AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mengesha and Associates
Church Street, Nashville
Finley arrived early for her eleven o’clock appointment with her shrink. A first for her. Mostly because the interview of the housekeeper had been a bust. The woman wasn’t home. A call to Winthrop, and Finley had been informed that a death in the family had sent the devastated woman back home to Puerto Rico. Winthrop had no idea when she would return.
Shifting the interview lower on her to-do list, Finley had spent the next couple of hours catching up. Jack had briefed her on yesterday’s meeting with Ventura. The detective had wanted to go over questions related to the interviews he had conducted with the five. Jack saw the meeting as Ventura’s way of trying to ramp up the tension, so to speak, on Winthrop. A rookie move considering he had nothing real with which to back it up. Basically, Finley hadn’t missed anything. Then she’d checked in with her friend Shafer at the ME’s office and Tommy Hanes, her go-to CSI guy. They had nothing new from that side of the investigation—at least nothing available for sharing. But there was more, and Finley damned sure intended to find it.
There were two things she could not tolerate. The first one was easy. She’d grown up with a judge for a mother. She’d attended law school and spent four years putting criminals away in the DA’s office. She hated when the bad guy—or gal—got away with it because no one could find the necessary evidence to prove the case.
Right up there next to her top pet peeve were appointments with her shrink. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the doc. Finley actually liked him. He was a good listener. Totally not judgmental. The man had a wicked sense of humor, even if he did keep it hidden most of the time. But that was where her appreciation for his more agreeable qualities ended.
If possible, the man was better than Finley at reading people and spotting untruths. He read her like an open book. This was not a good thing. This ability prompted other questions and a subtle pressure that she found immensely uncomfortable.
But here she was a whole fifteen minutes early, nonetheless.
The receptionist at the clinic was young. Thirtyish. Short, spiky blonde hair and bright-green eyes. Lena Marsh. She had started at the clinic not quite a year ago, and already she was a patient favorite. Two other patients had said as much while they waited for their appointments. That was another thing Finley had done today that she didn’t usually do. She’d chosen to sit in the lobby rather than to wait in her Subaru until her appointment. Not that there were ever more than two or three people, and no two in the lobby were ever waiting to see the same therapist. Mengesha was not alone in the practice. There were Higginbotham and Manfred. But she hated sitting in a lobby with other people, who probably wondered what she was there for. It was like jail or prison:What’re you in for?The covert glances and averted gazes. The scrutiny from what you were wearing to what might be wrong with your head.
Or maybe she was the only one who did that.
Luckily Finley was alone in the lobby now. The other patients had been called back. She noted that Marsh, the receptionist, was never still. Always busy with something. Her voice was soft and calm when she answered the incoming calls. All the busy and the rush vanished when the phone rang.
With a quick check of her cell, Finley stood and strolled to the elegant mahogany counter. Marsh immediately looked up, her practiced smile already in place.
“Dr.Mengesha will be with you soon,” she assured.
Finley nodded. “A friend of mine is Dr.Mengesha’s patient as well,” she said, knowing the move was pointless, but she had to try. “Did you hear about her husband? He was murdered on Sunday morning. It’s just terrible. I’m sure she’ll need the doc more than ever.”
Marsh blinked. Tucked away her smile and adopted a sad face. “Tragedies are very difficult. I’m sure if she calls, the doctor will work her in.”
The lady was good. Not the slightest hint she recognized this particular tragedy or the patient involved.
“You started here not so long after I did,” Finley said, trying a different tactic. “My husband was murdered too.” She shrugged. “You probably saw that in my file.”
Another sad smile. “I don’t read the files, but I do remember seeing what happened on the news. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
More sympathy.
Finley chuckled softly. “I guess widows have a thing for Mengesha.”
Marsh glanced at the new light flashing on her phone base. “Ahh, he’s ready for you.”
Finley thanked her and wandered down the long cozy corridor that led to the offices. Each office had a private exit for the patients who chose to leave that way. Mengesha’s was the last one on the right. He stood behind his desk, waiting for her arrival.
“Finley, good to see you for a change.”
That was what happened when you canceled two appointments in a row.
“Hey, Doc.” She settled into the chair she always chose. The softer one with its fluffy upholstery and low back. The wingback was too firm. Too confining. That choice likely signaled something to the doc.
He lowered into his chair and relaxed into its high back. “Let’s talk about what’s been going on with you since our last session.”
For the next forty-five minutes, Finley weaved a story of fulfilling days at work and relaxing evenings at home, all the while dodging his digging tactics. He rallied each time and came from a different angle. She even tried her “I have a friend” approach on him to bring up Winthrop. Didn’t work. No surprise.
In the end, she used the private exit to flee.
Wasn’t seeing your therapist supposed to make you feel better about yourself? Finley just felt exhausted after evading his prying questions for the better part of an hour. She climbed into her Subaru and started the engine. Before she was out of the parking lot, her cell was buzzing.
She didn’t recognize the number, but it was local.
