𝐂 𝐡 𝐚 𝐩 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫  𝟏𝟔

     WE FINISHED EATING. Garry helped me pack the plates into the kitchen and watched as I washed them under the sink. He picked a towel and dried them. A while later, I excused myself and went upstairs. When I came down, he wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room.

     “Garry?” I called out, but he didn’t reply. He couldn’t have left without saying goodbye or taking his coat.

     “Garry?”

     As I stood in the short hallway wondering where he might be, I noticed the door to my study was ajar. Oh my God, he couldn’t have gone there. I dashed into the study and couldn’t believe my eyes.

     “What are you doing?” I snapped.

     Garry stood behind my desk, looking at the documents splayed across it. Earlier, I was working on getting Meredith a list of names and had forgotten to tuck them away.

     He looked up at me, holding what I didn’t want him to see. “Why do you have case files and crime scene photos?” he asked, as though I owed him a reply.

     I stomped toward him and snatched the photograph of Rosalind, dead in a pool of blood. “These are confidential files. You need to go.”

     He stood still, as though he’d seen a ghost. “Is that what you’ve been hiding and trying to shoo me away?”

     Swiftly, I gathered the documents, the papers rustling in my shaky hands. One photograph slipped out of my fingers and fell. Garry bent down, but I picked it up before he could, then pulled a drawer and stashed everything inside.

     “Are you not going to answer my question?”

     I whipped my eyes toward him, which were flaring. “I’m not obliged to answer any of your questions.” I pointed to the door. “You shouldn’t have seen those files. Shouldn’t have come here.” I stopped and gave him a look, then drawled, “You need to leave.”

     He narrowed his eyes. “Did you kill somebody? Is that why you’re having case files and crime scene photos?”

     My brows puckered. “Why’d you think that?”

     “Because you’re acting strangely.”

     “I’m not a murderer, Garry. I didn’t kill anyone,” I said defensively. For a moment, I wondered why I was explaining myself to him when I should be dragging him out. He’d seen confidential patient files. He could get me into trouble.

     “Then why’re you having case files of what looks like a serial murder?”

     I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “It’s complicated.”

     He neared me. “Are you in any kind of trouble? You know you can trust me.” His voice was softer now.

     I didn’t want to entangle Garry in this mess. He had his own problems. “It’s nothing.”

     “It’s not nothing, Avery. If you tell me what’s happening, maybe I can help me.”

     “Trust me you can’t,” I said. “I appreciate what you’ve been doing for me, but you have to understand I’m no longer your wife. You don’t need to care for me anymore. I know you feel you have to, but you don’t.”

     For a split second, I thought I was looking at a statue. He didn’t reply or make an attempt to leave. I really needed him to go. I had allowed him into the house and he’d entered my study without my permission. I couldn’t stop thinking he was an intruder.

     Finally, he blinked and glanced up at me. “All right. If you don’t want to tell me anything, then don’t,” he said tersely.

     He’d given up on me. That meant I wouldn’t be seeing him again. Thank God. But something told me he’d come back, especially when he just discovered I was playing the work of a detective, which I shouldn’t. If Meredith and Spade ever found out I had access to crime scene photos, it would get worse. I could incur criminal charges or even lose my license. And I wasn’t ready for any of that. The more reason I shouldn’t drag anyone else into this.

     He moved a leg. “Whatever mess you’re in and you think it’s complicated, I hope you find a solution to it.” He paused and gazed at me.

     “Thanks.” I waited. One, two, three... seconds. He still stood there. Why isn’t he leaving? Maybe I should walk him out.

     “You shouldn’t leave those files in the open like that. It’s not safe.”

     I cursed another my breath when he hinted at my carelessness, but if he hadn’t blithely walked into my study, none of this would’ve happened.

     “Thanks for the tip. Let me see you out.”

     I took the lead, and he followed behind me, our footsteps thudding on the floor. We got to the living room. He picked up his coat from the arm of the couch and stepped in front of me.

     Slipping into the coat, he said, “Thanks for the meal. It was delicious.”

     “Anytime, Garry.” I stood in the hallway and watched as he sauntered to the front door and left. The door closed with a soft click. I hurried to it, locked it, and returned to the study, stopping momentarily on the threshold.

     At my vantage point, I got a good view of the study. My desk stood close to the window, a single lamp sitting on it. Against a wall, a bookshelf stretched from the floor to the ceiling. I had quite a collection of books—titles on psychology, relationships, and the intricacies of the human mind were packed beside novels and poetries. The flowers Garry had brought were in a vase on a stool in one corner.

     What would Garry be doing in here? Since he didn’t answer when I asked, I’d conclude curiosity took the best of him. Even when we were married, this had been my study, and he seldom used it. If nostalgia had pushed him here, he could have just stood on the threshold and seen whatever he wanted to view. But he entered and went over to my desk. Why?

     Garry’s reappearance in my life was out of place for me as well. I hadn’t seen him in a while until our meeting at the bar. Then he showed up today with flowers. I was starting to doubt it was a coincidence meeting him at the bar. Why had he suddenly shown up, shortly after the death of a client?

     He wasn’t perturbed when I caught him red-handed looking through confidential files. If he was snooping around, he’d have been nervous, but he wasn’t. Maybe he was pretending. If Garry was back in my life, I was sure it had nothing to do with my clients’ death. Was I wrong? Could Garry be hiding something from me? He’d accused me of murdering someone. Why’d he think that when we’d spent more than a decade together?

     The more I thought about Garry, the more confused I got. For now, I’d just keep a low profile until this case was solved. He’ll come back. I reminded myself as I stepped into the study. The faint scent of the roses hit my nostrils. I sighed, passing by the two armchairs holstered in brown fabrics.

     I moved toward my desk and sat, gently tapping the touchpad of the laptop. The screen jarred to life and cast a glow across my face. I squinted and picked up my reading glasses, then flicked them on. Pulling back the drawer, I brought out the files and spread them across the table.

     I had done an overview of Rosalind’s case file. The grotesque picture of her lying in her house should have appalled me, but somehow I had no problem studying the photos. I had been summoned to court for expert testimony before and worked with lawyers. I knew one or two.

      Setting Rosalind’s file aside, I went for the case file on Cameron Caldwell. I remembered Caldwell as a timid man whose mother walked out on him and his sister when they were teenagers, then she reappeared in their lives after twelve years. She wanted to start all over. His sister, Macy easily forgave her, but Caldwell didn’t.

     During our many sessions, he’d told me he wanted to give her a chance, but he just couldn’t bring himself to look at the woman who abandoned them for so long. Caldwell was still holding on to the past—we figured that along the line. I helped him slay the demons haunting him by giving him regular tasks, like letting him write down some of the good memories he had of his mother and the bad ones, too.

     Occasionally I asked him to go out with her. He followed my advice. We saw improvement. Their relationship got better. Cameron was reforming. We were ready to end our professional relationship. The next thing I knew, Detective Spade was sitting in front of me, telling me they found Cameron’s body in the bathtub. The words had hit so hard that I felt a knot in my tummy. This was a man I had seen days ago and out of the blue, he was no more.

     Cameron wouldn’t commit suicide, so I pressed on and found out he was murdered. According to the files, his sister discovered the body. When she called him several times to no avail, she drove to his house. It must’ve been difficult for her.

     There were no defense marks on his body. Cameron didn’t try to fight back, which didn’t sit well with me. I made a mental note. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Cameron, stepping into a bathtub and soaking himself after a tedious day. His eyes closed, his head resting on the rim. He’d have been meditating. I had taught him that some time back. Footsteps should have easily pulled him out of it.

     Cameron wasn’t a client who was good with meditations. He got easily distracted by minor things. He couldn’t close his eyes and think for five minutes without peeping or asking me if we were done. Whoever Killed Cameroon didn’t break into the house while Cameron was in there as the files stated. The person was already in the bathroom when he entered. He or she took him by surprise.

     I picked up a pen and scribbled something into my notepad. A cold wind wafted into the room. I stood, walked over to the window, and closed it. Yawning, I neared the desk and reclaimed my seat. The next case file was on Mallory Blake. I pulled the client file I had on Mallory and flipped through the pages, recollecting some of the notes I made during our sessions. On a sticky note attached to a page, it said:

𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎, 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎.
𝙷𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙿𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.
𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚎.
𝚂𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

     I stopped, remembering why Mallory started therapy. From everything she’d told me, I concluded her husband was a violent man who might be suffering from a real mental disorder. I had suspected pathological jealousy when Mallory said he accused her of cheating, which made no sense. Mallory stayed home all day. Her chances of meeting potential men were zero. Then it clicked. Oren Blake had followed Mallory to the private practice where I worked once and caused a scandal, in which a worker got hit on the face. As they dragged him down the corridor, he muttered something. What was it? You’ll pay. I promise you.

     Could Oren have acted on his threats? Anger made people say crazy things which they rarely acted upon, but a man like Oren was unpredictable. Could he have gone on a killing spree? Unlikely. We pressed charges against Oren. He faced a jail sentence. I led the board to do it, partly because I wanted him far away from Mallory till she figured out her next move. Last I heard, he was released. He couldn’t have killed Mallory, although he’d have done it if he hadn’t been arrested that day.

     You’ll pay. I promise you. He’d said the words into the air. He could’ve directed it to his wife and hired someone to kill her. And not necessarily at me. It meant Mallory’s death wasn’t connected to the other two.

     Oren should be a primary suspect in the murder of Mallory, but when I looked through her case file, they had no suspect at the moment. I sighed, knowing that at least they didn’t say I was a suspect on file, but I knew it was only a matter of time. So, as of now, they had nothing. No wonder they were on my neck. They had no other lead to pursue apart from the fact that I had treated all three dead clients. Lucas’ name wasn’t listed in Rosalind’s case file. I’d have to find out from my source at the department tomorrow.

     Sighing, I leaned back in the chair. Oren Blake needed to be checked out. At least I had found a name for Meredith. Tonight wasn’t entirely a waste of time.

     Mallory, Cameron, and Rosalind were all murdered days to us ending our professional relationship. They never got the chance to leave my office a reformed individual, a happy individual. Something was amiss. If Meredith was right and whoever killed my clients did it because of me, then my only chance of finding this person was to get bait.

     I have to find a new client.