AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Four
San Diego, California
Monday, November 7, 3:00 p.m.
Sam ushered his two o’clock appointment to the door. “Good session, Mrs. Gibson. I’ll see you next week.”
Whether it actually had been a good session, Sam couldn’t truthfully say. His mind had been occupied with thoughts of Frankie Flynn. And Kit McKittrick. He’d been a piss-poor therapist this afternoon, and his clients deserved a hell of a lot more than he’d given them.
Luckily Mrs. Gibson always used her hour to talk through her issues, and Sam rarely had to say a word. Today had been no different.
Mrs. Gibson, a petite woman in her fifties, looked up at him with her usual smile, and Sam felt a wave of relief. He hadn’t screwed up too badly. “Thank you, Dr. Reeves. Today really helped. I’ll see you next week.”
He stood in the doorway until she’d reached their receptionist in the outer office, then started to close his door but stopped when a familiar voice called his name.
“Sam?” Vivian Carlisle was limping down the hallway, tightly gripping her cane. She’d been in a car accident six months ago, and while the cast had come off her broken leg, she was still in considerable pain.
He opened the door wide to let her in, helping her to one of his client chairs.
She’d been in great shape before her accident, one of the fittest seniors he’d ever met. She was somewhere between a well-preserved midsixties to a remarkably well-preserved midseventies, but he would never, ever ask.
“Thank you,” she murmured, then stared up at him. “Sit down, Sam. You’re giving me a crick in my neck on top of this stupid leg of mine.”
He sat dutifully. He owed much to this woman. She’d been his mentor for years, first as a grad student then after he’d come to work in her practice, but even more important, she was his friend.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said quietly.
He wasn’t surprised that she’d heard. He’d mentioned Frankie’s murder to Angeline, their receptionist, when he’d returned, telling her to alert him if either McKittrick or Robinson called for information. They hadn’t called. That really hadn’t surprised him, either. Especially that Kit hadn’t called.
“Angeline told you.”
She nodded. “She was worried about you. Said you looked pale. Which you do. Tell me what happened.”
Sam shrugged. “I really don’t know much. My friend Frankie was stabbed sometime after yesterday at ten a.m. One of the nursing assistants found him with a butcher knife in his chest. I was on the schedule this morning to play for the residents and…Well. Everything was in an uproar, so I stuck around until the detectives arrived. I helped calm one of the residents who’d seen the body, then I left to do my sessions. That’s all I know.”
But it really wasn’t all he knew, and it must have been written all over his face, because Vivian tilted her head to study him.
“Which detectives arrived?”
Sam felt his cheeks heat but kept his gaze level. Vivian knew him too well. She knew how he felt about Kit McKittrick. She knew Kit’s rejection six months ago had stung. But he was all right. He really was. “McKittrick and Robinson.”
“Well, at least we know they’ll get to the bottom of things,” she murmured. “Tell me about your friend. He was a resident of Shady Oaks?”
“He was.” Sam swallowed. Was. Damn, he hated that word. “One of the first residents I met.” One side of his mouth tipped up as he remembered. “It was in an art class four years ago, like this morning’s class was supposed to have been. I’d asked the residents for requests and they all named the old standards. You know, Sinatra or Dean Martin. Frankie sat there, all silent, looking like the grumpiest of old men, arms crossed. I singled him out for a request and he raised a brow and I knew a dare was coming.”
Vivian smiled. “A musical dare? What did he request?”
Sam smirked. “Iron Maiden. ‘The Number of the Beast.’ ”
Vivian choked on a surprised laugh. “No way.”
“Oh yes. So I launched into it. With gusto.”
Her eyes widened. “You can play Iron Maiden? On the piano?”
“Oh sure. I’d learned that song to torment my classical piano teacher back in middle school. Turned out she was a metal fan, too, so it didn’t get the reaction I’d hoped for. I was a very disappointed twelve-year-old boy that day.”
“So what did Frankie do?”
