The House Guests Read online

  “He knew about the weather ahead of time?”

  There was so much she could say about that, so many fears she harbored. She took a moment to compose herself. “He should have. I guess we’ll never know.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. Nick had wide, strong hands, and he still wore a wedding ring, as did she. She wondered if he sometimes woke in the night and reached for the wife he’d lost.

  “I’m sorry, but was there any chance his death was foul play?” he asked.

  “Would a medical examiner look for that?”

  “Depends. They did an autopsy?”

  She shuddered. “Yes, but if there was anything out of the ordinary, I never heard about it. His body was found less than twenty-four hours after I reported he didn’t come home. I expected him for dinner that night, and he said he’d be back. They found him the next afternoon.” She looked up. “It was so unexpected, Nick. I keep asking myself if it would be easier to accept what happened if I’d had time to say goodbye.”

  “Don’t count on it. I had months to say goodbye to JoAnn.”

  He had opened the door, so she walked through. “How did she die?”

  “Breast cancer. We thought she was clear. She was in remission, and then she wasn’t. At that point nothing helped. I’m not sure I’d trade one ending for another.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, his lips a grim line. “Same here.”

  “Shouldn’t Our Town have been more of a warning?”

  He closed his eyes a moment. “That play was a downer, wasn’t it? We were too young to really understand what it means to lose someone we love.”

  “I think maybe we’re always too young.”

  He leaned forward and held up the envelope. “Would you like me to take this and start a file? This borders on extortion—for all practical purposes we lump extortion and blackmail together in Florida—but no demands have been made. There’s nothing we can really do at this point, and to be honest, I don’t think you need to worry. There’s no overt threat here. It’s more like somebody is hoping or guessing there were problems in your husband’s life, and they’re striking out at you because they need to hurt somebody. Maybe they had unfinished business with your husband, a patient he couldn’t help, or one who took his death personally. But at the worst this looks like a setup. So keep your eyes open and call if you notice anything unusual. If you get more mail? Let me know immediately.”

  She got to her feet. “It was more than kind of you to take time to go over this with me on Christmas Day.”

  He got up, too, and held up the cranberry bread. “I feel well paid.”

  “I hope the rest of your day feels more Christmassy.”

  “Yours, too.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “It was good to be with someone who understands how hard losing a life partner can be.”

  “I just hope the next time you don’t have to examine my mail.”

  “Next time I’ll buy the coffee.”

  She watched him head to the counter, most likely to buy lunch. She hoped Nick’s time with his family that evening would ease the ache in his heart, just a little.

  19

  CASSIE KNEW SHE SHOULD put the letter out of her mind. Undoubtedly Nick was right, and there was no threat to worry about. But one day later she was still wondering who could help her discover the author’s identity. The Manhattan friends who’d sent Christmas cards had no connection to Mark. Lines of communication with Valerie had been nailed shut, and everyone at Church Street would cite confidentiality.

  While Ivy had only worked with Mark at Riverbend Community, she was still Cassie’s best possibility. They had talked twice, and Cassie found her both compassionate and accommodating. This afternoon Cassie hoped she would be both.

  Ivy was working twelve-hour shifts at night in order to have long breaks at the weekend. When four o’clock arrived, Cassie punched in her number, hoping to catch her after she’d had some sleep.

  Just after a voice mail message began, Ivy answered. She didn’t sound like someone who’d been forced out of bed, which was a relief.

  Cassie greeted her. “Is this a terrible time to talk?”

  Ivy assured her she was heading out for dinner with a friend but wasn’t in any hurry to dress. They traded Christmas stories. Then Cassie got down to business.

  “Something happened, and I want to pick your brain.” She explained about the letter, quoting a part of it. Nick was right. She was good at learning lines, and she hadn’t forgotten those.

  “Wow, that’s ugly,” Ivy said. “Who would send something like that at Christmas?”

  Cassie pulled up the covers and told herself she was just cold, not frightened. “Somebody who wanted to upset me, I guess.”

  “You have no idea who?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. It’s a long shot you might be able to think of possibilities, but if this is a patient of Mark’s, maybe he or she was on the behavior health unit with you. I wondered if you remembered anybody who had real issues with him?”

  “Transference is a reality,” Ivy said slowly, as if thinking out loud. “You know, when somebody treats their therapist the way they’d like to treat someone else in their life or their past. A father, a teacher.”

  “Mark didn’t talk a lot about what went on in therapy.”

  “He was a real professional. He wouldn’t.” The warmth in Ivy’s voice was unmistakable.

  “I know I’m asking a lot, but is it possible you can think of somebody who might still be this angry with him, even after his death, someone who would write a letter like that to me?”

  “To vent, you mean? To make somebody who loved Mark unhappy?”

  Mark might not have talked much about what he faced every day, but Valerie had told a story about the patient of another doctor who had come to the office with a handgun.

  “It’s an odd way to get even,” Cassie said, “but the people Mark dealt with ranged from mildly depressed to raging psychotics. They weren’t always thinking clearly.”

  “One person’s odd is another person’s go-to,” Ivy said. “Remember when Mark was laid up at home that time? While he was recovering, one old guy kept insisting Mark was in jail, and we had to rescue him. One night he managed to get off the unit, and an orderly found him on another floor trying to steal clothes so he could take a bus to Rikers Island and free Mark.”

  Cassie felt a stab of pity for the old man. “At least he was trying to rescue him.”

  “I wish somebody with darker motives would spring to mind, but unfortunately no such luck.”

  Cassie was disappointed but not surprised. She felt better after Ivy’s next comment, though. “How about if I nose around a little? I have to be careful, because I don’t want to get in trouble. But I may be able to single out patients Mark worked with and look through their records. A couple of people might have ideas if I can figure out a good way to approach them.”

  “That would be great if you’re not putting your job on the line. And I have another question, if you have time.”

  “You’re giving me the excuse I need to sit instead of clean the apartment.”

  “This one may be even harder. I’m trying to find out why Mark left Church Street. I cornered Fletcher last month and asked him point-blank what had happened. He was vague—”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  Cassie waited, but when Ivy didn’t go on, she asked. “Why not?”

  “Fletcher Dorman couldn’t take a stand or be straight about something if his life depended on it.” She paused, then said something under her breath that was distinctly profane. “Listen, I didn’t really say that.”

  “I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “What did Dr. Dorman tell you when you asked?”

  Cassie gave her a condensed version of that conversation. She explaine
d that near the end of his life, Mark had been short-tempered and hard to work with, and that the staff had been surprised but also relieved when he resigned.

  “That’s not the way I heard it,” Ivy said when she’d finished.

  Cassie sat up a little straighter. “What did you hear?”

  “You really have to keep this to yourself. Obviously I wasn’t there when any of this happened. But I heard snippets of conversation between some of our doctors, and so did other nurses. So...”

  “So?”

  “I heard the problem was between Dr. Dorman and Mark. Mark challenged him, effectively saying his treatment of patients no longer met the standard of care. He said Dr. Dorman needed to bone up on new thinking, even do some additional training, because he was failing his patients. Everyone knows Dr. Dorman is pretty old-school, but that was the first time his methods were talked about openly. Dorman had been there longer than Mark, and people were forced to take sides.”

  Cassie tried to remember if Mark had ever expressed qualms about Fletcher to her. In the months before the resignation, their relationship with the Dormans had declined, although she hadn’t seen it at the time. Now she recognized a pattern. The Dormans had made excuses and refused invitations to dinners and excursions that Cassie had tried to set up, including a birthday dinner for Valerie. Tickets they’d bought together had been exchanged and reservations canceled.

  “I’m going to have to think about this,” she said. “I can’t think of a single time that Mark talked about Fletcher’s skills or lack of them.”

  “Did he ever bring problems home?”

  “Never.” Mark had never asked her for help. The psychiatrist who was supposed to have all the answers had always lurked in the background.

  “Well, that’s the kind of man he was,” Ivy said. “Professional to the core. I promise I’ll see what I can discover, but a change of subject while I still have you? I had an idea after our last conversation, so see what you think. I know Savannah’s not happy being in Florida, and she misses New York.”

  “She’s doing a little better. I’m not running it up the flagpole yet, but I’m hopeful.”

  “If you and Savannah want to visit over the holidays, I could get reservations and tickets. It’s nice to have someone on-site to coordinate.”

  Cassie was touched and thanked her. “But I think we’ll be here until after winter break. Savannah and her friends have plans to celebrate Epiphany on the sixth. It’s a big deal in town.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Cassie hung up. If Fletcher and Mark had quarreled, that could well explain why the Dormans had distanced themselves. Maybe it also explained why Fletcher hadn’t wanted to discuss other staff members. He’d known why Mark left, and perhaps he’d also known that if Cassie began to ask around, the truth would come out.

  Ivy had been exactly the right person to consult. Valerie and Fletcher may have disappeared from her life, but Cassie still had someone she could count on in New York. Thanks to Ivy, she and her daughter hadn’t been completely forgotten.

  * * *

  Both Will and Amber were working a holiday party at the Kouzina that evening, and Savannah had left for Minh’s to eat a traditional Vietnamese meal and spend the night. Cassie had planned to spend the evening alone, but instead, after a phone call, she was heading to nearby Palm Harbor for dinner.

  Dr. Lawrence Steele had been Mark’s psychotherapy supervisor and mentor during his psychiatric residency, and he had remained a close friend through the years. Larry was now retired, living in Clearwater, and he’d called to tell Cassie he had the evening free. They arranged to meet halfway, and he was waiting in the foyer when she arrived, a distinguished-looking man with a head of silver curls and a waistline that showcased his love of good food.

  Before they had time for more than a peck on the cheek, they were shown to an attractive wooden booth in a room with dark paneling and lighting courtesy of a brightly lit aquarium and stained glass panels.

  She’d last seen Larry at Mark’s memorial service, and there hadn’t been an opportunity for more than platitudes and sympathy. But after she’d moved to Florida, a package had arrived in the mail. A Grief Observed, by C. S. Lewis, written after the death of the author’s wife. A note from Larry had accompanied it. “When you’re ready,” the note said, and now the book was waiting on her nightstand.

  He didn’t comment on her appearance, which was too often the first thing out of people’s mouths. She was tired of being told she looked good, as if she was the one who’d drowned and her apparent good health was shocking. Instead he smiled and asked how she was.

  If she’d had to choose a psychiatrist from the many she’d met, Larry would be her choice. Not only was he infinitely kind, he was interested in the whole person, who they were and had been, all the way down to their marrow. Larry believed he was no better than his most troubled patient.

  Now she felt his warmth as she told him about the past months. He listened closely, nodding as she spoke. He understood her wide range of emotions because he had lost his wife ten years before and never remarried.

  “We’d better look at the menu,” he said when she’d finished. “Our server looks like he’s about to pounce. Then we can talk.”

  She ordered salmon, and after a host of questions about the way items were prepared, Larry ordered the duck breast and a glass of rosé from Provence for himself after Cassie told him she was fine with water.

  “I’ve never seen you drink,” he said, after the server left to put in their order.

  She explained, then smiled. “Mark thought my not drinking was a bit obsessive.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Are you thumbing your nose at your parents?”

  “I would if I knew which direction to aim, up or down. But no, it’s a disease. I’ve just put myself on permanent quarantine.”

  They chatted about both their lives until the salads arrived.

  “Do you miss your students?” Cassie asked after the salads were replaced by their entrées. “Mark thought you were the best. He said anything he learned to do right was because of you.”

  “I don’t work with students, but I still take a few clients now and then. I’ve also met someone, and I’m relearning how much time a relationship takes.”

  She was delighted for him. “It’s hard work until you fall into predictable patterns.”

  “I do miss supervising. Not all my residents were as superior as Mark, but I rarely found any that didn’t improve over time.”

  “Mark put so much effort into everything he did.”

  “Was that hard to live with?”

  The question surprised her, but it shouldn’t have, considering Larry’s profession. “At times.”

  He continued, “He wasn’t really an overachiever, because he had the talent and drive to achieve anything he wanted. No ‘over’ about it. But he couldn’t let go. Nothing he achieved was ever good enough.”

  She suspected there was a point here and it would become clear. “It was a little intimidating to be with someone who was always pushing himself,” she admitted.

  “Because then you had to push yourself to keep up?”

  “There was no hope of keeping up. Instead I just found my niche, taking care of Savannah, making sure our lives ran smoothly and happily. I made that my contribution. It seemed to work.”

  “You were happy?”

  She’d always thought so, although lately she’d begun to wonder. “Until I left for college, I was the caretaker in my family. So when I married Mark and he asked little more than to love him and Savannah and keep our home life running smoothly, it was like being in heaven.”

  Larry sat back from his meal, as if taking a break. “It’s not surprising Mark asked very little. He was excellent at seeing the needs of other people, but not at understanding his own.”

  “You’re trying to tell me somethi
ng, aren’t you?”

  “Did you know at one point during Mark’s supervision I considered demanding he go into therapy, intensive therapy, and delay finishing the program? I was talked out of it by others who felt he was doing well. And they were right. On every level except his ability to confront his own demons, Mark was the best.”

  “Demons?”

  “Maybe an overstatement. Since he hid what he was feeling so well, I never got close enough to find out whether the problem was demons or just annoying mosquitoes buzzing in his brain.”

  “Was this about the time he and Gen got married?”

  “The marriage was a good example. Mark decided to do the right thing for Gen and their unborn baby. I don’t think she necessarily wanted it that way, but Mark had his say and his way. He could be very persuasive.”

  “I’m glad. I don’t know what I’d do without Savannah in my life.” Although lately she’d wondered, but that was beside the point.

  “You rescued all of them. You made it work. But having Savannah was part of Mark’s pattern. If he made a mistake, he made up for it a hundredfold.”

  “Again, I think you’re trying to tell me something.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “You would have been a good therapist, Cassie. And if Mark had allowed it, you could have taught him so much. But I don’t think he ever let you, did he?”

  She waited but he didn’t go further. He was waiting for her, and she took the leap, squeezing his hand as she told him about Mark’s final months and all the unanswered questions he’d left behind, ending with a plea. “If you have answers, I’d like to know them.”

  He squeezed and dropped her hand, but his eyes continued to show concern. “I don’t have answers, but if I did, I would give them all to you. I will tell you this. Mark came to see me a few weeks before he died. I was in Manhattan, and we went for a drink. His need to tell me something was painfully obvious...” He shook his head. “Whatever it was? It was so important that despite his great reserve, he sought me out, hoping he could put it into words. But in the end, he wasn’t able to. I let the situation sit a few days and then got back in touch with him. But by that time his defenses were so high, there was no way to reach him. Then he was gone.”