Maybe . . . maybe it was too much. Sabrina’s words. The murders. The notes. My feelings of failure with my patients . . . maybe they had pushed me too hard, too far.
Maybe it was time to talk to someone. Someone who could help me work through everything and lower my own stress levels.
Someone who could help me figure out everything. Especially who was behind the notes.
Chapter Fourteen
SUNDAY, AUGUST 11
It was Sunday. My one fun day, per se, with the only goal being one hundred percent relaxation, whether that be a movie, a Netflix binge, or baking and, of course, my daily walk through the park. Sundays were me days, where I did absolutely nothing but focus on my own mental health and take time to breathe.
Which was why I groaned when I first noticed Sabrina walking up my walkway.
I’d ignored her multiple texts and her four voice messages yesterday. I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind then to talk to her, and I certainly wasn’t today either.
I had other things on my mind.
Like why I was so exhausted after sleeping ten hours last night.
Like who was sending the notes to me.
Like what I needed to do with Ella and how much to share with Tami and the growing guilt from not telling her anything yet.
I didn’t need to deal with someone’s guilty conscience for emotions and feelings she’d expressed yesterday.
Normally I wasn’t one to get offended easily. We lived in a society that looked for offense, but I preferred to keep the mind-set that everyone was entitled to their own feelings and opinions, just like I was entitled to ignore them when they didn’t agree with mine. That didn’t give me the right to be offended; it gave me the right to be selective with my friends.
Sabrina stood at the bottom of my stairs with a covered tray in her hands.
“I stress bake. The morning was slow, and I had a lot left over.” Sabrina’s attention was focused on the tray in her hands, not on me.
She was embarrassed. I got it. Last night she’d said she was horrified by the words that had come out of her mouth and needed to apologize.
“I’m not mad.” I sat down on the step, leaving enough room for her to join me.
She handed me the tray, which I placed off to the side.
“You have every right to be if you were.”
I nodded.
“I thought long and hard about what I said yesterday. Even my husband agreed I spoke out of turn, which has to say something.”
It didn’t, since I didn’t know her husband other than saying hello a few times when he’d been at the café, but I kept that comment to myself.
“Danielle, I’m overly emotional over the murders, the fears, and the stress every day the killer isn’t caught. It’s not an excuse—I know that. But I let what other people said taint my own opinions until that’s all I could think or see. Like a mob mentality.”
“Is that really what people are saying?” If it was, then anyone who sought help for anything had to be worried. No one was safe from public speculation. God forbid therapy actually helped someone with their issues.
All I kept thinking about was Ella.
“People are afraid.” Sabrina ran her hands up and down her arms. “Aren’t you?”
Fear was a multilayered emotion that many had no idea how to handle. “I’m not fearful for my life. But I am afraid for our town.”
Sabrina nodded.
“At the same time, I trust those who are on the hunt for the monsters committing these acts.” The conviction in my voice seemed to set her at ease. Her back relaxed as she let out one very long sigh.
“Basically, you’re telling me to calm down.”
“How about not be as stressed? People are probably looking to you for comfort, Sab, when they come into your shop for tea. Rather than feed into the fear and gossip, do the opposite.”
She seemed to ponder that.
“I was thinking about starting a fund for the kids, to help them, you know? Maybe make some special desserts that go toward that fund or have a special tea where all the proceeds go to them? What do you think?”
I stood up from the stairs and turned toward her.
“I think that’s a fabulous idea and the perfect way to help turn the attention away from the murderers and toward the children. Please let me know what I can do to help.”
Sabrina stood with me and gave me a hug.
“All forgiven?”
I looked her straight in the face and caught the way her smile faltered as I didn’t respond right away.
“Ever since I met you, you have been nothing but completely honest with me. You hold me to task when you think I’m retreating, you call me out when I give stupid excuses, and I love that I’m able to call you a friend. Just because we don’t always agree on things, or because you buy books you knew I was bidding on, that doesn’t diminish our friendship.”
Her wobbly smile strengthened.
“I love you too.” Sabrina drew her arm through mine. “You know, it’s been forever since I’ve been by this place. It hasn’t changed since your grandmother lived here. When I was a kid, I used to come here with the church choir during Christmas to sing carols. Your grandma would always have a plate of cookies ready for us at the door.” Her smile was filled with memories, and it made me sad to remember I’d never spent a Christmas here as a child.
“I’m surprised we never met,” she continued.
“We never really visited much when I was a child. I remember two different summers, coming for a week, but I grew up on the other side of the country, and my parents couldn’t really afford the trip.” I felt like I had to explain something that really wasn’t any of her business.
She must have caught the note of irritation in my voice, because she turned her attention from me to the house, head tilted, nose scrunched.
I knew the house looked distressed, dilapidated, and derelict. But the roof didn’t leak, it wasn’t overrun with bugs or vermin, and given a little hard work, it’d be decent. Up until now, I’d just focused on the inside of the house.
“I could give you the name of a handyman, if you wanted,” Sabrina offered, as I knew she would. It wasn’t the first time she’d hinted I needed to do something with the place.
“I’ve still got those names you gave me before on my fridge,” I said. I wasn’t in a hurry, not yet. “Listen, how about if we meet up for dinner this week? I have a friend I’ve been meaning to introduce you to, and I’ll see if she can join us.”
Sabrina’s face brightened.
“Oh, I know just the place. Have you eaten at the Top Hat yet? They opened a few months ago. They’re reservation only, but I know the chef. I might be able to snag us a table.”
“Let’s try it.”
Eventually I was alone again, with Sabrina headed back to her shop, and I thought about our conversation. Did I forgive her for her careless words and feelings? Of course. But I couldn’t forget them. Not the judgment or the hatred in her voice for those who sought out help for their mental health issues.
I wasn’t in the mood to dive deep into her words today. But eventually we would need to. Not everyone who sought counseling was dangerous, and that was basically what she’d said.
But I had to admit that some were. My thoughts immediately went to my patients. Savannah, Tyler, and Ella. Three very different people with very different issues. Ella had once been dangerous. Tyler could be dangerous. And Savannah was showing signs that worried me.
The notes I’d received so far said someone knew one of my patients was a murderer, and they blamed me for not stopping them. I realized this didn’t have anything to do with Ella’s parents; it had to do with someone who could be stopped now, in the present. That could only mean one thing.
They believed either Savannah, Tyler, or Ella was responsible for the recent murders in our town.
But which one?
Chapter Fifteen
MONDAY, AUGUST 12
PA
TIENT SESSION: TYLER
It took a bit of research, but I found a therapist I felt could help me. She was highly recommended and local. I made an appointment for Thursday, the one weekday I had no sessions, and I hoped I wouldn’t regret it.
With the increased headaches and stress and the notes, I couldn’t do it alone anymore. I would normally share my concerns with Tami, but considering the stress she was under, that wasn’t a possibility.
I expected Tyler to show up within the next half hour. I spent some time tidying up the office, cleaning the living room, and doing other mundane things while I waited.
“Dr. Rycroft?” I heard my name called while I was in the kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee. It was supposed to get hot in the afternoon, and iced coffee seemed like the perfect beverage. Hopefully Tami would drop by that night. I was in the mood for a good gab session with her.
“I’ll be right there, Tyler.” I poured my coffee, added some creamer, and joined him in my office.
He paced the length of the room, from one wall to the other, hands fisted in his pants pockets, the vein in his cheek pulsing as he did so.
“Tyler, why don’t you sit down?”
He plopped down on the couch and rested his forearms on his thighs.
“You seem agitated,” I said. “What’s going on?”
He threaded his fingers through his wild hair.
“I made a mistake.”
I reached for my notebook. “What kind of mistake?”
His right leg bounced. “I know you said not to, but I followed her. I had to. She left me no choice.” He ran his fingers through his hair again before he patted the mussed hair down. “I knew she’d be furious if she found out, but I decided the risk was worth it.”
“When did you do this?”
“Last night.” He groaned, and the bounce in his leg sped up to double time.
“What do you mean, she left you no choice?”
He jumped up and walked around my office again.
“She’s not happy. When she’s not happy, she makes hasty mistakes.”
The idea of what kind of mistakes dangled before me. I wanted to ask but decided it might be better if I didn’t, that perhaps he’d let more slip.
“Tyler, remember that her happiness isn’t dependent on you.”
“No.” His head shook as he continued to walk back and forth. “It’s my responsibility to keep her calm, to help her. If I don’t, if I fail . . . it’s not good. Trust me. Everyone ends up paying.”
That was a line we couldn’t seem to cross, his need to keep her, whoever she was, happy. He wasn’t able to process that her happiness wasn’t his responsibility, no matter how often we discussed the topic.
I needed to find another way to help him.
“Tyler, how about you sit down, and we will make a list of ways you could help her. Would that work?”
The sigh that escaped his lips deflated the stress he carried. His steps slowed, his breathing eased. The tilt of his shoulders relaxed, no longer pushed back with tension.
“A list, yes. Yes, that will work.” He sat down again, this time crossing his legs.
I handed him a sheet of paper and a pen.
“Let’s make the list together.” That would keep him in one spot and help him feel more in control.
“What’s one thing that would make her happy?” I asked.
“A child.” There was no hesitation in his voice. “She wants to be a mother. We’ve tried—God knows we’ve tried. If I could find her a baby . . . I’ve done . . . I mean, I’d do anything, anything to make this happen. She will be an amazing mother, I know it.” There was a softness to his features, and for a moment, I could see the love he carried for her as more than just a need. It was his everything.
But his word choice was weird. Find her a baby? He must have meant give.
“Have you talked to a doctor?”
“Not yet. She doesn’t want to do that, not yet. She’d rather us find a child—the right child, who needs to be loved—than to have one of our own.”
Adoption. That would be something we could focus on in the future.
I watched as he wrote, Find her a child to love. The wording was odd, but I wasn’t about to micromanage his list.
He tapped the pen on his knee for several moments.
I didn’t want to offer suggestions. He needed to find ideas on his own, to realize that there was little he could do to make her happy.
“I’m going to follow her again tonight.” He clicked the pen over and over and over again.
“Why is it important for you to follow her?”
He licked his lips, then rubbed his nose. He couldn’t seem to remain still.
“I need to know what’s going on. I need to be ready, just in case. You don’t understand—you can’t.”
No, I didn’t understand. How could I, when he never fully told me the truth?
I set the pad on my lap down. We weren’t going to get anywhere today until he was relaxed.
“Why don’t you bring her in for your next session?” It wasn’t the first time I’d suggested it.
“No, no. That . . . no. She wouldn’t agree to that. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
He cocked his head to the side, studied me. “She says you’re not ready. Not yet, but soon.”
I wasn’t ready? What was I supposed to be prepared for?
“What does soon mean, Tyler? Next week? Next month? Does she expect you to reach a certain place in your sessions before she’ll come in? What’s the expectation here?” I couldn’t contain the frustration from appearing. Whoever this woman was, she was more in control of Tyler’s therapy than I was, and it was beginning to piss me off.
He blinked repeatedly, eyes squeezing tight as if in pain.
“You need to be patient. That’s all I can say.” His monotone voice and blank face had me snapping my fingers together. Not in his face, just to the side, to see if he paid attention.
“This isn’t working,” he said. He sounded off, and I didn’t understand what had happened. He was hot and cold. Needing help one minute and pushing me away the next.
“What isn’t working, Tyler?” I asked.
“This.” He pointed to himself, then to me. “You’re supposed to help me. Why aren’t you? I’m supposed to be stronger, steadier, more in control. That’s what you promised you’d do. Help me be better. I need to be stronger if she’s going to stay with me, but I’m just as weak as I was before.”
Blame. I wrote this down, the notepad held at an angle so he couldn’t see it.
“I never promised anything, Tyler. Any progress you make is because of the work you complete. I can only offer suggestions. If you don’t follow my advice, there’s not much I can do.”
The frown on his face grew.
“I’m sorry if you believe this isn’t helping you.” That was never my intention. Knowing he believed that only added to my own personal feeling of failure.
How could I help him? What work could we do, what could I suggest that I hadn’t already suggested?
He popped to his feet.
“I need to go. She’ll be home soon, and I need to be there. I promised her I would.”
He headed to the door, put his hand on the knob, and hesitated.
“You are helping me, Dr. Rycroft. I’m sorry for what I said. I wouldn’t have lasted this long with her if you weren’t. You’re doing a great job. Thank you.”
Then he left, leaving me to sit there, confounded by his parting words.
What the hell had just happened?
An hour later, Tami dropped by.
“I can only stay for a few minutes. I need to grab a coffee before I head back to the station,” she said as she walked in and dropped my mail on the table.
I eyed the stack. Please, God, don’t let there be another note.
I poured her a glass of iced coffee, added ice and cream, and waited for her to take a sip.
“What have I done to deserv
e you?”
I smiled, thrilled that it met her standards. I’d followed a video I found online about a different process for making iced coffee.
“Listen, could I ask you a favor?” I hated to do this, but the more I thought about Tyler and his session today, the more uncomfortable I felt.
“Anything.”
“Could you do a quick background check on one of my patients? Something seems off about him. I don’t know much. He wouldn’t give me his address, just a number to reach him and his name. I’m not sure what he does for a job either.”
“Name and number should be enough. What kind of information do you need?”
I shrugged. Hell if I knew. I was hoping she’d have an idea.
“Is this Tyler? God yes, I’ll check him out,” she said at my nod. “I’ve never understood why you took him on as a client to begin with.”
One night over wine, I’d mentioned Tyler to her. I shouldn’t have and had always felt guilty for it, but now, not so much.
Chapter Sixteen
TUESDAY, AUGUST 13
After waiting forty-five minutes for Ella to arrive, I gave up.
I’d hoped we could have picked up our conversation, why she felt responsible for the recent murders simply because of her past. I wasn’t overly worried. She’d been a no-show in the past, but a phone call or a text would have been appreciated.
I finished my cup of tea, cleaned up the plate of almond biscotti I’d placed on the table for Ella, and looked at my couch with longing.
The idea of a nap tempted me. Last night I’d tossed and turned more than I should have. I’d even tried warm milk to see if that would help but gagged as I struggled to take a sip. Perhaps I’d take a walk to the local pharmacy and see if they had any herbal remedies for sleep. I remembered Sabrina once mentioning a tea she drank at night that helped her.
I didn’t want to take anything that would knock me out. Just something to help me fall asleep. I’d finally reached the point of desperation and was willing to do whatever it took to help me sleep.
I grabbed my purse, locked the door behind me, and headed toward the pharmacy.
The Patient Page 9
