Can You Picture This? (Sam Darling Mystery #3) Read online

  I didn’t say anything, but knew George was in for a battle.

  She repeated her statement to him.

  “Now, Sarah,” George said. And that was all he got to say before she launched into a tirade worthy of her mother.

  “Well, we need to have someone go to work with you. A cop,” He said when she was finished. She rolled her eyes, but George wasn’t intimidated. He continued, “Maybe your brother…‌I’ll need to check. In the meantime,” he looked at all of us one by one, “…‌don’t go anywhere.”

  He went into the kitchen and made a call, keeping his voice low so we couldn’t hear what he was saying. Sarah, Adam, Clancy, and I didn’t say anything. I guess we all wanted to hear what he said. At least I did. It looked like he ended the call and made another one. By the way his head was moving, he got the result he wanted, then he made one more call. Another positive response. By now I was confused, wondering why he had to make three calls. He soon un-confused me.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m staying with you, Sam, for obvious reasons.” He smiled at his little joke, which was welcome at this point, but his demeanor changed immediately.

  “While you were getting ready,” George looked at me then glared at Adam, “Adam informed me that he was going out with friends. I said, ‘It’s Tuesday. Why would you go out on a Tuesday night?’ He looked at me like I was nuts and reminded me he was young and they go out any night they want to.”

  I joined in on the glaring at Adam.

  Adam wasn’t scared. He knew my glare was worse than my bite.

  “So here’s what’s going to happen,” George went on. “Officer Jimmy Mansfield is going to work with you, Sarah. He’s not going to wear his uniform so he won’t embarrass you too much.”

  Sarah nodded and didn’t say a word.

  “And as for you, Adam, your uncle Rob is going out with you and your buddies.” He stopped Adam before he could say anything. “Rob is pretty close to your age, so it won’t look weird that he’s with you.”

  “I wasn’t going to complain,” Adam said, sounding defensive, “Uncle Rob is closer in age to me than he is to my mom. And he’s kind of cool…‌for a cop.” Then he actually smiled.

  I sighed with relief. I felt that both of my kids would be safe tonight. I was confident Rob would take good care of Adam, and his friends. Plus, he wouldn’t drink, and would be alert. And Jimmy Mansfield had already saved me once. He’d take good care of my baby girl.

  Sarah said she was going to take a nap until it was time for work, and George let her know Jimmy would pick her up about 20 minutes before she had to be at the hospital.

  Rob called Adam’s phone and I could hear Adam agreeing to whatever Rob said, ending the conversation with, “Okay. See you then.”

  After my kids and I exchanged “I love yous,” I knew I could relax and enjoy my card game.

  George and I took Clancy and a six-pack of beer with us and walked through the courtyard to Gus and Georgianne’s house. The back door was open and I heard laughter coming from the dining room.

  George and I walked in to see Georgianne, her sister Julianne, Gus, and two other older women I didn’t know. I introduced George, and we were introduced to Lily and Mae, old friends of Georgianne’s.

  “We like to have four or five for our card games, and unfortunately one of our members is in the hospital and another wasn’t feeling well,” Georgianne said. “I thought you might enjoy a game with us.”

  Yeah, right. You’re all at least 40 years older than I am. I’m sure this will be a laugh riot.

  But when Georgianne said, “We recently started calling ourselves the Game of Crones,” I figured it would be fun after all.

  Gus told George, “I got a great cop movie from the forties. It’s got George Raft and Edward G. Robinson. Thought maybe you hadn’t seen it yet.” He led George into the living room. As he walked by me, George kissed the top of my head, and I noticed wistful looks on the other women’s faces.

  Georgianne surprised the hell out of me. She was actually fun. Still a little snooty, but more relaxed than I’d ever seen her. This group had been playing cards every Tuesday night for more than 40 years, meaning they started about my age.

  The game was a rummy variation, and over time, they’d developed their own rules. It was fun but with some bittersweet moments. Mae asked several times each hand what the wild card was. It changed each hand and it was hard for her to retain the memory.

  As a therapist, I noticed signs of early dementia; whether it was Alzheimer’s or not was up to a doctor to diagnose. But dementia definitely. I thought that it wouldn’t be long and they’d be losing another member.

  The other three were sharp as tacks, and I had to work hard to keep up with them, their cards, and their banter. Georgianne had a side table full of edible goodies and of course I spent some quality time there.

  Julianne was certainly funny, loud, and theatric, making me wish I’d known her when she was younger. Suddenly she stood up, threw out her arms and yelled, “I LOVE MEN!” I didn’t know where that came from, but it was endearing rather than uncomfortable.

  “That reminds me of my third, or was it my fourth, husband,” she said at one point, and went on to tell a bizarre story involving outdoor sex and fire ants. Normally I’d be grossed out thinking of an eighty-something-year-old woman having sex, but I’d already begun liking this group, and hoped I could continue playing whenever they needed a fifth.

  Clancy moved from George and Gus to the card table throughout the evening. I couldn’t help but think that I’d been neglecting my precious dog and vowed to remedy that situation as soon as I could.

  The group had a lot more energy than I, and we played until nearly 11. I yawned as we played but no one seemed to notice. They were enjoying themselves too much. I knew I had to get up really early for work—that is, I would if George let me go. I hadn’t had the Clinic cancel my patients for the rest of the week, and was anxious to work instead of sitting around being scared.

  After our good-byes, George and I walked hand in hand across the courtyard, with Clancy close by on my free side. George had made me lock the door, but evidently the kids hadn’t locked it when they left, so it was unlocked yet again.

  George was not pleased.

  “Damn it. What is it with your family and locking doors?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. George was indeed a fierce protector. I touched his arm, he turned around, and I kissed him.

  “I’m sorry. I guess we’re incorrigible,” I whispered as I stood on tiptoe to kiss him again.

  As usual the kiss was exquisite and my body tingled from head to toe. As we finished we heard a smattering of applause from Georgianne’s back porch where she and her sister were standing. I laughed and curtseyed. George stood there with a grin on his face. I waved goodnight to them and we went inside my cozy haven.

  George quickly searched through the whole place, which only took a minute. At that point I was glad of the carriage house’s coziness.

  Sarah was at work, I assumed with Jimmy at her side, and Adam still wasn’t home. Of course, he and Rob probably hadn’t gone out until ten or so. I imagined George and I would have a few hours of privacy left.

  I told Clancy I was sorry and that I loved her as I turned on Animal Planet. She lay on the couch, watching the mating dance of the mongoose. George had already gone into my bedroom and when I got there I heard him singing in the shower. “I guess this is my new normal,” I said to myself as I dropped my clothes and joined him.

  FOURTEEN

  I’d set my alarm for 6 and let out a cuss word when it went off. Normally I’m a morning person, but I’d had a late night. I jumped up and took a quick shower, dressing in the bathroom so I wouldn’t wake George. He looked so young lying there, without worry lines crossing his face. I felt bad that I caused much of his worries. Clancy lay next to him. That was her usual routine. She stayed in bed until I was ready to go to work, then she went outside to take care of business.
After that, since she’s been working with me as a therapy dog, she just jumps into the car and goes to the office with me, or we walk to work together.

  I knew I couldn’t leave without letting George know. That would cause him undue stress. So I leaned over and kissed him. He awoke smiling, but frowned when he saw I was dressed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “George, I have to go to work. I’ve already called in for two days. I need to get back there. I haven’t been employed long enough to have vacation or sick time.”

  “You’re not going. Period.”

  “Uh, yeah. You’re going to have to learn that doesn’t work with me.”

  “Damn it, Sam.”

  I felt sorry for him so I gave a little. “You can come to work with me, but you can’t stay in the room when I have a client. What they tell me is confidential.”

  “I can wait right outside the door.”

  He knew where my office was. When my boss was murdered some months back, George had interviewed me. That was when I was still calling him Butthead instead of George.

  “Well then you better hurry up and get ready. I want to stop and get bagels for my co-workers before I go to work.”

  He did hurry. I took Clancy outside while George was finishing up. When George came out, I already had my car going, with Clancy in the back seat.

  “Hmm, guess we’re taking your car today, huh?”

  “Get in and I’ll explain.” He did, and then I did. “I love the fact you are so protective, even when I’m not in trouble. It’s been many years since I’ve had someone take care of me and make me feel safe. Maybe it’s actually the first time it’s happened since I’ve been an adult.” I looked over before I started backing out into the alley. George looked pensive, but not unhappy. “But sometimes I have to assert my independence. I’ve been on my own a while. Even when I was married I felt like I was on my own. I get…‌I don’t know…‌I get itchy when I feel confined.”

  That’s when he got mad.

  “You feel confined because I like to take care of you? You feel confined because I love you?”

  I pulled the car over immediately and put it in park. “George, that’s not what I meant at all. Omigod, I adore being loved by you. I feel safe. I feel happy. You are a tremendous man and I’m thrilled we’re together. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.” That, at least, got rid of his frown, and what I’d said was true.

  “But,” he said, “you feel confined or trapped or what?”

  “Definitely not trapped, George. Definitely not trapped. Perhaps ‘confined’ was the wrong word. I just need to be in control of my own life at times. And this horrible murderer has impacted my life in ways I don’t like. The only good thing is that I get to spend so much time with you. I love that.”

  I guessed I must have explained myself better that time, because George put his arm around me as I drove, easy enough to do in my small Bug.

  “Damn, woman, you drive me crazy,” he said softly. Then he added, “I love you.”

  I parked illegally at the Bread Company. It’s great to have a cop with you. He wouldn’t stay in the car though, insisting he wasn’t going to leave me alone. We walked in, and I must have strutted a bit. People looked at us, and several smiled and said hello. This was my breakfast hangout when I ate alone and the regulars had never seen me with a man. The Dairy was the Darling family breakfast place but the Bread Company was where I went to read or check Facebook over my coffee and bagel.

  Ron greeted me and asked if I wanted my usual mug of coffee and whole grain bagel. I said, “Nope, can’t stay today. I want a baker’s dozen of assorted bagels.” He grinned and kept glancing at George. I finally introduced them, but ended up just saying, “This is my friend, George.”

  I mentally berated myself before the sentence was even completed. George was much more than my friend, but I didn’t know how he felt being called a boyfriend when he was technically on duty. Hell, I didn’t know how I even felt about it. Boyfriend was such an odd word to call a 43-year-old man.

  “Friend, huh?” As we walked out, I could tell he was teasing me.

  I told him of my dilemma.

  He said that it was no big deal. I was happy to be able to relax on that score.

  We arrived at work a few minutes before I was due to be there, and Clancy jumped out of the Bug, eager to get to work. No leash needed here. She loved her job.

  As we walked through the front door I introduced George to Clara Schmidt, the Clinic’s receptionist. He explained to her what was going on and that he’d be there all day. She said she’d inform our personnel director, and in fact acted as if this were an everyday occurrence—a cop in the waiting room.

  The personnel director was acting as an operations director. Ever since my boss was murdered, the Clinic had been a little disorganized.

  I reminded George that there was another entrance to my office in addition to the one near the reception area. Since my office had been the butler’s pantry when the clinic was a private residence, I also had a door to the kitchen. That one I used frequently, utilizing my seemingly bottomless coffee cup and trying to fulfill my endless search for snacks. I left Clancy in my office, walked George into the kitchen, and began to set up the bagels and cream cheese.

  “Why did you bring bagels?” George asked as he got coffee for both of us.

  “I dunno. We’re usually pretty busy here, and every now and then someone brings in treats. It’s kind of a way to bond with each other, even though we seldom talk.”

  “Nice,” he said.

  “When I don’t have a patient you can stay in here with me,” I told him as we returned to my office. “You’ll be much more comfortable in the love seat or the big chair.” Plus, it would be nice for me to have him there.

  As had been the case recently, my eight o’clock had cancelled. So I told George he was welcome to use my space as his office until 9.

  Meanwhile I went back to the kitchen and got bagels and cream cheese for both of us. When I returned to my office I saw that George was sitting in the overstuffed chair near the small fireplace, and was getting out his phone. Clancy curled up around his feet. I liked the look of that.

  “I’m going to call the station,” he said. “Want to see if the autopsy results are in yet.”

  I was good at tuning out other people’s voices, being the oldest of six. That was the only way I could ever do homework or read a book. I’d just use other people’s voices as background noise while I worked or read. But this was different. Today I wanted to hear what George said.

  “Yeah,” he said to me when he disconnected from the call. “It was a suicide. Forensics found the powder burns on his hand, and the autopsy investigation revealed that the weapon had to have been placed on the victim’s temple. They are about ninety-five percent sure it was a suicide.”

  “That’s all? Ninety-five percent?”

  “Well, without a suicide note, or other evidence, it’s virtually impossible to be one hundred percent sure. I mean someone could have put the guy’s hand on the gun, pulled the trigger, and we might never know. Maybe we’ll find more evidence when we figure out who he was.” He paused and then added, “There’s more, Sam.”

  I felt a sudden worry and then nodded for him to continue.

  “He was full of cancer. The coroner said that the guy would’ve died in a matter of days.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “And a not uncommon reason for suicide.” I booted up my computer while continuing the conversation, “What are the chances you’ll find out his identity?”

  “Pretty good actually. Most people aren’t completely off-grid. They leave traces of their existence throughout their lives. Especially if they’ve ever been arrested or been to the dentist. We’ll find out who this guy is. And hopefully we’ll find out if he’s the killer…‌and then why he did what he did.”

  The hour passed quickly, George on the phone or his laptop and me finishing up some paperwork, the bane o
f my existence.

  It wasn’t long until Clara announced via my phone intercom, “Your nine o’clock is here, Sam.”

  I thanked her and asked George if he would exit by the kitchen door, so he didn’t see my client, just in case they knew each other. He complied, but kissed me before he left.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” were the words he left me with.

  I opened the door to the waiting room and welcomed Hazel Abernathy, a seventy-something-year-old woman with an incredibly vivid erotic dream life. And that’s all she wanted to talk about. Because she paid cash, I had no requirements to meet from the Department of Mental Health, Medicaid, Medicare, or any insurance company. Even though, as a psychotherapist, I felt obligated to try to help anyone who walked through my door, Hazel insisted she had no problems other than wanting to talk about her dreams. So I let her.

  A few months ago I had made the gentle suggestion that she might want to write them down and try to make a book out of them, and Hazel responded with enthusiasm. I wasn’t sure these were all dreams, and thought some of them might be fantasy musings of an active, but bored, mind. She insisted they were dreams, so that’s what I called them.

  Romantic novels weren’t my interest; I much preferred mysteries, suspense, thrillers, and sci-fi. However, I had done some research to be able to help her with what she wanted to do. I’d given Hazel an “outline” of an erotic romance and suggested she think about putting her dreams into that format. My sister-in-law loved what she called “housewife porn,” and I had gotten some ideas from her. Of course I didn’t tell her why I was interested.

  Today Hazel was beaming as she greeted me.

  “Samantha, I’ve found a publisher! It was much easier than I thought it would be.” I’d never seen her so happy. “Big Butt Publishing wants my first manuscript, and they gave me a contract for it and the others. Thanks to you, I’m going to be a published author.”

  I’d never really heard of Big Butt Publishing, but the name itself gave me pause. “Hazel, that’s great. But your dreams are erotica and not porn. That publishing company sounds like it publishes pornography.”