“Of course you did,” Mac reasoned.
“Judson was a good guy,” Ricky said.
“And she killed him.”
“She killed him,” Ricky repeated the words.
“I had to kill her!” Rachel screamed. “She would’ve kept killing and getting away with it.”
“I’m glad you killed her!” Ricky cried. “She told me she was going to put me back in a mental institution.”
“When did she tell you that?” Mac demanded. “When did you talk to her?”
Ricky bowed his head. “She found me in the pub. She came in with her henchman.”
“Prudence?”
“Yeah. She said I was still unruly and I needed to learn some discipline. She said she would give me a shot of something and calm me down. She liked to use needles.”
Ricky’s voice grew thinner and if I didn’t know him, I might’ve thought he was twelve years old. He sounded so frightened.
I was pretty frightened myself. What a nightmare of a mother he’d had to live with.
Mac began to speak to her in his cool, calm voice and that was when I pulled my phone out and called Eric’s direct line. I turned the sound way down and huddled behind the doorjamb.
When Eric answered, I whispered, “Back hallway. She has a gun. Hurry.” Then I turned the sound all the way off so nobody would hear him if he started talking or if my phone rang. But hopefully Eric would be able to hear Rachel’s voice. I held the phone up as close to the doorjamb as possible without being seen and hoped that Eric would get every word.
“Did she hurt your sister?” Mac asked. “Did she hurt Regina?”
“She killed my sister.” Rachel sobbed. “She tried to make it look like a suicide. But my sister never would’ve killed herself. The doctor did it. She killed her. And it should’ve been me.”
“Don’t say that, Rachel,” he said. “You’re alive and that’s a good thing. You’ll be able to tell your story and everyone will know what the doctor did. You can spread the word about her. And you can tell them all the good things that your sister did. We need you to tell the world what happened here so that it never happens again.”
“It should’ve been me,” she repeated.
“Why do you say that?”
“I was sick,” she murmured.
I realized what she meant just as Mac said, “Rachel, were you a patient here?”
“Yes.” She sounded lost now. Maybe she was. “I was sick. My mind was cockeyed. I needed help. But the doctor didn’t help me. She just hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My sister used to visit me and I would tell her what they were doing to me. She believed me. And on one visit, she pulled me into the bathroom upstairs and she took off all of her pretty clothes and made me put them on. She combed my hair and made me look pretty like her. And then she put my hospital gown on herself. And she messed up her hair and she told me to go home with Daddy and get his doctor to give me the right medicine to make me feel better.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mac said. “So she stayed here and pretended to be you?”
“Yes. She said she wanted to verify all my stories so she could tell Daddy and he would fire the doctor and shut down this place. She wanted to get information on the doctor so they would believe her. So I got to go home.”
“That must’ve made you happy.”
“So happy,” she murmured. “My sister said she wasn’t worried because she knew that Daddy would come back right away and take her home. And then we could all be together again. But as soon as I got home, Daddy knew it was me.” She smiled sadly. “He was the only one who could tell us apart. And then, maybe it was the shock of seeing me come home, or maybe because he was afraid that my sister was now stuck in this place, but he had a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry,” Mac murmured.
She nodded. “It was sudden and scary, but it turned out to be a mild one and he was only hospitalized for a few days, and then he rushed back to find my sister.” Rachel sniffed and I knew there were tears in her eyes. “B-but she died before we could get there. I know Fairchild killed her because she could obviously tell that the two of us had traded places. The doctor probably thought that my sister was spying on her. And she was. And maybe Fairchild didn’t mean to kill her but I know she had to be angry. And when she got angry, she got really mean.”
“She put her in the bathtub,” Ricky said. “Judson saw it. That’s why he was looking for evidence.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“I don’t know,” Ricky said. “Do you know, Rachel?”
She didn’t speak and seemed to have drifted away to her own little world. But still, it all made perfect sense to me.
“DNA evidence,” she said finally. “There was blood. She cut my sister’s wrists.”
“We can look for the evidence,” Mac said.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Mac hesitated, then asked, “Is your name Rachel?”
“I’m Reggie,” she whispered.
Oh my God, I thought. This was Reggie.
That answered a lot of questions, but just now, I needed to get Mac and Ricky to safety. I could only hope that Eric was on the way.
I crouched down in hopes of sneaking a peek around Mac’s legs to see what Rachel—Reggie—was doing without her seeing me.
She still had the gun trained on Ricky and Mac, but I didn’t think she meant to kill them. She simply had run out of options, or so she thought.
And just then I saw Eric sneaking slowly down the carpeted hall and I knew I had to find a way to divert Reggie’s attention.
I looked around and saw the stacks of glass windows leaning against the wall. Without another thought, I kicked out and watched half the stack crash on the floor.
Reggie jolted. Her gun hand went wild. The shot sounded like a small explosion and she screamed.
Mac dashed over and grabbed the gun and Eric raced to subdue Rachel.
I heard her moan. “Noooo!”
I ran to Mac, who grabbed me and whirled me around. “You saved the day.”
“No, I think you did that. You and Ricky talked her down.”
Reggie sagged against Eric, who was so kind and careful to hold her just gently enough to allow her to remain standing. The poor woman had to be exhausted and frightened to death.
“She didn’t want to hurt us,” Ricky insisted. “My mom was the one who hurt lots of people. Not just me. But Reggie, too.”
“I know,” Mac murmured.
“So Reggie, I mean, you know, Rachel. She didn’t want to hurt us. She’s a good person.”
Mac nodded, glancing at me. “I think she was doing well with her medication all this time, but she must’ve been triggered when Dr. Fairchild came back to town.”
“We were all triggered by that,” Ricky admitted, his face pale and sweaty.
I recalled the faces of the protesters as they had huddled together, listening to the doctor’s arrogant speech the other day. “I think you’re right, Ricky.”
Mac approached Eric. “I know you have to take her in, but I want to appear as a character witness whenever she goes before the judge.”
“I’ll let you know,” he said. “Thanks to Shannon, I heard what she said. I’ll be writing up a full report and you might want to see about getting her a good lawyer.”
I gazed at Reggie, saw the calmness in her eyes. As if she had finally faced her demons and won. Turning to Eric, I said, “Something tells me she has a whole team of lawyers.”
I knew that the woman had inherited her father’s fortune and I wondered if maybe she’d been planning this moment for half of her life. Maybe this had all been part of her plan. I just hoped she would be able to keep the Gables project alive. Jane would need it for her own peace of mind, and in the long run, so would the proteste
rs. I wanted to help her make this place whole again, to turn it into a sanctuary instead of a pit of despair. And the legacy of Dr. Jones would live on while Dr. Fairchild would fade away in infamy.
* * *
* * *
I was happy that Eric shut the whole place down for a few days while he processed the doctor’s body and worked the crime scene.
I dispersed my guys to other work sites around town so they could keep busy and get paid. For myself, I couldn’t concentrate, kept replaying Rachel and Reggie’s sad story in my head. My two foremen were real troopers as always and picked up the slack, visiting the work sites and taking care of our crew. I found myself pacing around my house, fidgeting and worrying and wondering. I finally just walked out to the beach to clear my head.
I’d had mixed feelings about Rachel Powers, but now my heart was filled with so much sympathy for her and her sister, it would’ve made me cry if I hadn’t vowed not to do that again. At least for a week or two.
After all my research on Dr. Jones and his philosophy of treating patients in all sorts of positive ways, it was sickening to see what Dr. Fairchild had turned the once-beautiful Gables hospital into. It had been a hellhole. A torture chamber. Maybe the protesters were right. Maybe they should’ve burned it down.
But no. I didn’t really believe that. I wanted to do exactly what Jane had always dreamed of doing: turn the Gables into a good place. A peaceful spot on the hill overlooking the gorgeous blue ocean, surrounded by tall trees and lush gardens. And if there was any way that Reggie was able to keep the project alive, I would be right there to help those dreams come to fruition.
“I thought you might be out here.”
I turned and smiled at Mac. “I’m so glad you found me.”
He sat down in the sand and wrapped his arms around me. We sat like that for a long time.
“That was rough,” he said finally. “After the first minute, I never feared for my life. But I feared for hers.”
“You thought she might turn the gun on herself?” Just saying those words made my blood freeze.
“She was suffering,” he said. “So unhappy. And all because of that horrific excuse for a human.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe Fairchild actually held the title of doctor. What a travesty.”
“I know.” I leaned into him and just kept breathing. “I spoke to Jane a little while ago and told her everything. She said she’s glad she won’t ever have to see that doctor again.”
“So am I,” Mac admitted.
“I asked Jane if she remembered ever seeing Prudence when she used to visit her mom.”
“What did she say?”
“She didn’t remember her. Jane thinks maybe she was so focused on her mother, and also that awful doctor, that she didn’t really see the faces of any of the others.”
“Makes sense.”
“And here’s the bottom line. Jane told me that Prudence checked out sometime in the middle of the night and no one’s seen her since.” I shook my head. “She was so weird.”
Mac nodded. “Ricky was saying he thought she probably just faded into the woodwork, which apparently was something she used to do on a regular basis.”
“I’d like to find out if she was the one who pushed me, but we might never know.”
“Probably not.” He frowned. “I’d be happy never to see her again.”
I sighed. “How’s Ricky doing?”
“He’ll be okay.” Mac gave a firm nod, which I took to mean that he’d had a talk with Ricky and was feeling pretty good about his chances.
“I thought I might ask him if he’d like to work on my crew. Not sure he has any experience, but he could be a helper and maybe apprentice with one of the guys. I mean, if he wants to.”
Mac looked at me. “You are amazing.”
“So you think it’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s the best thing in the world.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on my forehead.
“I just hope we’ll be able to continue working on Jane’s dream hotel.”
“About that,” he began. “I went with Eric to the station and spoke to Reggie for a few minutes. She said that months ago, when she first worked out the plan with Judson to try to lure the doctor back to town, she called a meeting with her lawyers and the trustees of her family trust and instructed them all to continue with the Gables project.”
“Really?”
“Apparently she had them put it in writing. So it’s documented and it’s budgeted and backed by a whole corporation.”
“That’s . . . wow, that’s great.” I felt my eyes tearing up and could only sigh. So much for my vow to remain dry-eyed. This had started to become a regular habit of mine and that was just wrong. It wasn’t like me. As my sister had said, there’s no crying in construction.
“Regina had a feeling that confronting the doctor—as she knew she would have to—wouldn’t end well. But she was adamant that the Gables project continue in her sister’s name.”
“That is lovely.”
“Yeah. She has a good heart. She just has, you know, problems.”
I sighed. “I hope they’ll take good care of her.”
“We’ll keep tabs on her.”
“Good. I’m sure Jane will want to see how she’s doing, too.”
He paused for a few seconds, then said, “So I wanted to talk to you.”
My heart plummeted. Those words never brought on good news. I cleared my throat. “What’s up?”
“I’m thinking of moving.”
I pressed my lips together. Don’t cry, you big baby, I told myself, but then realized I was already crying. You were waiting to have this talk with him, waiting to work out the future together. Maybe by thinking about it, I subtly pushed him into making a decision for himself. Was that crazy? Didn’t matter. Now he was leaving. So this definitely did not turn out the way I planned. But God, why did it have to hurt so much? “Is that right?” I said lightly. “When are you planning to make the move?”
“As soon as you say it’s okay.”
“Me? I don’t want you to move.”
“But I’m tired of living apart from you.”
I stared at him. Slowly, I said, “I think I’m not thinking the same thing you’re thinking. Tell me what you want to do.”
He smiled. “I want to live with you. I want to be with you. Spend all my time with you. Is that clear enough?”
“Oh.” I started to laugh. “Oh yeah. That’s crystal clear.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I feel . . . I feel so . . .” Happy? Joyful? Relieved? “I feel so ready to make that happen. I love you, Mac. I want to be with you, too.”
He kissed me then, and all my doubts and foolish worries faded to dust. But then I frowned. “Your house is beautiful and you have the beach right there. But I really love my house and hate the thought of leaving it. But I will, for you. What were you thinking we might do?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. You know the lighthouse was recently decommissioned so I don’t have to worry about keeping it operational. I was thinking of turning the house and the lighthouse into a writers’ retreat. I’ve done a lot of reading on the subject, because you know, I’m a writer.”
“I knew that,” I said, grinning.
“Right? And I’m a mastermind researcher. So I know that I should probably hire someone local to clean and cook and keep the place. So individual writers or a writers’ group could come and stay for a week or a month, or whatever.” He smiled. “And we could always use it as a vacation home when we want to get away from the hustle and bustle of Lighthouse Cove.”
“Yeah, it can get hectic around here.” I laughed. “But where would you write?”
He played with the bit of fringe on my denim jacket. “Well, you know I wrote m
y best work when I first moved here and was living in your garage apartment. Plenty of room. Great view. I was hoping you would let me rent one of them to use as an office.”
I was taken aback. “You don’t have to rent it, Mac. I’ll give it to you for free.”
He kissed me again. “You’re making this too easy for me.”
I touched his cheek. “It’s the easiest decision I’ve ever had to make.”
“I love you, Irish.”
“Oh, Mac.” I wrapped my arms around him. “I love you right back.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I never dreamed that Shannon Hammer would someday be asked to transform a crumbling Victorian-era insane asylum into an elegant world-class hotel. But then I discovered Hotel Henry—formerly known as the Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane—and Shannon’s newest project became crystal clear in my mind.
I spent two short days at Hotel Henry and I’m grateful for their hospitality and the truly wonderful cuisine of 100 Acres restaurant. I want to acknowledge the Richardson Olmsted Campus and the fascinating tours they offer. I’m grateful to them and to Professor Carla Yanni, author of The Architecture of Madness, for her extensive study of therapeutic design and the work of Dr. Thomas Story Kirkbride, who believed that “good architecture was essential for the comfort, security, and recovery of lunatics.” While not the most sensitive or politically correct way of putting it, my fictional Dr. Jones nevertheless owes everything to both Dr. Kirkbride and Professor Yanni.
A very special thank-you to Mary Lou and Michael Debergalis, my Buffalo family, for first introducing me to Hotel Henry. It’s been an adventure, for sure. And muchas gracias to the elusive genius Miri for her stunning photography and insights.
Thank you as always to my superagent, Christina Hogrebe, and everyone at JRA. I’m grateful every day for your guidance and support.
I am the luckiest writer in the world to work with senior editor Michelle Vega, who is just plain brilliant and always awesome, wonderful, cheerful, and kind.
To the amazing team at Berkley/PRH, including Jenn Snyder, Jessica Mangicaro, Elisha Katz, Dache Rogers, and everyone in marketing, publicity, and the art department: thank you all for making me shine and for making my books the envy of all the others on the bookshelf.
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