Off the Deep End (47)

“Really? You think so?” he interrupts before I finish. “Then why kill them so violently?”

“He should kill them nicely?”

He bursts out laughing, and his face turns red instantly. He puts his hand over his mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh. That’s so terrible of me to laugh, but I can’t help it. That’s really funny.”

I give him my most alluring smile. Demure. Like a cat. If he touched me, I’d probably purr.

He quickly regains his composure. Good for him. He shouldn’t let me throw him off like that. He’s had good clinical training. “Strangling someone to death seems pretty brutal. It’s almost always a sign of excessive out-of-control rage. If he’s that angry, why take it out on the kids? Take it out on the ungrateful parents.”

“But everyone knows there’s no better way to get to parents than through their kids. That’s where you’ve got to hit if you want it to hurt the most.” I bring my hand up to my mouth. I’ve said too much, but I know way more than most about hitting people where it hurts.

He locks eyes with me from across the table. Green with tiny specks of gold housed in long lashes. I could stare into his eyes forever. I gaze right back, allowing him to swim into the sea of me.

Finally, he breaks the silence and the spell. “Would you mind telling me where you were on Tuesday, December seventh, between five o’clock and six thirty p.m.?”





CASE #72946

PATIENT: JULIET (JULES) HART

Tuesday evening, December 7, between five and six thirty. That’s when Isaac went missing, but I wasn’t anywhere near him. I make sure Dr. Stephens knows that. He can tell everyone beneath him too.

“I was at home helping prep for dinner. It’s my job for all of December.” Samaritan House follows a very strict schedule that all residents are required to abide by in order to live here, including being responsible for all the chores and upkeep of the apartment building. Each month residents are assigned a job that ranges from things like taking out the trash to cleaning the bathrooms. We even clean the windows. I’d finally worked my way out of the nasty jobs and into the coveted jobs in the kitchen, so I took my job seriously because I wasn’t about to lose it and go back to scrubbing toilets.

“Can someone besides yourself verify that?” Dr. Stephens’s pen is in his hand and poised to write. It’s the first time he’s taken out paper this entire time.

“Ruth Ann . . . and . . . I’m trying to remember what other staff member was there that night. I think Corinne, but I could be wrong. I know Ruth Ann was there for sure because she always leads a group on Tuesday nights.” I lean across the table and give his hand a playful tap. “Oh, and I went to the meditation class afterward, too, just in case you were wondering. That took up most of the night.”

He spreads his hands out on the table. “As you can imagine, part of the way we solve any missing persons investigation is by ruling out different options and hypothetical scenarios. I—”

“You’re calling me hypothetical? I mean, I think I’m a pretty real one, don’t you think? There’s not much that’s hypothetical about me.” I tug my T-shirt down. I picked it on purpose this morning when I knew we’d be spending all day together again. It clings to my chest, and even though I’m not happy about all the weight I’ve gained, at least it’s given me cleavage.

He’s a gentleman, and he doesn’t gawk down my shirt, but you can’t mistake that I’m not wearing a bra. He gives me a confident smile, though. “There’s nothing hypothetical about you, that’s for sure.”

I beam. I don’t try to pretend like I’m not pleased.

He clears his throat. “So, like I was saying, part of what we do in any investigation is get rid of things on the list as quickly and easily as we can. We start with what we like to call ‘low-hanging fruit.’” He gives me another grin. I appreciate the fruit reference.

I wonder which fruit he imagines me as? Have I crept into his thoughts these past few nights? His dreams? Does he think of me when he reaches his hands between his legs? I pull myself away from the images. Focus on what he’s saying. I missed the first part.

“. . . the more possibilities that we can cross off our list, then the more focused our list becomes. Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense to me,” I say, but I can’t stop staring at his lips. He brushes his fingertips against them as if he feels me staring at them.

I’ve got to get out of this room. Quick.

He’s still blabbering on.

I interrupt him. “Can you just get to whatever it is you want to ask me?” I don’t say please like I would in the past. My heart is beating too fast, and the heat between my legs is burning the seat. It’s working its way through me.

He’s taken aback. “Okay . . . I just thought we were getting somewhere.”

“We’re not getting anywhere,” I snap. I shove my hands underneath my thighs.

“Do you have any idea where Isaac is at?”

Finally. There it is. The question everyone cares about. The only one he’s really here to ask. All the others have only been precursors leading up to this.

I shake my head. “I have no idea.”





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