t respond and made it clear I didn’t plan to anytime in this lifetime, Anna swung around to confront the young woman. “Well? Who are you?” she demanded, then waited for her to speak up. She’d be waiting a long time, if my experience with our mystery visitor was any indication.
Sure enough, the woman continued beading as if she hadn’t heard anything Anna said.
“Is she mute?” Anna talked about the young woman like she wasn’t there.
“Not that I know of.”
Come to think of it, I’d never heard her speak, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t. Just that she chose not to.
I peeked at the office clock and realized Marcy could show up any time. I’d never get a better opportunity to dig for information then right now while Anna waited for Nordstrom to run out of sale items. Better work fast if I hoped to make the most of my opportunity.
Urging our silent guest to her feet, I escorted her to the door. “Please come by later when one of the doctors can see you.” I squeezed her arm and she smiled sweetly at me.
Noticing that Anna still hadn’t taken off her sunglasses despite the subdued lighting in the suite, I beckoned her to sit on the now vacant couch. Pouring her a glass of water, I handed it to her and took the adjoining seat. “This must be very hard for you,” I said, patting her hand. Well, it must be. She claimed she loved the guy. Even though that made her the “other woman,” her grief seemed genuine.
After a few sips of water, she broke her silence. “Becca, you’re the only one who has been nice to me during this whole horrible time.”
She removed her sunglasses, and I saw the deep, dark circles beneath her red-rimmed eyes. My heart gave a hitch.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I gave her hand another pat and urged her to keep sipping from the glass.
Instead, she collapsed against me and sobbed. I hoped her mascara was waterproof because this was my only white blouse suitable for work. Damn.
But I couldn’t worry about that now.
This woman clearly needed a shoulder to cry on. “There, there. Everything’s going to be okay,” I murmured as I rubbed her back in soft circles. Even I didn’t believe that, but the words always helped me in times of extreme distress. And Anna Blake was definitely in extreme distress.
After a few moments she seemed to pull herself together. I reached for some nearby tissues and handed her a wad. She accepted them with a grateful nod and blew her nose in a very unlady-like honk. Glad that she didn’t try to hand the soggy tissues back to me, I continued to make soothing sounds while she composed herself.
“Anna, if you’d like to talk about it, I’m a very good listener.”
When I kept my mouth shut, it was the truth. People loved to spill their guts to me. And most of the time I had no clue why. It was a gift. Part and parcel that came
with that fairy dust that made people like me so much.
Anna remained quiet, and I was about to return to my desk and leave the woman in peace when she extended her arm and held me in place. “I loved him, Becca. I really did.”
“I can see the depth of your pain.”
“He swore to me he was going to leave that cow of a wife of his.”
I winced at her description of Edna. Anna cut her eyes in my direction.
“Oh, I know. Everyone loves St. Edna. But the woman is evil through and through. She would have done anything, and I do mean anything, to hold on to Robert. The thought of a man leaving her, for any reason, was more than she could stand. She’d rather see my Robert buried in the ground than to know that he’d left her of his own accord. Don’t you see? She killed him. I know she did.”
I swallowed hard. Anna Blake spoke with such passion that it caught me off guard. Could Edna St. Vincent O’Malley have been responsible for her husband’s death?
Anna must have seen the doubt in my eyes, because she unleashed a torrent of information.
“He had the tickets for our getaway, as he called it. We planned to fly to Vegas. Robert had arranged for one of those quickie divorces, and we were going to marry and celebrate, Vegas style. I had my dress picked out and my bags packed. We were leaving the day after he was murdered. In fact, the day he –” she broke off with a gulp “died - he came here to tell Dr. Daley his decision. Finally, finally we would be free to live together. I’d have everything that St. Edna did, the beautiful home, the jewelry, the cars, the money. Yes, I was going to have it all. And one thing that St. Edna could never possess. I would have Robert’s love for ever and always.” Finished, Anna broke down again in a fresh batch of sobs.
I pulled more tissues from the dispenser and handed them to her. I did my best to console her while my mind whirled with this new information.
To my knowledge you could get married fast in Las Vegas, but there were no quickie divorces there. Was Anna lying or did Robert O’Malley feed her a line?
“Did you actually see the tickets to Vegas?”
Anna’s tears slowed and then stopped. “No, but Robert told me he had them. The last night we were together, he pointed to his jacket pocket and told me they were there. He had no reason to lie to me. No reason at all.” She resumed crying.
We were running low on tissues.
If Robert had the tickets, was he really going to leave Edna? Or was he off on a fling with Anna, only to break her heart after their wedding didn’t materialize? The thought of two attractive women wanting this man boggled the mind. I’d never thought of Robert O’Malley as a lady-killer.
Just goes to show that it would be a very boring world if everyone had the same taste.
“Does Dr. Palmer know that you were having an…” I pulled my words back before I could say affair and tried again. “Did your therapist know that you and Robert were…” Well, that wasn’t much better.
“Not until the other day. The day of the funeral. At St. Edna’s house. I was a little under the weather, and I made a bit of a scene.”
Yowser! Not only didn’t Anna remember I’d been there, she really sucked at self-analysis. Under the weather. Bit of a scene. Sheesh.
I finally blurted out, “So Dr. Palmer didn’t know about your relationship with Robert until then?”
There. That was better.
“No. I mean, she knew I was having an affair with a married man, and she wanted me to break it off for my mental health, but she had no idea I was in love with another patient.” She considered me, and I swear she blushed despite the tears, the runny nose and runnier mascara.
Hmm, not waterproof. I didn’t even want to consider how my blouse must look. I’d chalk it up to a necessary expenditure for getting information. And as anal-retentive as Granddad was with the laundry, he’d probably know exactly what detergent and stain remover mixture would get rid of the unsightly mess. If only he were as good with murder investigations. Because this was one unsightly mess, all right.
“We met here, you know,” Anna said.
I did a double take. I couldn’t remember Anna Blake and Robert O’Malley ever being in the office at the same time. At least not on my watch. My expression must have shown my disbelief.
“Oh, it’s true. At group. In the evening. After you’d gone for the day. We were both members of the addiction therapy group that Marcy facilitated.”
Well, that answered some of my questions. “Addiction group?” I played dumb to keep Anna talking and see what else I could learn.
“Robert had a bit of a gambling problem.”
I’ll say he did if he was thinking of running off to Vegas for a divorce, remarriage and some action in the casinos. That explained why Robert was in group, but what about Anna? I also wondered if Robert and my gambling-addicted ex, Jack, knew each other. Maybe I should suggest he join Marcy’s little group, especially if they were killing each other off.
“And you enjoyed gambling, too?” I asked none too subtlety.
“No. I went along with him to watch the horses or to some of the poker games, but only for luck. No, gambling wasn’t my thing.”
When she didn’t offer any more information on her addiction, I took a wild stab and guessed alcohol was involved and then became preoccupied trying to think of how I could bring the questioning back to her problems without using the blunt approach again.
Marcy Palmer chose that moment to arrive, her narrowed gaze shifting from me to Anna Blake. “Becca, what’s going on?” It was the sharpest Marcy had ever spoken to me and I couldn’t help but wonder why.
“Anna was upset. I was just giving her some water and tissues.”
I pointed to the glass on the end table, to the cluster of used tissues all over the sofa and to Anna Blake herself.
“That’s very sweet of you,” she reluctantly conceded. “Anna, why don’t you follow me. Oh, and Becca? Clean up this mess, please.” Marcy ushered Anna toward her office with her shopping bags slung over her arms.
Obediently, Anna trailed behind. Right then and there I vowed that I never wanted to be under someone’s control that much.
I eyed the soggy white mess littering the floor and the sofa and decided I needed gloves to tackle this job. Only we didn’t have any. I mentally added them to the list of things we needed on my next supply run – along with more tissues.
In the supply closet, I managed to scrounge up some Ziploc baggies. Slipping one on my right hand, I got busy tidying up. Ewweeee. This was not in my job description. I know it wasn’t. Unless Marcy considered it under “and any other tasks as assigned.”
“What are you doing, Miss Reynolds?” Dr. Dick stood just inside the office and watched in horror as I picked up the crumpled tissues with my baggied hand.
“Dr. Palmer told me to tidy up.”
“Well, yes. But speak to the cleaning crew. They’re not doing their jobs.”
“It wasn’t their fault,” I replied, eager to defend the unjustly accused. “It was a patient. One of Dr. Palmer’s patients.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“Clients, Miss Reynolds, clients.” He regained his composure and continued, “Then we need a small receptacle here in the waiting area. Encourage the patients to dispose of their own,” he wrinkled his nose, “messes.”
These people were not living in the real world. Now he expected me to train adults on what to do with their used tissues! “Dr. D.” He glowered at me, and I started over. “Dr. Daley, I don’t think that’s practical. Miss Blake was extremely upset and had no idea what she was doing.”
That brought him up short.
“Anna Blake is in with Marcy?” he asked.
Well, there went patient confidentiality out the window. Maybe it didn’t count when shared with another therapist.
“Answer me, Miss Reynolds. Is Anna Blake in there now?” He pointed to Marcy’s closed door.
I nodded yes. Damn. Even when I kept my mouth shut I managed to ge
t into trouble.
He strode over to the closed door. My heart stopped. Surely he wasn’t going to interrupt a session in progress. What was going on, I couldn’t help wondering, and why did Anna’s presence bother Dr. Dick so much?
His hand hesitated on the doorknob for what seemed like minutes, but in actuality could only have been seconds. Then he retreated to his own office.
Anna Blake had raised some doubts in my mind. But so had Dr. D. Why was he so interested in Marcy’s session with Anna? What was he worried about?
Inquiring minds needed answers.
Chapter 10
At just past nine o’clock that evening, I pulled my beat up 1987 gray Honda into the virtually empty parking lot at Daley & Palmer. I eased into a space in the darkest area of the lot. No sense advertising to anyone who happened to pass by the building that my car was parked here. Or more to the point, that I was here.
I crept along the sidewalk keeping close to the bushes. Even though I hated them because they were so overgrown, and always worried that someone could be hiding in them, tonight I felt grateful for the small measure of cover they afforded.
I was on a mission. A mission that, if discovered, could get me fired. I planned to break into the offices of Daley & Palmer. Whoa, back up. Let me rephrase that. I planned to not-break-and-enter into the offices where I had every right to be.
Because I was an employee. One teeny-tiny problem. I was doing it afterhours when I had no business being there. And I was doing it because of what Anna Blake had told me with such emotion earlier in the day. She had convinced me that I needed to snoop. No, that didn’t sound quite right. I needed to investigate the contents of both Robert O’Malley’s confidential patient file, as well as Anna Blake’s.
And these files were locked in the doctors’ offices. I was privy to the billing files for each patient, but not to the ones that contained the notes of their therapy sessions. Talk about trust issues.
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