by Mary Maxwell
“Where does she work?” I asked.
“Lou Barton’s title insurance company,” answered Julia. “She handles all of the research, customer service and front desk stuff.”
“Isn’t that on Cisneros Drive near Barb Riley’s store?”
Julia shook her head. “They moved to a new location a few months ago,” she said. “Lou was renting the old space, but he’s had his eye on the new location for ages. It’s where his father’s accounting firm got its start back in the day; the cute two-story stucco building at the corner of Sunset and Hacienda.”
“That’s a classic building,” I said. “I remember going there with Nana Reed when I was a little girl. Lou’s father did her taxes. I liked tagging along because he gave packs of Juicy Fruit to kids that visited the office.”
“Sounds like a good memory,” Julia said.
“They’re all good if they involve Nana Reed,” I said, glancing at the picture of my grandmother hanging above the pass window. “But what about Eileen? Was she hurt at all?”
“Not hurt,” Julia said, “but terrified. I heard about it from my friend Theresa Long. She works for Lou, too. After the guy threw the milkshake in Eileen’s face, she went back inside and called the police. They took her to the Med Center just to be on the safe side, but she was physically okay.”
“Who said a man threw the milkshake?” I asked. “This is the second incident, but no one has mentioned anything about the perp’s identity.”
Julia thought for a moment. “I suppose that Eileen did,” she said. “But like I just told you, I heard about it from Theresa. She also told me that Eileen heard a jangling sound when the guy ran away after.”
“A jangling sound?”
Julia shrugged. “Like maybe keys hooked to his belt or something?”
“Could be,” I said.
“I just don’t understand why these two weird things happened,” Julia replied. “I mean, first it’s Barry Lincoln at the YMCA with a baseball bat. Then it’s Eileen Lanier in the parking garage behind her office. And then it—”
“Whoa,” I said. “Slow down and take a breath.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m starting to freak out. I know both of those people, Katie. I just hope that I’m not on somebody’s list.”
“You’re not,” I said, offering a calm smile. “And I’ll definitely let you know what I learn from our friends at the CCPD. If both victims received the same cryptic note, the incidents are clearly connected. It’ll only be a matter of time until Trent and Dina figure out who’s behind the attacks.”
“Let’s hope so,” Julia said as Harper walked up to the pass window with a new order. “But in the meantime, we can stay busy here to keep our mind off of it.”
CHAPTER 4
“Sorry I’m late,” Dina called, rushing through the door at Java & Juice that afternoon. “My battery was dead when I got ready to drive over.”
“Didn’t they just replace that last week?” I asked.
“Allegedly,” she said with a smirk. “But I’m starting to think there’s something else going on. Maybe an electrical problem or something.”
She plopped down across from me. Then she pointed at my smoothie and asked what I was drinking.
“Papaya and peach,” I said. “Do you want to try it before you order?”
“That’s okay. I actually called ahead and got my usual; strawberry almond double protein with hemp and chia seeds, a splash of lime juice and toasted coconut on top.”
“So basically,” I teased, “everything but the kitchen sink.”
She made a face, but didn’t respond. I looked across the room at Tessa behind the counter. She had a line of five customers waiting to order and the phone seemed to ring every few minutes with another carryout.
“It might be a while,” I said. “They’re running a special on a new skinny menu.”
Dina looked at the chalkboard on the wall behind the counter. She studied the various low-calorie options for a moment.
“Those look interesting,” she said. “But anyway, I’ve got time. I’m not meeting Tyler at Whistler’s office for another hour. We’re both going over to review some new evidence that surfaced last night.”
I smiled. “Can you tell me?”
“Can you keep a secret?” she joked.
Tessa suddenly appeared beside our table. She put a smoothie in front of Dina and then slid a plate loaded with mini muffins between us.
“Samples of our new pumpkin pistachio recipe,” she said. “I’m sorry your order wasn’t ready when you got here, Detective Kincaid.”
“No problem,” Dina said, pulling the plate of goodies closer. “These look good.”
Tessa beamed. “I came up with that one. It’s part of our new Very Vegan Vittles selection. All of the ingredients are certified organic, raised in local farms and super delicious!”
“Yum!” I said, sampling one of the tiny treats. “That really is tasty!”
“That’s so good to hear,” Tessa said. “You guys enjoy the rest of those, okay?”
I waited while Dina took a bite of a muffin. Then I asked if she approved.
“Love the muffin,” she said. “Hate the name.”
“Vittles.” I smiled. “A little cheesy, but grub and chow don’t work quite as well if you’re going for alliteration.”
Dina rolled her eyes. “I come here for something to eat or drink,” she said. “Not literature.”
I smiled at her delivery. Then I asked about her upcoming visit to Dr. Whistler’s office.
“Right,” she said. “We’re dropping by to ask him about Steve Rodenbeck. Tyler was canvassing the other tenants in the building where Dr. Whistler has his office. Someone mentioned that Steve confronted Whistler in the lobby last week. Apparently, things got very loud and very ugly before the guy agreed to leave.”
“Any idea what it was about?” I asked.
“Stolen files,” Dina answered. “Someone broke into Whistler’s home, picked the lock on his filing cabinet and took a bunch of confidential patient records.”
“When?”
“That’s one of the questions Tyler and I plan to ask the good doctor,” she said. “He was a little uncertain about the timeline when he talked with Denny Santiago and Amanda Crane the night of the burglary. I thought maybe Whistler would be more forthcoming if we sat down face-to-face to discuss the argument with Steve and the other events of the week.”
“Do you think the break-in is connected to the two attacks?”
“It looks that way,” Dina said. “Actually, he told us that several files were stolen along with the contents of his liquor cabinet and a collection of antique lockets that belonged to his wife.” She paused, glanced around and leaned in. “The patient files stolen during the burglary at Dr. Whistler’s house included Barry Lincoln and Eileen Lanier.”
I shook my head. “That’s just…well, it’s like a one-two punch, you know? First, they’re traumatized by the assault, and then they learn that someone has Whistler’s notes about their sessions. People talk about their most personal fears and problems with their therapist. And now some stranger possibly knows all about that private information.”
“It’s disturbing,” Dina said. “Not only were they attacked, but now they have to deal with the additional shock of having their privacy violated. Have you ever heard of a case like this before?”
“Nothing exactly like it,” I said. “What kind of evidence was recovered at Whistler’s after the break-in?”
Dina sighed. “Not one darn thing,” she said. “No fingerprints, DNA, shoe impressions, fibers or hair. In fact, that’s another strange thing about the burglary. There were no signs of forced entry, no broken panes of glass, nothing on any door or window to suggest that someone broke in.”
“Do you think they had a key?” I said.
“Seems likely,” Dina replied. “Whistler agreed to give us a list of the people who have one.”
“Agreed to?” I smiled
. “Does that mean you’re still waiting for it?”
She scowled. “The guy’s as slow as molasses, Katie. Have you ever talked to him?”
I shook my head.
“Well, when he speaks, not only does he do it in a whisper, but it feels like it takes forever between words. I don’t know if that’s a technique they teach you in shrink school, but it makes me nuts.”
“Part of the job,” I said. “We deal with that at Sky High, but the stakes are a whole lot lower.”
“Deal with what—people who talk slowly?”
“There’s a long-haul trucker named Ron,” I said. “He’s in for breakfast every Thursday like clockwork. And his cadence is really slow. But he tells really good jokes, so it makes the punchlines even funnier.”
“Well, lucky you,” she said. “There’s nothing funny about Whistler’s stolen files or the attacks.”
“How many files were taken in total?” I asked.
“Twenty,” she said. “That leaves seventeen other people besides Steve Rodenbeck who could be the victims of a crime in the days ahead.”
“But you have at least one good lead,” I said. “As soon as you get the list of people with a key to Whistler’s house, you’ll be able to interview those folks.”
“That’s right,” Dina agreed. “I don’t plan to leave without those names when I see him later this afternoon.”
“What about Whistler?” I asked.
She smiled. “As a possible suspect?”
“It might seem like an outside possibility, but there was a murder case in Chicago when I lived there that involved a psychiatrist who targeted his patients.”
“Really?”
“He killed two women because they rebuffed his romantic overtures,” I explained.
Dina shook her head. “I don’t see Whistler doing these things. But we have him on the list of suspects for the time being just in case.”
“Does he have an alibi for the time of the two attacks?”
“He does,” Dina replied. “And they both checked out. Even more, Whistler offered to take a polygraph when I talked to him on the phone this morning.”
“That could be a ploy,” I suggested.
“I know,” Dina said. “But I’m going with my gut.”
“Because you don’t think that Whistler is the type of man to do or say anything that would harm other people?”
She touched the tip of her nose with one finger. Then she asked if I’d heard anything more around town about the case.
“Nothing useful,” I said.
Dina frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know how it is,” I said. “Nana Reed called it The Triple Small Syndrome: Small town gossip fueled by small people with small minds.”
“Got it,” Dina said. “Some folks are judging others for working with a therapist?”
I nodded. “Human nature,” I said.
“More like human nonsense,” she groused. “And it seems doubly difficult to excuse that type of behavior. Whistler’s patients are already dealing with something difficult and now twenty of them are aware that a stranger has the doctor’s notes about their most intimate, guarded secrets.”
“The person may not be a stranger to everyone involved,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Dr. Whistler uses that phrase fairly often,” I answered. “‘Vice is not a virtue.’ He considers immoral or wicked behavior to be at the root of most problems.”
“How do you know so much about Dr. Whistler?” asked Dina.
I smiled. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Okay,” she replied with a cheerful laugh. “Who are you protecting—the good doctor or yourself?”
“None of the above,” I said. “I know someone who sees him for help dealing with emotional damage from past relationships.”
“That could be half of everyone we know,” she replied with a tinge of sorrow in her voice, “including the two of us.”
“More like seventy-five percent of our friends,” I said, “but who’s counting?”
She laughed. “Apparently, we are. And that’s a little bit weird, because we’ve both gone to a shrink before, right?”
“Yes, but I still hesitate admitting that sometimes.”
“Do you really?”
I thought for a moment. “Yeah. With certain people.”
“Like who?” she asked.
“Well, I didn’t tell Zack for the longest time,” I answered. “And his reaction made me wonder why I waited. He was so nonchalant and supportive about the whole thing.”
“Probably because he’s a totally enlightened, confident guy,” Dina said. “And that’s why you two are such a perfect match.”
CHAPTER 5
The next afternoon at one o’clock, as the torrent of lunch customers slowed to a steady trickle, I noticed Alma Tucker stride confidently into the dining room trailed by two young guys dressed like undertakers. Wearing black from head to toe—jeans, hooded sweatshirts and motorcycle boots with sunglasses perched on their buzzed brown hair—the pair looked sullen and testy, with sour frowns, wilted shoulders and a shuffling gait. They were identical in very way with one significant difference: the taller boy looked like The Incredible Hulk’s younger brother while the one with the scruffy beard was thin and pasty.
“Who are the grumps with Alma?” I asked Harper when she slipped into the kitchen after seating the trio. “They don’t look like employees from her cleaning company.”
Harper smirked. “The weightlifter is Gloom,” she said, “and his partner in crime is Doom.”
Julia laughed at the quip and glanced through the pass window.
“Isn’t the kid with the beard Alma’s son?” she asked.
“Yep,” Harper said. “That’s Angus. The other one belongs to Ruth Grainger. I’m pretty sure his name is My Mouth’s Full of Marbles. ”
“Are you serious?” Julia’s eyes bulged. “That hunk of muscle is Ruth’s son? I remember when he was a little nugget dressed in Pampers.” She studied the young guy for a few seconds. “And now his arms are as wide as my waist!”
Harper nodded. “That’s what happens when you feed and water them,” she said. “They get bigger and bigger and—”
“Don’t make fun of me!” Julia yelped. “I just haven’t seen Joshua for ages.”
“Probably because he hasn’t lived here for ages,” Harper replied. “After the divorce, he went with Dale to Texas. I heard that he was pretty heavy when he was a little boy. The other kids at school bullied him about his weight. That’s probably why he’s so pumped up now.”
“Do Ruth and Dale have other children?” I asked.
“Two girls that Ruth raised here in town,” Harper said. “Candy is a nurse at a hospital in Grand Junction. Rachelle is studying accounting at the community college, but she works part-time at Kenny Wolf’s print shop.”
“Isn’t that the place we’re using now for menu cards and whatnot?” Julia said.
“Mostly whatnot,” I said with a wink. “And thank you for the reminder, Harps. We have an order that’s been ready since last Friday. Kenny offered to deliver it, but I told him that I’d swing by sometime.”
I watched the two young guys exchange bemused glances as Alma pointed to a few selections on the menu. Since she was in fairly often, I guessed that she was trying to help them choose something for lunch.
“I’ll go out and see how they’re doing,” Harper said.
I watched a moment later as she approached Alma’s table with a bright grin.
“Do you remember being that age?” Julia asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But I never scowled as much as those two boys.”
She laughed. “I wasn’t inferring that you did. I was talking about how things seemed so possible back when we were seventeen or eighteen.”
“They’re still possible,” I said. “It just takes a little more effort these days.”
“I suppose…” Julia’s vo
ice was wistful. “But as we get older and get married and have kids, there are more things to consider for every decision. When you’re like those two boys, life is more relaxed and carefree.”
I noticed that Alma’s son was bouncing his legs nervously under the table.
“The scruffy one doesn’t look very relaxed,” I said. “Check out his nervous energy.”
She watched the boy’s jittery dance for a few seconds. Then she moved closer and lowered her voice.
“Caffeine?” she said. “Or do you think it might be drugs?”
I frowned. “Could it be both?”
We went silent and kept our eyes on the group until Harper turned away from the table. After she finished scribbling on her order pad, she noticed us through the pass window.
“She’s going to roll her eyes,” Julia predicted.
“Either that or stick out her tongue,” I said.
Harper maintained a relaxed smile until she was through the swinging door and into the kitchen. Then she rolled her eyes before sticking out her tongue.
“Remind me when our kids are that age to never take them out to eat,” she said.
“That bad?” I asked.
She shrugged. “They’re okay. It’s just the undercurrent of scorn, you know? They look at you, but it’s obvious they want to say something snarky.”
“So what?” Julia replied confidently. “If they do, you know how to turn the tables and be snarky right back.”
“I don’t want to stoop to that level,” Harper replied. “I want to take the high road, particularly with brats like those two.”
“Were they really nasty?” I asked. “It didn’t look like that from here.”
Harper’s eyebrows went up. “Because I know how to tame wild animals, Katie. It’s all about time and patience.”
“And the right amount of fortitude,” I said. “Grit goes a long way when it comes to wild animals, toddlers and—”
“Husbands!” Julia added with a sizzling laugh.
CHAPTER 6
