Confidential(42)

I hung up and got in my car. I started driving, and there it was, a space right in front of Dr. Baylor’s building. Like this was just where I was meant to be. And his office door was open for once, and he stood up like he’d been expecting me and said, “Come in, I had a cancellation.”

I couldn’t explain how it happened, who moved toward whom, but I was in his arms. I’d been so upset and furious and confused, and now I was just confused. But happy, too.

“I wish I could stop this,” I could have sworn he murmured into my hair.

“I don’t.”





PRESENT DAY





CHAPTER 34

DETECTIVE GREGORY PLATH

Flora said it was just girl talk; Lucinda said it was all about Michael. That they’d been trading stories. “Why?” I asked her.

“To confirm we were special,” she answered, and I could have almost believed her. Except that I don’t believe any of them.

Which leaves me where, exactly?

I’ve still got three suspects.

Obviously, Flora was lying. Greer was, too, making it sound like she was just an observer at the restaurant that day, like she had nothing to contribute because the good doctor hadn’t been inappropriate with her in any way.

It could have been someone else, though. The Oakland PD doesn’t have the manpower to follow up on every current and former client from Dr. Baylor’s file drawers, and I still don’t have access to the records themselves. What I can tell is that he had startlingly few male clients. When I asked his colleagues about this, they didn’t seem to find it strange; they said way more women than men seek therapy, and besides, “He was good with women.” This was said with a straight face. The follow-up comment? “Whatever you’re good at in the therapy business, you get more of it. When it rains, it pours. You get a reputation. Other therapists refer to you; satisfied clients send their dissatisfied friends.”

A social media search of the names also revealed a disproportionate number of unmarried women, and a fair number were good-looking. It seemed like Dr. Baylor may have had a type. Or maybe it was pure coincidence. The Bay Area had a whole lot of attractive females, and sometimes they ran in packs. Tell a friend, that’s how it works, right?

But why did this guy have so few actual friends? He had colleagues and a good reputation, but who did he meet at the bar for a couple of beers? And he appeared to have no hobbies, no life at all, really, outside of his work.

These three women remain the front-runners. I can tell there’s more to Greer’s story, but she’s going to make me get a lawyer or a warrant to find it out, even though she says what she wants more than anything is to find the killer. More than anything, she wants to find out who offed her therapist?

Lucinda’s a disaster; Flora’s a manipulator; Greer’s a liar.

But so far, I haven’t been able to pin anything on them. They’ve got no alibis, but there’s no evidence to tie them to the crime. Lucinda says she’s in love with him (present tense) and sure, the flip side of that is hate, but I can’t prove she flipped. Greer says it was just therapy, and good therapy at that, and I can’t crack her. Flora saw him for couples therapy a while back, but she still wants to have girl talk with his current clients? She says that if I find that odd, it’s my problem, and she’s right. It is my problem.

So which one killed the good doctor? Could they be in it together?

It’s clear that at least two of them—Flora and Greer—hate each other. But they might have hated Michael more. Lucinda’s a wild card. Hatred—and murder—make strange bedfellows.





BEFORE





CHAPTER 35





FLORA


I know you’re angry, but ignoring me is not okay.

If you want to end things for good, at least say it to my face.

But why would you want to end things? I love you and you love me.

I ended my marriage for you.

You got me to end my marriage for you.

You seduced me right there in front of my husband.

Go ahead, tell me you didn’t.

You wanted me, and you made me want you. Now you’re treating me like old garbage.

I’m not your garbage.

I don’t deserve this shit.

Yes, I told Kate about us. I shouldn’t have lied to you about that. But I’ve never lied about anything else. Can you say the same?

You have to find a way to forgive me.

Please, forgive me, and I’ll forgive you. I’ll forgive how cruel you’ve been recently. Because I can see past it. I can see the real you.

Can’t you see me?

Won’t you see me?

No, he wouldn’t, and I was coming unglued. I needed him, and yet to him, I was extraneous. Replicable, was that it? One of those Wednesday women had replaced me. He could be with her right now or thinking about how to be with her.

Neither of the women was wearing a wedding ring or engagement ring, so it would probably be even easier for him than the last time around with me. Week after week, it was just the two of them in his office, growing closer.

I was striding around my apartment, wearing a groove into the living room rug, and all I could see was Michael and those women. Maybe this time, he’d raise the level of difficulty. He’d go for a Wednesday ménage à trois.