3 Can You Picture This? (10 page)

I said, “I’d love to, but I only have one minute before my next appointment. And since there’s nowhere to take a cold shower here I think it’s wisest if I keep a little distance between us.”

“Okay, if you have to.”

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful except for my lunch hour, where I apologetically told Clancy she needed to stay in my office and George and I went out to lunch, a first for us on a weekday.

“I love this,” I said to George over a huge grilled cheese sandwich, “but I do feel guilty about Clancy.”

“I have an idea,” he said, and ordered a hamburger plain, with no bun.

When we got back to the clinic, George gave Clancy the hamburger as an “I’m sorry” gift, and when she’d finished inhaling it, he took her outside for a short walk while I prepared for my next patient.

At 5, I quickly finished up my progress notes, and we headed out. Clancy hadn’t had much work to do today as a therapy dog. Hazel petted her when Clancy greeted her upon her arrival, but then was so caught up in her dreams that Clancy got to sleep through the session. I had met with two children during the afternoon, so Clancy did get a workout then. She showed her sensitivity when one of the children began sobbing during the session. Clancy climbed up on the love seat the girl was sitting on, and gently laid her head on the girl’s lap.

That was one of Clancy’s major strengths—empathy. She had an innate sense of when people needed her. On her first day at work, without warning, she had jumped up on a man’s lap—a hard thing to do when a dog is her size. But she did it, and the man began crying as he hugged and petted Clancy. She knew he was sad before I did. She was an amazing addition to my practice. I was glad she worked with me, and not only because I loved being with her. It also made leaving her at other times less difficult for me.

Like tonight.

FIFTEEN

A
s we walked out of the back door of the clinic to my car, George asked, “What shall we do for dinner tonight?”

“Well, I have a final meeting with the committee before our reunion this weekend. I guess you get to be on the committee too since you won’t let me go alone.” I laughed at this, because George hated meetings. Said he had enough of them on his job.

“What time is the meeting?”

“It’s at 6:30 and we’ll have dinner there.”

“Where’s there?”

“We’ve been meeting at Little Sprout’s.” Little Sprout was another mainstay of Quincy. Located on North 12th, it was a place my parents used to take us on the rare occasions we could afford to eat out as a family. Dad had been friends with the original owner, and I think Little Sprout (the owner’s nickname) might have given Dad a discount because of the six kids.

I turned to George. “How about the two of us visiting Richie before the meeting? We can drop off Clancy and then go right away.” Turning back to Clancy I said, “I know you won’t mind, girl. You are always tired after working all day.” I smiled as I said it, because she was funny. She came home after work and collapsed, just like I had always done pre-George.

Since George agreed with my suggestion, we dropped off Clancy at my locked house, and only 10 minutes later we were at the hospital. We went into the room Richie was supposed to have been in, but it was empty.

“Omigod, George, he died.”

“Don’t go jumping to conclusions,” he said. “I’ll check.”

I followed him as he went to the nurse’s station, flashed his badge, and was told that Richie had taken off AMA.

“Against medical advice? Why would he do that?” I asked George.

He shrugged his shoulders at me and continued with the nurse, “Was there something that happened to cause him to leave so suddenly?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, clearly preoccupied with what she was doing. “Sorry.”

“Where are the police that were guarding him? Why wasn’t I notified?” George was clearly frustrated.

She mimicked George’s shoulder shrug, and went back to work.

“I don’t get it,” I said to George. “One minute he’s in the bed and the next minute he’s gone. Do you think he’s safe?”

“My gut feeling is that the suicide was the murderer. So, yes, I think Richie is safe in that respect. But medically, I don’t know.”

I was worried about Richie, but there was something else niggling at my brain. There was something peculiar going on. Something I couldn’t articulate yet. My vibes had been causing my stomach to rebel ever since I had touched Richie’s empty bed, and the vibes continued to intensify. That must mean the murderer had been here. And maybe he’d been here when Richie was still there. Maybe he took Richie with him. Or maybe, like us, he came in too late. I was just sure he’d been there. My vibes didn’t lie. Well, they were wrong sometimes, but not this time. I was sure of it.

George called the station. When he finished the short conversation he turned to me.

“There was only one cop on duty at the time—Jimmy Mansfield. He reported that Richie signed himself out, and refused police protection, so Jimmy returned to the station.”

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“Yeah, me either.”

“Should you leave me and go check on them?” I was trying to be generous, but I really didn’t want George to leave me.

“Nah. Captain’s going to ask someone else to check on Richie. I’m okay.”

Since I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to say, I was uncharacteristically quiet during the drive to Little Sprout’s. As usual, the parking lot was full, but we were able to jump in a spot vacated by an early eater. The committee had a small room reserved for our dinner meeting, and George was greeted enthusiastically. I wanted to say, “Hey, I’m here too,” but I was afraid it would come off as bitchy instead of just sarcastic.

We seemed to have been the last to arrive, and George went around the table, alternating shaking hands and hugging people. He had been popular in high school and was even more so now. I was popular by association. Since I dated him back in school I had been invited to all the parties and activities. Even now, people always acted as if they liked me. But my self-image didn’t always buy it.

The chair of the reunion committee was Cal, officially Calvin Joseph Wade, George’s best friend in elementary and high school. Another guy from the neighborhood. He was involved in George not picking me up on prom night. Although I had totally forgiven George a few months ago, I still hadn’t gotten there with Cal.

If grudge-holding were an Olympic event, I’d be the record holder. One of my many faults.

Next to Cal was Marilyn Driscoll. She was legally blind but could see shapes and some facial features. Plus of course she would have recognized our voices, and she exclaimed her delight at George’s presence. Her husband Frank sat next to her. He had gone to Gem City High School, the public high school in town. Despite the fierce rivalry between GCHS and St. Francis High School, the classes mingled a lot for social activities. Frank came to the meetings because he drove his wife, but he was also a contributor of ideas. The one thing that bothered me just a tiny little bit was that he always wore his GCHS letterman’s jacket, now 25 years old. I didn’t know his motive, and should have asked. The blue and white jacket had a brighter shade of blue than the blue and gold of our SFHS colors.

“That’s it,” I shrieked, pointing at Frank. He had just sat down again after shaking hands with George, but jumped up as if someone had shot him.

“What’s it?” he yelled back at me.

“The color. The color on your jacket. It’s the same color as the murderer.”

Now it was Frank’s turn to yell. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

I turned to George, who had been greeting Gloria Rosenthal and William “Stretch” Smith on the other side of the table. “George,” I yelled.

“I heard you,” he said. “People all over town heard you, honey.” His rebuke was softened by the endearment, yet I still felt a sting.

He excused us and pulled me out of the room. “You’ve got to learn how to control your impulses. You do have great investigative instincts with an ability to put differing ideas together, but you have a hard time waiting when it comes to information.”

He had his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. I felt like I’d been reprimanded by a teacher in grade school. Hell, in high school and college too. Even though I felt hurt, I knew he was right. So I said it.

“Even though my feelings are hurt, I know you’re right. Can we talk more about my faults later?” I asked the question sincerely.

“Sure. Right now I want to ask you a few questions about the case, and then we’re going inside for the meeting. Okay?” He continued to make intense eye contact.

I nodded.

“Okay,” he said as he let go of my shoulders and seemed to relax. “I think you made a really good point about the colors being the same. However, if you remember, neither hoodie had any insignia on it.”

“Yeah, but it was the same color. That color blue is an exact color, not just close. I wonder if it means anything. Maybe it had something to do with the rivalry between schools. It’s a stretch, but not beyond possibility.” I looked up at him.

I could see he thought it was a stretch too, but he didn’t deny it was a possibility.

“Here’s my next question,” he said very slowly. “Do you think at our age you can learn to not blurt things out inappropriately?”

I almost yelled at him, but stopped myself. “I don’t think you realize how many times I have held my tongue. Ever since I saw you again when I moved back to town. Plus, as a therapist, I’m great at not always saying what I’m thinking. But sometimes I just can’t seem to help myself when I’m not at work.” Before he could say anything, I added, “I promise I’ll look at this flaw and see if I can change. I’ll do my best.”

George didn’t say anything, but put his arms around me and hugged me, making things feel right again. I worried as we started to go back to the room that our friends would think I’d been reprimanded. But George did just what I would want a boyfriend to do. He walked in holding my hand and smiling at me. Then he won my heart all over again.

“Sorry for the interruption. Sam is so helpful in solving crimes and sometimes her ideas just flow out of her. So let’s get back to the task at hand.”

I sighed and smiled at the man I loved.

He finished saying hello to everyone by speaking to Vic Carruthers and Cynthia Wayne Carruthers, a couple who married on graduation day, so they had recently celebrated their 25th anniversary.

I chose a seat by Cindy. I didn’t have many close friends because of having my sibs as my best friends growing up, and of course always having George. There were also several cousins my age whom I hung around with. However, Cindy was an exception. She’d been my best friend of all our schoolmates. She’d had other friends, of course. I think I was the only one who had friends by association. But Cindy liked me for me, and I had never forgotten that.

We hadn’t seen each other often over the intervening years, but we did swap Christmas cards. It was only after I moved back to Quincy and we ended up on the reunion committee together a few months ago that we had reconnected.

She was the only one in the group who knew how serious my relationship with George had become. The others knew we were dating; how could I not tell everyone? But I’d held back enough that they didn’t know I was hopelessly in love.

Cal opened the meeting and each of us reported on our assignments. We went around the table until all the details had been covered.

“Sounds like everything is all set,” Cal said. “Let’s make sure we arrive early on Friday at the Boat Club, and on Saturday at the Boat Dock. Anything else?”

There was nothing else, so the meeting ended. George and I were invited to stay for a beer with some of the gang, but we both declined, knowing that there was a possibility that my life still might be in danger.

How casually I let that thought come and go, as if it were an everyday occurrence. “My life might still be in danger” was thought of as easily as “I should let Clancy out.” Yet I felt protected. How fortunate for me that I was dating a police detective.

George opened my car door and didn’t make a crack about me driving. Smart man.

It was hard for me to drive because I kept thinking about the blue in Frank Driscoll’s jacket.

“That color has to mean something, George. It just has to.”

“I think it’s an interesting addition to the info we’ve gathered, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. We’re constantly getting information that looks important on the surface, but we have to sift through it all and see what’s really important versus what is irrelevant. It takes a lot of time and effort to do that. A lot of detective work.”

“I know. I know. But sometimes my vibes let me cut through the bull and get right to the answer.”

“Yes,” George said, “I’m sure that’s true. But I can’t just go on your vibes. I can’t arrest people on your vibes. I can’t chase people on your vibes. The only thing I can do is figure out an excuse to interview people you think are guilty. And I do that without complaining.”

“Too much. Without complaining too much,” I had to add.

Ignoring my comment George said, “So what are your vibes telling you now?”

“Well, there’s something about that color blue. I don’t know if it has to do with the high school or not. I just know that the color on the hooded sweatshirts is really important.”

“I’m sorry, Sam, but that’s pretty obvious. The killer wore it, put it on Richie when he was stabbed, and had it on himself when he committed suicide.”

“At least we hope the killer committed suicide.” The first time I’d ever hoped someone had killed themselves. It didn’t sit right with me as a therapist, but it was an honest feeling.

It was time. I had to tell him.

“When we were at the hospital, my vibes went into overdrive when I touched Richie’s bed. The killer had to have been there with him at some point. I mean, obviously before he committed suicide, I guess.” I waited for his snort of derision, but there was none. He was quiet and looked thoughtful.

“And, George, I haven’t told you this before, but when Richie handed me that first picture my vibes really started bothering me. There was something about that picture…‌I really wish I could see it again.”