“Bonnie referred me to you. She thought it would be good to sit down, talk some things out. Now that I’m here, I feel fine. And I don’t want to waste your time.”
“You’re not wasting my time,” she said. “I’m glad you came in.”
Given her hourly rate, I’m sure she was thrilled.
We stared at each other for a while. I felt as though she was waiting for me to speak, even though I had no idea what to say to a person I knew nothing about. The fact she was a shrink and dealt with this all the time meant nothing to me.
“What made you decide to call me today?” she asked.
“I was driving and I felt … anxious. It happens to me sometimes. I deal with it until it passes, and then I’m fine.”
How many others had sat where I was now sitting, downplaying their own situations?
“How did the anxiety begin?” she asked. “What I mean to say is—what happened to bring it on today?”
“Have you ever woken up in the morning, thought about your life, and felt like no matter what efforts you make to move forward, to make a difference, to do something good, you can’t stop repeating the same mistakes over and over?”
Perfect. Now I was shrinking the shrink.
“Do you feel like you’re repeating mistakes over and over?” she asked.
It occurred to me I wasn’t getting out of here without revealing something meaningful about myself, and I had another fifty minutes to go. Better start talking.
“I’m not sleeping.”
“When did it start? Do you remember?”
Of course I remembered.
“When my sister died.”
“How long ago was this?” she asked.
“Several years ago.”
“What happened?”
“She was murdered by a serial killer.”
“That must have been very difficult for you.”
She looked like she was making every effort to maintain neutral on her true feelings about my confession.
“Instead of finding ways to get past it, I spent my nights consumed with rage, focusing every waking moment on how I could find her killer, make him pay for what he did.” I bet that wasn’t something she heard every day. “A few years later, when he started his killing spree again, I found him. And I killed him. Well, he didn’t die by my hand, but he’s dead.”
“Did his death help you find the closure you wanted?”
“In some ways.”
“And in other ways?”
“I’ve seen things in my life,” I said. “Too many things.”
“Such as?”
“Abuse.”
“What else?”
“Death. The kind of death that happens on purpose, not by accident. I’ve witnessed it firsthand with cases I’ve worked on. Sometimes I’ve even been there when it happened.”
She leaned back, pressed her legs together. I imagined she sat day after day, listening to the same mundane problems. Not today. Not with me. Her facial expression changed. She actually looked interested.
“You watched someone die?”
“Not someone, lots of someones.”
This sparked a series of questions about my profession and my life, past and present. Questions that would have taken a handful of sessions to get through. Questions I didn’t want to answer. I touched on the highlights, gave minor details, watched the minutes tick by on my cell phone. Twenty more to go, and I was out of here. She asked what brought me to Jackson Hole. I told her. I also explained the reason I hadn’t left yet. One of them anyway.
“How does it feel to work on a new case after taking a break for so many months?”
“I thought it would feel great,” I said. “Thought it would give me focus, help me get past the slump I was in.”
“And has it?”
Given the fact I was sitting in front of her, having suffered a panic attack less than two hours before, the question answered itself.
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me about your anxiety. What happens when you feel a panic attack coming on?”
“I try to catch my breath, meditate, breathe my way through it.”
“Good. Do you feel the breathing helps you?”
“Sometimes.”
“What have you done in the past when it doesn’t?”
“I have a prescription,” I said.
“For?”
“Xanax.”
She raised a brow. “Does it help?”
“Faster than trying to work it out on my own.”
“How often do you take it?”
“Maybe one every four to six months.”
She didn’t like my answer.
“When we were talking earlier about these attacks, you said you’ve had several in the past six months—ever since your friend Carlo died. You didn’t take Xanax then?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Taking it makes me feel … I don’t know. Like there’s something wrong with me.”
There was something wrong with me. Clearly.
She jotted several words down on a notepad. “So, even though you know it helps you, you’re uncomfortable taking it?”
“I’d rather try calming myself down another way first.”
“Look at it like this—it’s meant to help you. You don’t take it all the time, and you don’t abuse it. Taking something that helps you doesn’t make you any less of a person. It means you care enough about yourself and your wellbeing to do what’s right for you.”
“I don’t want medication to come between my ability to be successful at what I do. I feel like it slows me down.”
“Is slowing down a bad thing?”
Considering the rapid rate in which I liked to do things, I always assumed it was.
Elodie glanced at a clock on her desk. “Do you like to read?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Our time is about up. I’d like to give you an assignment. Nothing big, just something to look over this week if you have the time. Think of it as therapeutic reading.”
Why “this week”? Did she think I was coming back for round two? Did she expect it?
She removed a book from a shelf. The title mentioned something about happiness and feeling good. There was a photo of a woman on the cover. Her eyes were extra sparkly, and she looked ecstatic, in an “out-of-body experience” kind of way.
Elodie ended with an overall wrap-up and showed me out, handing over the book without asking for a second appointment. I didn’t know what to make of it. Apparently she had more faith in me than I had in myself.
CHAPTER 36
“You have a visitor,” Cade said when I entered his house. “She’s in my office.”
“Who is?”
Without waiting for a response, I rounded the corner. “Mrs. Bronson, what are you doing here?”
“Call me Lizzy. I was hoping we could talk, finish the conversation you started with my husband earlier.”
“As much as I’d like your help, your husband made it clear he wasn’t interested in what I had to say until I proved myself to him.”
She took a seat, grinned at me like I was missing the point. “Who do you think sent me here?”
I sat across from her, thought about what she’d just said. “A few hours ago, your husband didn’t want anything to do with me. What changed?”
She swished a hand through the air. “Politics. You know.”
Actually, I didn’t.
“Colt needs this case to go away, to be solved,” she continued. “Hell, everyone does. Over the past week, he’s received a handful of complaints from people in the community. Each day, the number grows. People here are outraged. They don’t think we’re doing enough to find the child.”
“He’s the mayor. He’ll never please everyone, as I’m sure you know.”
“Our goal is to keep people happy, make them feel safe and content, in their homes and in this valley. Colt plans to run for reelection, and somethin
g like this … well, let’s just say we don’t need it to resurface again come election time in a way that tarnishes his reputation.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do,” she said. “We can manage the backlash now, but things like this always get resurrected when there’s a formidable opponent involved. And let’s just say the man who’s gearing up to run against my husband only knows how to play ball one way. He’ll use everything in his power to dirty the minds of the voters.”
The longer she droned on, the more I felt her motive for being here was based more on political gain and less on Finn’s recovery.
“Why are you telling me this instead of Chief Rollins? Seems he’s quite chummy with your husband.”
“Perception, Miss Monroe. It’s important Colt keeps up appearances, shows he’s doing everything he can, working with the chief as a united front.” She paused a moment then said, “I have big plans for my husband. After his second term as mayor, he’ll run for governor.”
“And then what—the White House?”
“Well now, maybe you do understand.”
It made sense to me why Mayor Bronson and Chief Rollins had met up earlier, no doubt to make it appear they were working together to bring Finn home. On one hand, they were. Of course they wanted the baby to be found. On the other, both had hidden agendas, personal reasons I didn’t want to take part in.
“To be clear, Mrs. Bronson, I have no interest in assisting your husband with his political aspirations. That has nothing to do with why I’ve agreed to assist with this case.”
“Don’t you know why I’m here, why I’ve come to you about this? Over the past few years, Chief Rollins has started slipping up, forgetting things here and there, making the kind of errors a person in his position can’t afford to make. Ask Cade. He’s seen it. He knows. The chief doesn’t want to retire. He’s being forced to retire.”
I felt like a teenage girl in a locker room, eavesdropping on secrets that weren’t any of my business. “None of this matters to me.”
“It should. We both want the same thing.”
“I don’t think we do. Regardless of your reasons for being here, I’ll keep looking for Finn until I find him—with or without permission.”
She looked at me in a way that made me question her devotion to her husband, upping my already amplified level of discomfort. “I like you, Sloane. You seem like a bold, daring woman. A woman not afraid to speak her mind. Even your stubborn sense of morality is refreshing.”
Maybe because she didn’t have any.
“I need to get home and tend to the baby,” she said. “If you have questions for me, let’s get started.”
I wanted nothing more than to speed up her departure. But right now, she was the only lead I had. “The night you delivered, I heard it was congested on the maternity floor.”
“There were those who felt we caused a commotion when our friends and family stopped by. A bunch of nonsense, if you ask me.”
“Did you see Hannah while you were there, or anyone else hanging around her room?”
She shook her head. “My suite was at the end of the floor. Miss Kinkade’s was several rooms away. We asked for the suite because it was the biggest and most private room they had. It was at the end of the hallway. From what we were told, our visitors were still loud enough to irritate one of the other mothers.”
“Hannah?”
“Someone else. An angry, mean-spirited woman. Because of her outburst, many who came to see us were rudely turned away, forced to leave.”
“Maybe the woman was trying to keep things quiet for her own baby, or herself, after she delivered.”
“I don’t care what her reasons were,” she said. “It’s a hospital, not a monastery. If she wanted complete silence, she should have hired a midwife and had her baby at home.”
“Did you ever see the woman, or meet her?”
“I asked Colt to talk to her, calm her down. I knew once the woman recognized who he was, who we were, she’d shut her trap.”
“And did he talk to her?”
“He decided to get me an early release instead. We had help waiting for us at home, so there was no reason to remain there any longer.”
“Did you notice anyone hanging around? Anyone who wasn’t there to see you?”
“If they weren’t there to see us, no.”
She stood.
“Don’t give up now. Please. We’re counting on you.” She slipped an envelope into my hand, closed hers over it. “I’m counting on you. Find the child. Don’t let me down.”
After she walked out, I tore the seal on the envelope, pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills, fanned them across my hand like a deck of playing cards. When reality struck, I went after her. She was already gone.
“Whadd’ya have there?” Cade glanced at my money fan then at me.
“I … umm … Mrs. Bronson shoved an envelope into my hand as she was leaving. I’ll stop by her house. Give it back to her.”
“Keep it.”
“What?”
“If you were back in Park City, this would be a job. Just because what you’re doing involves my family doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be compensated for it.”
“That’s what it means to me.”
“It shouldn’t. How much have you got there?”
I had no idea. Thousands. Maybe ten thousand. Maybe more.
“I didn’t want to tell you this, but I was plannin’ on payin’ you myself whether you accepted it or not,” he said.
“I would have never allowed you to, Cade.”
“Let’s make a deal then. I won’t give you any money if you agree to keep what Lizzy gave you. You’ve earned it, and you deserve it. Besides, think of it this way—that family is drowning in money, and for once, I’m seeing it being used for good.”
Whatever decision I made, it didn’t have to be made right now. There was something a lot more important I needed to do, and it couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER 37
Jack looked better. Not great. But better. His face no longer reflected the pallid hue I’d come to expect. When I arrived at Bonnie’s house with Cade, Jack was out back, rocking back and forth on a swing. No coat, no sweater, dressed in short sleeves, khakis, and white socks pulled up as high as they would go. Seemed every resident in Wyoming had warm blood coursing through their veins.
“Mind if I sit with you?” I asked.
Jack scooted several inches to one side, flicked a couple fingers my way. “Not at all.”
I ran my hands up and down my arms, yearning for a coat instead of an airy sweater. Cade entered his aunt’s house, returned with a thick blanket, unfolded it over my body. He parked a chair in front of the swing, sat down.
“Anything new?” Jack asked.
“Nothin’ promising yet,” Cade said. “Sorry, Jack.”
“I know you’re trying.” Jack looked at me. “I know you’re both trying. It means everything to me.”
“I was hoping to ask you a few questions,” I said. “If you don’t mind?”
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“The night you were at the hospital, besides Hannah, two other women also delivered, the mayor’s wife and one other woman, correct?”
“As far as I know.”
“I was told the hospital staff sent several of the mayor’s visitors home.”
A look of disgust expanded across his face. “Not soon enough. They were coming and going for hours before one of the docs worked up the nerve to put a stop to it. Visiting hours were long over. The mayor’s wife didn’t seem to care. The rules didn’t apply to her. She found out her cousin was refused visitation and kicked up a fuss. Next thing I knew, I saw her entourage hauling all this baby stuff down the hall. One of the nurses told me she’d been discharged.”
“I know you waited outside Hannah’s room for a while before Finn was brought out. Did you see anyone who shouldn’t have been there? Anyone just hanging out, poking around?”
>
“We were so keyed up about seeing our …”
He choked on the last few words, unable to get them out.
I ran a hand up his arm. “Jack, I don’t want to upset you. If this is too hard—”
“If talking to me helps in some way, I don’t care.”
I imagined the scene in my mind—the night Hannah was in the hospital. I saw the mayor and his wife, their visitors. I saw Hannah in her room. Her aunt in the hall with Jack and Serena. Teresa. Nurses and other hospital staff coming and going. I put myself in my vision—thought about what I already knew about that night, and what I didn’t. Thought about what holes hadn’t been filled. What questions hadn’t been asked.
“The other woman who gave birth,” I said, “she was angry, right? She complained over the noise from the mayor’s visitors.”
Jack nodded. “She had every right to be upset.”
“She’d just had a baby,” I said. “I’m sure she just wanted to rest.”
“There’s more to it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The woman wasn’t upset because she’d just had a baby. I mean, she did have a baby, but she lost it.”
“How do you know her baby died?”
“After Finn was born, I watched the nurse take him over to the nursery. I followed, watched him through the glass. Finally getting the chance to be a father after all this time, I didn’t want to let him out of my sight. A woman walked up, stood beside me. When I looked at her, I noticed her eyes were swollen. She asked me which one of the babies was mine. I showed her, asked her which one was hers. She burst into tears and ran off.”
“Did you see her again?”
“Her husband came up to me a few minutes later. He apologized, said they’d lost their baby not long after he was born.”
“Do you know what happened? Do you know why their baby died?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did either of them ever mention their names?” Cade asked.
Jack shook his head. “I saw them one other time, only for a few seconds when we were leaving the hospital with Finn. We passed by their room. The woman was in the hospital bed. It looked like she was asleep. The man was in the bed with her, his hand wrapped around her, head resting on her shoulder.”
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