by Virna DePaul
“It’s not exactly business as usual, but we’re not exactly business acquaintances, now are we?” She held out one glass. Lily stared at it, then slowly reached out to take it. Dr. Tyler lightly tapped her glass against hers. “Salud, Lily.” She swallowed the contents of her glass, grimacing slightly, then smiled encouragingly at Lily.
Lily stared at the contents, then mentally shrugged. The offer itself had calmed her nerves. Closing her eyes, she threw back the drink, then choked. And coughed. And then laughed almost hysterically.
“What IS that?”
Dr. Tyler shook her head and laughed herself. “It’s called Rumple Minze Peppermint Schnapps 100. 100 Proof. A college dorm mate used to sneak it in to our room. I keep it around for tense moments like this. Breaks the ice and all that.”
Lily collapsed back in her chair. “You’ve changed,” she whispered, then dropped her head into her hands.
She felt something stroke her hair. “So have you. It’s called growing up.”
Lily raised her head. “You were already grown up.”
“Maybe too much. I—I pulled into myself after my husband’s death. Normal, of course. I know—I know it was hard for Carmen. Even John. But then subsequent events—” she smiled sadly and stroked Lily’s hair again “—made me realize I needed to get over myself before I lost everything.”
Silence hung heavily between them and Lily knew they were thinking of the same woman who had meant so much to both of them.
“Do you know what your mother used to say? That you inherited not only the best of her looks, but the best of everything else. Because you had her strength and passion and ability to love, but not her weaknesses.”
“Weaknesses? My mom wasn’t weak.”
“No. In many ways she wasn’t. But neither were you. She just…she just wanted to protect you so much, Lily. Too much, I think.” Dr. Tyler smiled sadly. “Just like your father. And John—” She stopped abruptly, her expression troubled.
Despite the sudden acceleration of her pulse, Lily quickly changed the subject. “My mom was the toughest person I knew. She kicked my dad out as soon as she found out about his affair. Not many women can do that.”
Dr. Tyler looked away.
“What is it?” Lily whispered.
Hesitating a fraction of a second before meeting Lily’s gaze, Dr. Tyler said, “She wasn’t my patient, and my priority is you. Let me tell you that your mother loved your father so much, Lily. So much that she didn’t act that much differently from other women when it came to forgiving infidelity.”
Stunned, Lily sat quietly for several minutes. Dr. Tyler let her have the time to adjust. To grapple with the fact that even now, her father’s actions—his imperfection—could still stun her.
Then Dr. Tyler cleared her throat. “About your dreams, Lily. I can’t dismiss that you may be remembering details through them. I’ve done a lot of work with hypnotherapy. We have so little understanding of what the mind retains without knowing it.
“Also, let’s not forget the stress you’re under because of Hardesty’s upcoming execution. For that reason alone, it’s completely natural that your dreams have become more disturbing. It’s also possible—no, probable—your father’s words in the dream are simply a manifestation of your own misplaced guilt.”
Lily stifled a sob. “But I thought I’d let that go. I want to move on.”
“And you are.”
When Lily moaned with frustration, Dr. Tyler said, “Okay. Let’s forget the dream for a moment. You said you’ve seen your sister recently. How’d that go?”
Taking a deep breath, Lily shrugged. “We’ve made some progress. But there are obviously still issues between us.”
“And your father?”
“We’ve barely seen each other the past few months.”
“Are you still doing your journaling?”
Lily guiltily averted her gaze.
“It’ll help, Lily. Help identify a pattern.”
“I just want to let it go,” she said wearily. “I don’t want to think about it anymore, let alone write about it.”
“I know. But, if you journal your dreams, you may be able to view them more objectively. We may be able to focus in on what your subconscious is trying to tell you.”
“We? I thought you said—”
“I know. But I don’t see why we can’t work together so long as we keep our personal lives separate. If you’d like to work with me, I’d like to give it a try. I’m wondering one thing though—have you ever considered going back on the meds?”
Lily’s lips tightened. “No. I’d rather not take drugs if it’s not necessary. I’ve been doing fine.”
“It’s up to you, of course. I’m just worried that you’re going through a difficult time. And these panic attacks seem extreme.”
“Yes, extreme is putting it mildly.” She sighed and accepted defeat. “I’ll talk to someone about a prescription.”
“Good.” Dr. Tyler rose.
“Dr. Tyler,” Lily whispered. “What about hypnosis? You said you’d done hypnotherapy before. I—I’m hoping that we can give that a try. Because I can’t stand these feelings anymore. I can’t stand feeling like I’m missing something, something important, something crucial when a man’s life is at stake.”
“Well, we did our own hypnotherapy sessions to a certain degree. The meditative exercises I taught you? The ones you say you still practice? Those are all the foundation for hypnosis. It’s all about getting yourself into a calm, peaceful place where you can relax. Where your brain can free itself without your even realizing it.”
Lily stared at her. It was a similar principle to what she taught her patients, only the way she encouraged them to deal with their feelings was through art. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Why don’t I make an appointment for you next week? You can come back. We can talk about it. I wish I could talk more, but I’m meeting someone in about five minutes.”
Lily rose. “Thank you for seeing me. It’s been difficult for me, these past few days. And—and—” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her about John. But she couldn’t.
Nora Tyler stepped forward and squeezed Lily in her arms. Stunned, it took a moment for Lily to return the gesture.
“Thank you, again.”
“Goodbye, Lily. We’ll see each other soon.”
Lily left her office, making a brief detour into the bathroom. When she came out, Dr. Tyler’s door was closed and she could hear the soft murmur of voices behind it. She was almost out the front door when Dr. Tyler’s door opened and John stepped out with his mother.
They both stared at one another in shock. Swiftly, Lily opened the front door, scurried outside, and shut the door behind her. She ran to her car. Nerves jangling, she unlocked her door and opened it. She wasn’t surprised, however, when she felt the firm but gentle grip of masculine fingers around her arm.
“Hold on there, small fry. I can’t let you slip out of here that easily.”
Slowly, she turned to face him. She braced herself for images of blood and the sad memories that bombarded her whenever she saw him.
Only this time, something strange happened. All she saw was him. His dark hair and steady gaze. His tall, solid strength.
She blinked.
No cruel memories. No guilt.
The shock in his eyes had faded somewhat, replaced with a sweet combination of determination and heat. The look made her jittery and scared, but in a way that had nothing to do with the past and everything to do with the powerful kiss they’d shared.
“I need to leave,” she gritted. “And you’re bothering me.”
The tips of his mouth quirked up, making her face heat. Damn her poor choice of words. “I mean, we said everything we needed to say to each other.”
“Not everything.” John pushed her car door closed when she tried to open it further. “You were here to see my mother?”
“I still can’t—I can’t talk about it.”
He nodded. “Okay. But can I ask you another question?” Before she could answer, he leaned down and stared solemnly into her eyes. “Are you going to hate me forever, small fry? Because I don’t think I could stand that.”
Completely taken by surprise by his soulful tone, she froze. Her lower lip trembled. She struggled for words. Sighing, he leaned back against her car and pulled her unresisting into his arms.
She was transported to that moment when she was in his arms at the hospital. Kissing him. A frisson of longing swept through her, so powerful that she immediately fought it, slowly pulling out of his arms.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “So how goes the investigation? Have you uncovered anything new?”
He seemed more troubled by the fact she’d broken his embrace than by her question. “I’m just trying to sort a few things out. Some things don’t make sense.”
“What could possibly make sense about a woman being stabbed to death by a stranger?” Her voice broke and she closed her eyes, rubbing a twinge of pain that pierced her temple. She imagined a flash of movement. A knife piercing skin. Blood spatter.
“Was he a stranger?”
Her eyes flew open. “Wh-what are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe Hardesty and your mother had a relationship that no one knew about.”
“No! He was—” She shook her head. “She was dating someone.”
“Hardesty was what?”
The sudden aggressiveness in his tone stunned her. She reminded herself that this man made a living interrogating people and getting to the truth. She couldn’t forget that. “You know he was homeless. That he broke into our house looking for money.”
“What I know is someone moved the body before you got home. The two most likely candidates are your father and Hardesty. Since you seem so sure it wasn’t your father—”
“It wasn’t,” she said, but couldn’t stop herself from thinking of her dream. She, her father, and Hardesty, all watching while someone else hurt her mother. But that wasn’t real. She hadn’t been there. Neither had her father. “So what if Hardesty moved the body? What difference does that make? He still killed her.”
“The fact she was moved to her bed tells me the killer cared for her. Which is why I’m wondering if Hardesty and your mother—”
“No,” she snapped. “My mother would never have been romantically involved with Hardesty. The idea is ludicrous.”
“Maybe you’re right,” John conceded. “It’s just a theory.”
She stared at the ground but he nudged her chin up, refusing to let her get away with it. “So, you’re seeing my mother again?”
“Again?” she whispered. “She—she told you she’d treated me before? But that’s—”
John shook his head. “Believe me, my mother and I never talk about her patients. I found out almost fifteen years ago.”
She could tell by the tense set to his shoulders that there was more to it than that. “What happened?”
His lips tightened. “I saw you together at Ravenswood. You screamed when you saw me. Wouldn’t stop until I left.”
She saw the pain on his face as if it had just happened. She reached out a tentative hand, but let it fall before she made contact. “I—I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
John shrugged and glanced back at his mother’s office. “She’s waiting for me. I—I better get going.”
“John?”
He stopped and turned back to her. “Yes?”
“I—I meant it. I’m sorry about what I said about your father.”
“I know. Thank you. Did you deliver that painting to Fiona?”
She frowned, not at his question, but at the memories it brought back. At the fact she’d freaked out, imagining violence and blood while tweaking the painting he was now talking about. “Yes, I gave it to her this morning. She seemed to like it.”
“Not surprised at all. I’m glad she’s found a family to care for her.”
And the thing was, he really did seem glad. Family had always been important to him. “You’re meeting your mother for lunch, so things are going good? With her and you? And with Carmen?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “It hasn’t been easy. But in the past few years, we’ve managed to make ground. She realizes she pushed us away. I reminded her too much of my father. And Carmen just reminded her of herself, before she’d learned how to protect herself. How about you and your dad?”
Lily shrugged. “Still a work in progress.”
“That’s good. That you’re working on it, I mean.” His face serious, he jerked his chin in the way guys used to communicate. “I’ll be in touch.”
He started up the stairs to his mother’s office.
“When?”
He froze. His eyes met hers and she could tell she’d surprised him. She’d surprised herself.
She tilted up her chin. “When will you be in touch? I—I think it’s time we finally sat down and talked, John. I know Hardesty killed my mother.”
Moving back down the stairs, he began, “What—”
“No,” she said, and he stopped his descent. “Not now. You need to talk to your mother and I—well, I need to go home and think about a few things. But I—I’ll talk to you. I promise. Can you—can you come by my house tomorrow?”
“What time?”
“What time can you come over?”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “Four?”
Nodding, she smiled back. “Four sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
She watched John shut the office door just as the doors of a car parked at the curb in front of her opened. A plain woman with frizzy red hair and a boxy brown suit, and a large, overweight man with gray hair and a ponytail exited the car. The woman smiled and waved, as if she knew her. The man just glared at her with a grim, expressionless face, and his posture reminded her a little of the men her father had worked with when he was a cop.
Lily squinted but couldn’t place her.
“Ms. Lily Cantrell?”
“Yes,” Lily said.
She held out her hand and Lily automatically reached out to take it. “This is Oscar Laslow. He’s an investigator and I’m Joanna Sherwood, Chris Hardesty’s attorney.”
* * *
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you two to run into each other.”
John looked up at his mother and felt an almost childish urge to embrace her. Her face didn’t reflect it, but he could imagine how troubled she was he’d seen Lily.
“I always seem to screw up where my own kids are concerned. Isn’t that what you and Carmen told me? Putting my clients before the two of you?”
Still recovering from the shock of hearing his mother use the word “screw,” John shook his head. “I wasn’t perfect, Mom. We both know I did things. Things I’m not proud of.”
“I know. But you never hurt anyone. Not intentionally. I’ve never believed otherwise.”
“It’s okay, Mom. We’ve talked about this.”
She nodded her head. Cleared her throat. “I know it was hard for you to leave Lily behind, but you did it because you had to. I’m not surprised you’ve found each other again.”
John studied his mother with little surprise. “You’ve always known how I felt about her, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you helped her. Because of how I felt about her. And how Carmen felt about her. It’s why you paid for her to stay at Ravenswood Rehabilitation Clinic after her mother died.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
Smiling, John shook his head. “A good guess. There’s no way her family could have afforded it.”
“I loved her and her family,” his mother whispered. “We drifted apart after your father—” She released her breath in a shuddering sigh. “But fifteen years later she’s still suffering.” She glanced at him in horror. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
He nodded grimly. “It’s okay, Mom. I know you can’t say anything. Bu
t—but I need to ask you a question. A hypothetical question,” he rushed out when he saw her frown.
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“What effect does trauma have on memory loss?”
His mother stared at him and John struggled not to squirm. Please, he urged silently. Forget the rules. Forget you treated her. Help me.
She spoke calmly. “Memory loss is a defense mechanism. It allows the human psyche to block out the emotions associated with the memories. The mind will go to great lengths to protect itself. The psychological ego keeps one balanced with reality and helps balance emotions—we call it modulating emotions. And when emotions are really overwhelmed, that ego function can become endangered. If you have ego disintegration, you are going to have something close to a psychotic state. The mind will block certain traumatic memories to keep itself sane.”
John pressed his hands into his eyes. “What about if a young girl believed her father killed her mother? Could that cause memory loss?”
His mother sucked in her breath. “John—”
“Mom, please. Just answer the question.”
“Of course.” She nodded. “During a traumatic event, memory can be encoded somewhat differently. The person can experience the emotions without any understanding of what they are about. She can have flashes of memory, or they can show up in dreams. Dreams that are different than REM dreams. More vivid. More intense. Eventually, she might question what was real and what wasn’t.”
“And if, on some subconscious level, Lily—I mean, someone—was there and saw the murder?”
Her mother breathed out. “Shock could make that person malleable. Easily influenced. And if that person was young? If that person was Lily’s age? She’d want to feel safe. She’d want to do anything she could to survive.” She hesitated. “John, do you really think Doug…?” Her voice trailed away when John’s cell phone rang.
With a muffled curse, he retrieved it from his pocket. “I’m sorry. Let me just get this… This is Tyler.” He heard nothing. “Hello? This is Detective John Tyler.”
“Mr. Tyler? This is Mason Park.”
John glanced at his mother and mouthed he would just be a second. “What can I do for you?”
“I—I just—I lied to you before.”