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A Tightly Raveled Mind. Diane Lawson
Читать онлайн.Название A Tightly Raveled Mind
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781935955931
Автор произведения Diane Lawson
Жанр Ужасы и Мистика
Издательство Ingram
“The treatment is a standard procedure,” I said. “I can tell you more about that some other time. The point is that two innocent people are dead who shouldn’t be. The only thing they have in common is that they are, they were, my patients.”
The were seemed to make real that I’d never see Howard or Allison again. Finally, I could cry. The belated tears made my nose run. Slaughter pulled a Kleenex box out of a drawer and pushed it at me. It was the fancy aloe-laced variety. This unexpected consideration undid me all the more.
“Detective Slaughter,” I said, my voice unsteady, “I think someone could be targeting my practice. My other patients could be in danger.”
“Okay,” he said, moving the tissue box closer to me. “I owe your husband a lot of favors. I can use one up on you. I’ll look into the Westerman thing—talk to the arson investigator. I’ll see what the medical examiner has to say about Forsyth and follow up with her attorney. Then I can get back to you.”
“When will you get back to me?”
“Investigations take time—interviews, chemical analysis, toxicology. Six weeks on average.”
“Six weeks? Two of my patients are dead in eight days,” I said. “I don’t have six weeks.”
“Look. Dr. Goodman. Nina?”
“Nora.”
“Nora, I can see you’re upset,” he said, resorting to a comfort comment I suspected he’d picked up from Richard in some in-service session.
“I don’t need a cop to tell me I’m upset,” I said. “I need some detective work.”
He ground his teeth for a second or two. “Dr. Goodman, I’d say over fifty percent of families of a suicide come to me talking homicide. The idea sits better on the mind. You aren’t related, but you were close to these people. There is such a thing as coincidence.”
“Not as often as you think. Freud figured that out a hundred years ago. The odds of this would be like hitting the lottery.”
“Doc, there’s a winner every week.”
He stood up.
I didn’t.
We stared at each other for a while. Thanks to my patient Lance and his unblinking, post-traumatic vigilance, I can hold my own at that.
Finally, he said, “I’ll call you this afternoon, first thing tomorrow at the latest. Here’s my card.”
I didn’t budge.
“Look,” he said, like he was addressing a two-year-old. “I’m writing my cell phone number on it.”
I took it.
He escorted me to the door. I told him I knew the way, but he said it was regulation. I clomped down the hall not giving a damn about the noise.
Teresa’s voice echoed behind me. “Vaya con Dios, Doctora.”
When I turned around, she was waving.
Slaughter wasn’t the only one to work me over that day. At 2:02, Renee lay on the couch, her arms folded over her chest, a red lipsticked half-smile on her face.
“It’s not that I don’t know what I’m thinking, in case you’re back there wondering. It’s just that it wouldn’t be very nice to say.”
Nice was a long word out of Renee’s mouth.
I braced for some catty observation of me. I ran my tongue over my teeth in search of a stray piece of spinach from the salad my housekeeper Ofelia had put together for my lunch. Nothing there. Perhaps Renee had heard another lurid detail of my marital problems.
“Say it anyway,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“That rich bitch killed herself.” She almost sang it. “That fancy Forsyth woman is just a stain on the sidewalk now, and one excellent piece of Alamo Heights real estate is up for grabs.”
The light went dim, and my body seemed to float off my chair. If I’d had words, I wouldn’t have been able to say them.
Renee needed no encouragement to continue. “I thought you might cancel today. I know you were seeing her. What does that tell you?”
My right hand balled into a fist. What was I supposed to say to that? Interpret some anxiety about my being able to take care of her? Confront the hostility toward me? In the end I said, “It might suggest that money can’t buy happiness.”
I should’ve known the backhanded criticism would be wasted.
“Maybe not for her,” she said.
“For you either.” Don’t let her distract you, I thought. Allison’s death has nothing to do with Renee’s problems. Keep focused.
“So, I was miserable married and rich. And I’m miserable now, divorced and poor. Believe me, it’s better being miserable rich. I’m sure it’s harder for you now that you only have one income.” She paused to see if I’d respond. “I know it’s none of my business,” she finally went on, “but Allison Forsyth’s suicide does make the point that you have no magic.”
I did some careful deep breathing. “Small children think their mothers have magic,” I said. The interpretation was a therapist cheap shot, but I needed some time. Renee never passed up a chance to talk about her childhood.
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