The familiar sounds of the restaurant were soothing to Karen—the clatter of dishes and pans, the called-out order tickets, the two others working with her prepping soups for the lunch menu and watching over the fryers as fresh donuts were turned. She worked in the rhythm of it, not having to think about specifics, simply cook and pull together great-looking plates of food. It was her domain, if only for this shift. It felt like home.
“There’s a gentleman at the counter who would like to say hi when you have a moment.”
Karen nodded her acknowledgment and flipped a perfectly cooked second crepe onto a plate. It was out to the customer just seconds later, filled with strawberries and topped with freshly whipped cream. Nothing from a spray can in this restaurant, she thought, satisfied. She peered into the dining area and saw Will Thane sitting at the end of the counter, opening a packet of sugar to go in his coffee, scanning the menu.
She felt herself stiffen a bit—not because she wasn’t glad to see him, but because she couldn’t tell if he’d had a conversation with Gabriel and Ann yet. When she’d agreed to let them speak with him about why she was in Carin, she’d taken a very big risk. Will was going to have something to say about why, for over a year, she hadn’t told him herself. She didn’t want to lose him right now . . . or ever.
She felt her hands turning sweaty and slippery on the skillet handle, forced her attention back to the next order. She filled orders for another twenty minutes before handing off the kitchen to Jimmy while she took her break. She washed her hands, hung up her apron, took a quick glance in the restroom mirror, tucked a strand of hair under her cap, and forced herself to walk out into the dining area. She greeted several regular customers at nearby tables, then took a seat on the stool next to Will.
He was working his way through an omelet. “There’s a good cook working here,” he said around a bite, the familiar grin helping her insides to relax a bit.
She smiled back at his teasing comment. He liked her cooking, and she appreciated the compliment. That was how he’d first introduced himself, offering a sincere compliment for a good meal. The café was not the big-city Italian restaurant where she’d been able to showcase her skills, but in its own way it was a comfortable setting and nice change of pace.
Will held out another fork and slid the plate toward her. “Eat some of this omelet. You don’t get to sit and enjoy your own cooking that often.”
She’d been too nervous to eat breakfast that morning, worrying about this first encounter with Will after he learned the truth. She ate a few bites, braced for his voice to drop, to tell her quietly that they had to talk.
But Will was signaling the server, ordering a cup of tea, doctoring it the way she preferred, placing it in front of her. “Want to go fishing with me this afternoon? I can pick you up after you get off work. Josh says the bass are fattening up for winter and snapping at anything that moves on the surface.”
He doesn’t know yet. No way he’d sit here this casually if he knew. She struggled to keep her voice even. “I could do that.”
“Good.” He leaned over and lightly kissed her. “Pick you up at three at your place, unless you call to say you’re somewhere else.”
“You’re in a good mood today,” she commented, forcing herself to keep the tone light as she turned to face him.
He smiled that slow smile of his. “It’s been a nice day—actually, a very nice day—and it’s just getting started. Gabriel and Ann gave me some news. About time you let me in on those secrets of yours, Karen. Here I was wasting worries that you had a former boyfriend someplace you preferred over me. You’re cooking any fish we catch after I clean them, but a bakery stop I can handle. You want me to pick up apple pie or cherry?”
She blinked, tried to think, went with the last item because that was the only one she could remember. “Cherry.”
He leaned over to say next to her ear, “Don’t worry so much. I think you’re by far the most interesting catch in all of Carin County—maybe throw in Chicago too.” He kissed her again, slid off the stool, and dropped a twenty on the counter. “Back at three.”
Eyes damp with tears, she nodded, watched the blurred figure walk to the door, wave goodbye. No shadows with this man. It hadn’t changed what he thought about her. She felt a quiver inside and fought back the tears that threatened to overflow.
She was sure they would talk more while they fished, though not much, knowing Will, she concluded with a little smile. Ann wouldn’t have sugarcoated matters. Gabriel certainly would have understood all the implications, been blunt about what it meant for her . . . for him. But Will had heard the news, come to find her, mostly to tease a smile out of her. He was confident in who he was and what he could do. Where she saw life-threatening danger, he saw an obstacle that could be overcome. She felt her heart quiver again. She was a lucky woman.
She surreptitiously wiped her eyes, slid off the stool, and took her tea with her, feeling nearly dizzy with relief. She’d been braced for a breakup, for Will to pull back and say they had to talk, that this news changed things for them. But he hadn’t drawn back, not even a little. That is so like the Will I’ve come to know . . . and love.
She could have offered to meet him at the lake, but he’d explained early on that when it was a date, he’d come to get her. He would always take her home, walk her to the door. He didn’t want her thinking she wasn’t worth the effort. He’d arrive with flowers too, sometimes picked from his own property. But mostly he overpaid at the florist to get them presented properly. She let him do it because it said something between them that might not yet be ready for words. He was telling her she was important, and when she accepted the bouquet, she acknowledged that his interest was welcome. A nice courtship in small gestures, she exulted as she tied her apron and turned back to the kitchen. She had gotten so very lucky—some would say blessed—when Will Thane walked into the Fast Café looking for a meal and spotted her.
“You doin’ okay, Karen?” Jimmy asked as he stepped back from the grill.
“Oh, yes, thanks—I’m good.” She pointed to the next order slip, and he passed it her way.
A great guy was coming to pick her up in a few hours. The day had gone from her being braced for bad news to as carefree a one as she could remember in years. It was indeed turning into a very nice day.
TEN
Gabriel Thane
Gabe had planned to use their drive to Decatur to get his mind shifted firmly back onto the Florist case, but he was finding it difficult to concentrate. Evie was doing a better job of it, working down a lined notepad with a list of questions they should cover during the luncheon.
“Read me the ones you have so far,” Gabriel said. Evie did so. “You’ll be the one asking them,” he recommended.
Evie shook her head. “No, he’s going to respond better to interactions with you. You’re Sheriff Thane, the authority in the room.”
“He’s a psychiatrist with experience working with cops. He counsels couples and families, Evie. I’m thinking he’ll expect to give facts to me, and the ‘why’ of something to you, assuming a woman cares more about the emotional side of a situation. He’ll be more inclined to give you at least hypothetically speaking answers, rather than ‘I can’t comment’ statements.”
“A decent point, but I’d still rather you ask the questions.” She grinned over at him. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Not while I’m driving. Flip a coin.”
She found a quarter in the center cubbyhole. “Heads or tails?”
“Tails,” Gabriel called while the coin spun in the air and landed on the floor at Evie’s feet.
“Tails.”
“You ask the questions,” Gabriel replied, pleased.
“Then you’ll have to take notes.”
Gabriel winced, wondering if his version of shorthand was up for it. “I hate taking notes—I make my deputies do it.” He looked over at her. “Okay, this time I’ll take the notes.”
She studied the direct
ions and pointed to the next exit. “It will be the second light, a right, and then we look for a gray, stone building about a block down on the left. Parking is just past the building, his assistant told me.”
Gabriel nodded. “Give me the CliffsNotes on the doctor again, please.”
“Doctor Richard Wales, twenty-three years in practice, married, two grown children. Gets good reviews from other doctors I know. A level-headed, commonsense guy is the gist of it.” She turned her phone so he could see a photo.
“Useful to hear about a psychiatrist.” The photo showed enough gray hair, the doctor wasn’t vain about his image, and he wasn’t so fit he lived on a golf course. Gabriel spotted the building and pulled into its parking lot.
“Don’t get your hopes too high,” Evie cautioned as they walked toward the building.
He smiled at her. “Now who’s being a pessimist?”
“I can identify lots of ideas. Finding the one that goes somewhere means wading through promising leads that turn into dead ends. I don’t hit a home run without first hitting a few fouls along the way.”
He held the door open for her. “Point taken.”
They found the office on the second floor, a receptionist stationed in front of a hallway with several offices to each side and a rather large waiting room with couches and child-sized tables with toys to their left. Gabriel took notice of the inquiry in the woman’s expression. Since they were both in civilian attire, maybe a couple here for counseling?
“Sheriff Gabriel Thane and Lieutenant Evie Blackwell. We have an appointment with Dr. Wales.”
The woman smiled, rose, pushed a button on her phone console to hold calls. “Of course. I hope you enjoy chicken parmesan—we ordered from a nearby restaurant for your lunch meeting. Please, follow me. He’s on schedule today, for a change,” she added over her shoulder as she led the way to an office at the end of the hall. They stepped into what could only be his private office, the desk cluttered with files and reading material, a round table at the window cleared and set for lunch. The receptionist motioned toward it. “Please, have a seat, Lieutenant, Sheriff. I’ll let him know you’re here. I have coffee, iced tea, or maybe a soft drink?”
“Tea would be fine,” Evie said.
“For both of us,” Gabriel added.
“I’ll bring it in. Lunch should arrive in about ten minutes.” The door closed behind her.
“A friendly receptionist,” Gabriel remarked, holding a chair for Evie.
“No doubt useful when the practice has families with kids coming and going.”
The door opened minutes later, and a casually dressed man matching the doctor’s photo walked in, carrying a tray with a pitcher of tea and ice-filled glasses. Gabriel rose to his feet.
“Welcome, welcome, let me get this put down before I spill it.” The doctor eased the tray onto the table and held out his hand. “Sheriff. We haven’t met, but I admit to having heard your name from clients over the years . . . well, your father’s name as often as your own.” He turned to Evie and offered a hand. “Lieutenant, I’m told you are the one who called.” He pulled out a seat for himself. “Lunch should be here momentarily. My schedule is clear for the next hour and a half—only paperwork awaits when we have concluded our discussion, so we should not be rushed. Would you mind if we have this conversation using first names? I’d rather be called Richard than Doctor.”
Gabriel poured the tea and let Evie handle the opening.
“Informal is fine,” she assured him. “You’re making an effort at welcoming us. I’ll admit, it’s a bit unusual in my experience with others in your profession.”
Richard smiled. “I don’t want you to have wasted a journey, and the courtesy of a welcome is the least I can do.”
Evie reached for her glass of tea. “We’re here to talk about some previous clients of yours, the Florist family.”
“My scheduler mentioned that was the reason for your call.” He looked from one to the other. “The Florist name is one that has come up many times over the last twelve years, if only in my own mind,” he replied, “as I’m aware of the unresolved search to locate the family. You are welcome to record this interview if you would find it helpful. My only request is that if you do so, you provide a copy of it for my files.”
Evie glanced over at Gabriel. He had no difficulty reading her reaction to the doctor’s opening remarks—heading toward unsettling. But she nodded to the doctor, dug in her bag, set a recorder on the table.
Gabriel was glad for it. He’d take notes as a precaution if the tape had technical problems, but it saved him the effort of getting the nuances right.
Richard reached for his tea. “Some ground rules, so you understand my position. You both realize I can’t reveal what was discussed with a patient. While I would like to help you, and will endeavor to do so, my answers will be limited to what the law permits me to say. I shall try to be tactful when I say no and will apologize for the fact it may have to be said a great many times.” He offered an engaging smile. “With that on the table, shall we begin?”
Evie simply smiled back. “Would you confirm you saw the Florists, individually and as a family, for a period of approximately two years, and that they were still clients who had a standing Wednesday night appointment when they disappeared?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, I’ll confirm that. I’ll also mention that family dynamics often require sessions with all members present, even if they are themselves not the actual client. But in this case, Scott, Susan, and Joe Florist were each my clients. I had at least one individual session with each member of the family during the time in question, and at least one family session with all three present. The Florist family had a two-hour block of time on my calendar every Wednesday evening, which would occasionally go longer since they were the last appointment on my schedule. I would add too that the time frame is broader than two years.”
“Would you confirm Mrs. Florist sought counseling for a miscarriage?” Evie asked.
His expression turned grave. “I can’t answer that. But, hypothetically, it’s an area in which I have years of clinical experience. My wife and I have suffered three miscarriages during our marriage, so she’ll occasionally join me for a conversation should that be helpful in a particular situation.”
“Did Susan and Scott Florist ever meet your wife?”
A slight smile. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that either.”
“Did Joe Florist ever play video games while here, using one of the computers on these premises?”
Richard looked surprised at the question, but nodded. “Yes, both as a reward for his participation and as a diversion when one or both parents needed to be otherwise engaged.”
“In your twenty-plus years as a counselor, you have met with numerous couples. Would you consider Scott and Susan to have had a solid marriage? Communication was good between them, the marriage stable enough to go the distance?”
“I can’t answer that in particular, although I can say in general I found them less in need of counseling for marriage issues than most.”
A tap on the door heralded lunch. Evie pressed the pause button on the recorder and didn’t resume questions until they had begun the meal and pleasantries about the food were behind them.
Evie turned on the recorder again and asked a softball question. “When did they first come to you as clients?”
“Scott Florist had been a client since considering a job change to become a police officer, and he saw me on various occasions for other matters. Some of those visits were in accordance with the professional requirements of his workplace, as you would be aware, Sheriff. Susan Florist was a client since shortly before they were married and seeing me on various occasions for matters mostly of a personal nature. Their son, Joe, was a client since age four, seeing me also on various occasions for a variety of matters. I believe I can say without violating patient privilege that death is hard for a child to understand, and that his grandmother, as a matter of public r
ecord, passed away when he was four.”
Evie nodded at the lengthy answer, gave Gabriel a look he easily interpreted. Too much information could be as informative to a cop as hearing a “no comment.”
“Will you confirm all three family members were here at your office the Wednesday before they disappeared?”
The doctor hesitated briefly. “Yes. And before you ask the next question regarding why I didn’t call the police with that information, let me first add a caveat and a caution.
“Please don’t assume that on any particular night when they were at my office that they were necessarily here for a session themselves. The Florist family had friends among others who are also my clients. The partner of a cop, a best friend, even an ex-wife are all relationships that can have clinical significance. It’s not uncommon for such individuals to be invited to join a conversation. One or more of the Florist family were here when it was not specifically an appointment for them.”
Evie smiled, nodded. “Right, understood and appreciated. And now, why didn’t you inform the police they were here the evening before they disappeared?”
He spun his fork a couple of times, watching it turn, then looked back at her and answered with obvious care, “I believed at the time of their disappearance the information about this appointment was listed in both Scott and Susan’s calendar, and the authorities would be in touch in due course during their investigation. When time passed and I was not contacted, I came to believe Scott and Susan had concealed these sessions and the trail was not apparent in their records. It was a dilemma I chose to resolve by honoring my clients’ wishes as defined by their own actions. If they didn’t choose to tell someone about the sessions, they had reasons, which I had to deem valid. I admit to having wrestled with that decision many times since.”
Gabriel decided to ask the next obvious question himself. “Do you believe you have information relevant to the Florist family’s disappearance?”
The doctor looked over at him, laid down his silverware, and steepled his fingers. In a rather overdramatic way, the man could convey significant gravitas merely with his body language. Gabriel found it useful also to realize the man couldn’t lie any better than a child. For an instant it looked like the doctor was going to attempt to sell them a no, but he clearly changed his mind and simply thought for a while before proceeding.
Traces of Guilt Page 21
