“I got a special deluxe because that was what they had already cooked in the quick-stop next door,” he said. “If you don’t like any of the toppings, just scrape them off. I won’t mind.”
She hung back by the open door. “I told you. I’m full.”
“Yeah, I see.” He fisted the candy wrappers and dropped them into the wastebasket. “What kind of diet is that?”
“Chocolate lover’s,” Delia shot back, not caring that she sounded defensive.
“Well, I’m going to eat, even if you’re not.” He pulled two bottles of cold soda from his jacket pockets and set them on the table next to the pizza.
A perverse side of Delia’s personality kept insisting she wasn’t going to let Shaun coerce her into eating with him. A more rational side reminded her that he was trying to be nice, possibly to make amends for kissing her.
The thought of his kiss rose like a wisp of smoke and coiled in her already crowded stomach, making her wish mightily that she’d stopped after the first candy bar.
Truthfully, she did crave something that wasn’t sweet tasting. And the pizza smelled wonderful.
“Okay,” she said, approaching the table. “But we’re leaving the door open.”
“Fine with me. I just came here to eat.”
“You didn’t want to use room service?”
“Nope. This meal is on me. My treat.” He smiled as he lifted a triangular slice and used his other hand to loop hanging strings of cheese over it before taking a bite. “Guess my bourgeois roots are showing, huh?”
Delia couldn’t help returning his smile. “Nothing wrong with a few simple pleasures, Murphy. I’m sure you remember how much I love pizza.”
“I remember.” He looked away. “I would have bought one with pineapple on it, in honor of your adopted state, if they’d had that available.”
“Actually, there are very few pineapple plantations in Hawaii anymore. No sugarcane, either. All that kind of farming has moved to places like the Philippines.”
“Really? Well, there goes the neighborhood, as they say. What do the Islands rely on now, just tourism?”
“For the most part. We have some cattle ranches and truck farms, of course, but the big plantations are history.” She took a chair across from him, lifted a slice of the delectable treat and bit into it before she said, “At home, I often order pizza with shrimp on it.”
The odd expression on Shaun’s face made her laugh. “It’s an acquired taste. We eat a lot of seafood in the Islands. There aren’t any native lobsters, like there are in Maine, but we have our share of delicacies.”
“Besides candy bars?” He arched an eyebrow and glanced at the wastebasket. “I can’t believe you ate all that junk.”
“Neither can I,” Delia admitted ruefully. “I hate to say this, but I’m glad you brought me some real food.”
“It’s not caviar,” he said quietly.
“No,” Delia replied. “It’s the kind of food old friends can share without worrying about getting their fingers messy or being too formal. This reminds me of some of the great times you and I used to have a long time ago.”
“Good,” Shaun said, averting his gaze while he continued to eat ravenously. “It was supposed to.”
EIGHT
Delia had slept poorly after their impromptu pizza party. She wasn’t sure whether her insomnia had been because of all she’d eaten or because of who she’d eaten it with. Whatever the cause, she’d been struggling to stay awake from the moment they’d piled back into the SUV to continue their trip the following morning.
She’d been letting the motion of the car lull her to sleep while Shaun drove in silence. The cessation of motion roused her when he finally pulled up to the iron gates of Westside Medical Retreat and stopped. “Are we there?”
“Looks like it.”
“Umm.” Stretching, she blinked rapidly to focus. Her mouth was dry and her head ached. “Okay,” she said, reaching for a bottle of water to quench her thirst while she braced herself for what was to come. “Let’s go on in.”
“You’re sure you’re ready?”
“No, but I’m going through with this anyway.”
Nodding as if in agreement, he drove past the open gates and followed the winding, tree-lined drive that led to the Tudor-style, brick-and-stone hospital.
Delia’s heart sank the moment they rounded the final corner and she got a good look at the place. It may once have been majestic but it had deteriorated until it was run-down and seedy-looking, just as her sister Bianca had described.
Moss splotched the reddish brick walls, making them appear darker and horribly dingy. The banks of small windows facing the front were multipaned, reminding her of the many-faceted eyes of a predatory insect.
She glanced at Shaun. “This whole place gives me the creeps.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. Hopefully, the inside is better than the outside.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
Shaun brought the SUV to a stop parallel to the dull, beige stone portico denoting the front entrance. Delia shed her seat belt and gripped the door handle.
Shaun made no move to do likewise so she asked, “Aren’t you coming?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Of course.”
“Then I will.”
She had to bite her lip to keep from snapping at him. Between her uneasiness over the present situation and her memories of their conflict and eventual truce the previous evening, she was an emotional wreck.
Still, the last thing she wanted to do was waltz into the mental institution alone to face whatever awaited her. Not only did she crave moral support, she wanted Shaun to provide it. No one else would do. If she’d had a troop of armed superheroes surrounding her, she’d still have wanted Shaun at her side. It was just a bit galling to have to ask him to accompany her.
Delia slung the strap of her purse over her right shoulder and waited for him to circle the SUV before she started toward the massive double doors.
There were no welcome signs posted, no instructions for visitors, nothing but a brass nameplate, Westside Medical Retreat, and an ornate bell with a chain hanging beside the doors.
She sensed, rather than felt, Shaun’s hand at the small of her back and looked to him. “Should we ring?”
He reached to open the door and found it locked. “I was going to say, no, but we seem to have no choice.”
Delia rang the bell. Repeatedly. Finally, a gray-haired woman in a nurse’s uniform opened the door slightly and peered out.
“Saturday is visiting day,” the woman said. “Deliveries go around the back.”
Taking both Delia and the nurse by surprise, Shaun gave the door a hard push and barged in. “Today just became visiting day. We want to see the doctor in charge. Now.”
“I’m sorry, sir, that will be impossible. Dr. Brooks is a very busy man. You’ll need an appointment.”
“Consider this our appointment.” Shaun’s voice was throaty and tinged with antagonism. If Delia had been in the nurse’s place and hadn’t known what a sweet guy he was, his demeanor would have frightened her enough to convince her he was deadly serious—and probably dangerous.
“Wait here. I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps our administrator, Mrs. Greeley, is free to speak with you.”
“Why don’t we just tag along while you find out and save you the trip back to get us?” Shaun’s polite smile didn’t reach the steely blue of his eyes.
“I could call security.”
Delia didn’t want Shaun to wind up in jail—or hurt—so she intervened. “Please, don’t feel you have to do that. We don’t want any trouble. We’re simply concerned about one of your former patients. We promise we won’t take up much of the doctor’s time.”
“Very well. This way.”
Shaun took Delia’s arm and they fell in behind the nurse. He leaned closer to whisper, “Good cop, bad cop?”
“No,” she told him aside. “Finesse.”
&nb
sp; “Ah. I see. Did they teach you that in finishing school?”
“No. I learned how to be polite at home.”
“And I didn’t? Is that what you’re saying?”
Delia made a face at him. “Knock it off, Murphy. Everybody knows you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar. You don’t have to go to a fancy school to learn that.”
“Point taken.”
The hallway was long, bare and dimly lit. The walls were a color that was probably supposed to be a muted green but had turned out to be more of a sickly gray, and the floor was a shiny checkerboard of brown and beige vinyl. Each door they passed had a small window of reinforced glass at eye level but none of the rooms stood open. Delia suspected that the doors were locked to keep the patients inside. The thought of being confined to one sparsely furnished room and unable to leave it at will gave her the shivers and made her stomach queasy.
The next time she stood on a wide expanse of beach and felt the freedom of the wind in her hair, the warm sun on her face, she was going to raise her hands to heaven and thank God. Literally.
The nurse paused at a door with Administration stenciled in gold lettering on a smoky glass panel. She knocked cautiously. When a female voice from inside called, “Come in,” the nurse entered partway and paused, blocking Delia and Shaun’s access with her body.
“There are some visitors here,” she said. “They insist on seeing Dr. Brooks.”
“Show them in. I’ll take care of it.”
The nurse stepped aside. “Mrs. Greeley will see you.”
Delia could tell that Shaun was about to reiterate his demand to meet with the doctor so she quickly took charge and offered her hand to the prim, older woman behind the desk. “Mrs. Greeley. Thank you for agreeing to speak with us on such short notice. We’ve come a long way and this is a matter of utmost importance.”
“And you are?” the other woman asked without accepting Delia’s offer to shake hands.
“Delia Blanchard. I believe you met my older sister, Bianca, a few months ago.”
“I have no recollection of doing so. What is your business here?”
“It’s about my mother. Trudy—Gertrude—Blanchard? She was a patient of yours for many years.”
“I’m afraid I can neither confirm nor deny that, Ms. Blanchard. We never give out patient information.”
“My sister spoke privately with a Dr. Brooks. We wish to do the same,” Delia said firmly. She clasped her trembling fingers together to still them and present an image of calm assurance. No one must suspect she was putting on an act, least of all the hospital personnel.
Shaun, however, had apparently sensed her uneasiness because he stepped up beside her to offer silent support.
“Dr. Brooks is a busy man,” the administrator said.
“So we’ve been told,” Delia replied. “Perhaps he will agree to see us if you mention my aunt, Genie Hall.”
Delia had thrown out the name as a test, just to see what might happen. She had expected a mild reaction at best, so she was astounded when the woman jumped to her feet and hurried toward a side door.
“Wait here,” was all Mrs. Greeley said as she left the office.
Shaun leaned closer to Delia. “Whoa. You really lit a fire under her.”
“Yes. She may not remember meeting Bianca but good old Aunt Genie sure got her attention.”
“That’s a positive sign.”
“I hope so. It could also mean that Genie has been here and caused trouble of some sort.”
“It couldn’t be any worse than the trouble she caused in your father’s library.”
“That’s true.”
The door through which Mrs. Greeley had disappeared reopened and a tall, distinguished-looking man wearing a white lab coat and dark slacks entered. He scowled at them through black-rimmed glasses.
“Ms. Blanchard? I’m Dr. Brooks. Do you know something about Genie Hall?”
“Yes. She was my aunt,” Delia said, watching the doctor’s reaction and noting that he suddenly seemed less confrontational and more disconcerted.
Brooks stared. “Was? Has something happened to her?”
“Aunt Genie passed away about a month ago.”
“What?” He quickly approached the desk and leaned on it, palms down, as if he needed the support.
“You knew her.” It wasn’t a question. A possible scenario had been forming in Delia’s vivid imagination and she’d decided to follow up on her hunch.
“Yes, I…”
“Of course. I am sorry. I realize now that I shouldn’t have broken the news so bluntly. She spoke of you often.”
There were unshed tears in the doctor’s eyes when he looked up. “Genie told you about me?”
“Not in so many words,” Delia said. “But you were mentioned on nearly every page of her diary. A lot of what she wrote was rather incriminating if you catch my drift.” She patted her shoulder bag as if she had the revealing journal with her. “Aunt Genie was quite a character. If she actually did half the things she claimed, she should have spent most of her life in prison.”
That was enough to push the guilt-ridden man over the edge. He removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and began to weep openly. “I—I loved her. Anything I did was because I loved her. You have to understand that. She had a hypnotic beauty that I just couldn’t ignore.”
“I’m sure you realize that you could be arrested,” Delia ventured, eyeing Shaun to ask for his backing. To her relief, he understood.
“Yes,” Shaun added, “and we’re ready to go to the police with what we know, unless you cooperate.”
“It—it doesn’t matter anymore,” Brooks stuttered. “Nothing does. Not without my beautiful Genie.”
“You may feel that way right now,” Shaun said, “but you’ve got a cozy little operation here. Once you’ve calmed down and thought about it, I imagine you’ll change your tune.”
He approached the doctor, grabbed him by the lapels of his lab coat and lifted him till they were nose to nose. “Tell you what, Doc. We’ll make you a deal. Show us Trudy Blanchard’s records and we’ll give you whatever information Genie left behind to do with as you please.”
Nice one, Shaun, Delia thought. Not a lie, yet not of much use in the long run, either, since we don’t have anything in writing. She slipped her hand inside her purse and pretended to pat the nonexistent diary again. “That’s right. All we want is to see the records.”
“All right.” Brooks relented. “Let me go. I’ll show you.”
Shaun eased his grip while giving the other man his most threatening stare. “No tricks.”
“No tricks. I’ll have the records brought to my office.” He straightened his rumpled lab coat, then pointed to the door by which he had entered. “Wait in there.”
Delia remembered how her sister Bianca, and Leo Santiago had “accidentally” been locked in a padded cell when they had visited the same mental hospital.
“No, thanks, doctor,” she said firmly. “I think we’ll stick with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Hah! We’ll stick with him even if he does mind,” Shaun said derisively. “No offense, Doc, but you can’t really blame us if we don’t trust you out of our sight.”
Brooks shrugged. “I don’t really care what you do.” He leaned across the desk, picked up the telephone receiver and pushed a button. “This is Dr. Brooks. I want you to bring all the records for Trudy Blanchard—” he spelled the name “—to my office. Yes. Everything.”
Delia couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation but she heard the doctor mutter a colorful curse under his breath before he said, “No. Tomorrow isn’t good enough. I want those records yesterday.”
Making quick eye contact with Shaun, Delia was relieved to see that she wasn’t the only one exhibiting relief. The sooner they got what they’d come for and headed back to Maine, the happier they’d both be.
Ah, but I’ll be happier because I
’ll know more about my mother, she thought. Shaun will be happier because he’ll be rid of me.
If she could have convinced herself otherwise, she’d gladly have done so. As it was, she was stuck with a reality as stark and forbidding as the atmosphere inside the gray-green walls of the mental institution.
To Delia’s consternation, her mother’s hospitalization records were so copious they filled a stack of manila folders that stood over a foot high.
“Wow. It looks like this may take a while,” she said, pulling a chair up to the side of the doctor’s desk and plunking down in it. The paper smelled musty, as if it had absorbed the oppressive, moldy aura of the entire facility.
“Yeah.” Shaun joined her while keeping an eye on Brooks. “Sit, Doc. You’re staying, too.”
“I have work to do, rounds to make,” Dr. Brooks said.
“Then you’ll make them after we’re through.” Shaun continued to stand until the doctor finally sat down behind his desk.
“There’s no reason for me to be here,” Brooks argued. “If you have any questions I can answer them later.”
“Like you answered my sister Bianca’s questions?” Delia replied. “No way. Shaun’s right. You need to stay right here with us. I’m not going to let down my guard and wind up stuck here like my mother did.”
“Your mother was ill when she first came to us,” Brooks insisted.
“I see that. ‘Diagnosis, postpartum depression,’” Delia read. “You must be a really lousy doctor if that lasted over twenty years.”
Delia saw the doctor stiffen. He began to scowl at her. “I thought you said you’d read Genie’s diary.”
“Enough of it,” Delia said quickly. She divided the stack of file folders and handed half to Shaun. “Here. You look through these so we can get out of here faster. This place gives me the willies.”
“Why don’t you start with the most recent entries?” Shaun suggested, “and give me the older ones.”
“Good idea.” Delia quickly inverted the stack and re-sorted the folders.
She scanned the dates in the newest one. “According to this, Mother hasn’t been here for four or five months. That must have been when she escaped and went to Juliet’s father for help.”
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