Ryder had been absent from my life for a while. So had Max.
As a result, nothing was going right in my life. At least, that’s how it seemed.
Granddad continued “dating” the widow Alcott-Smith, whatever that meant in old people’s slang. I didn’t want to know. Max was still angry at me for letting me talk him into the whole Ivanov mafia meeting. The psychiatrists were still trying to get patients to come back to the office. My job (and me with it) still hung by a probational thread. Edna remained in jail, still accused of murder. And I was nowhere with my investigation.
All I needed was a murderer.
If I solved the case, Louisa Mae would go back to Atlanta where she belonged, and my granddad’s increased testosterone level would return to normal. Max might forget about Dmitri Ivanov, at least as his Russian friend related to me and we’d be on a normal footing again, whatever that was.
Business would return to normal, or what passes for normalcy at Dailey and Palmer. I’d be a hero, or rather heroine, and my job would be safe.
But I needed to solve the case.
And I couldn’t even afford to buy a clue.
Absorbed in my thoughts and returning late from lunch, as usual, I plowed down the hall toward Daley & Palmer at full steam, and almost crashed into the rock hard solid chest of R. J. Ryder, CPA to the glamorous and mysterious. I saw him just in the nick of time, which made a nice change and hopped nimbly to one side. Then I managed to ruin the whole nimble effect by stumbling over my own two feet and plopping onto the carpeted floor. Crap.
“Steady, Becca.” A hand as large as a baseball mitt reached down and I took it, allowing myself to be hauled to my feet. “You okay?” Ryder asked.
“Fine, thank you.” I dusted off my clothes and avoided looking him in the face. I really didn’t want to see if he was laughing at me.
“So how have you been?” he asked while we walked down the long hallway toward our respective offices.
“Okay. You?”
“Busy.”
Guess we were both keeping it short and to the point. We neared the offices, and the mysterious patient who sometimes visited the D & P suite – the one I still hadn’t gotten a handle on – came flying out of Ryder’s office. So she wandered in and out of other suites besides ours. Hmmm….
I took her by the arm, deciding I was probably better equipped to take charge of her than Ryder.
Besides, I wanted to ask if Marcy or Dr. Dick would be willing to evaluate her. “Come on. Let’s go have a glass of water and sit and chat,” I told her with a friendly smile.
Ancarrow, Robert O’Malley’s business partner, emerged from Ryder’s suite, as well. “I thought we had a 1 o’clock appointment, R. J.” Ancarrow made his point by tapping the face of his watch with his index finger.
“Keep your shirt on. It’s only five after.” Ryder glanced at the girl. “Daisy, are you okay?” Concern clouded his face. When she didn’t answer, Ryder asked again, turning her gently to face him. She seemed lost in another time, another place.
“It’s okay, Ryder,” I spoke up. “She’s one of ours. I’ll take care of her.” So her name was Daisy. Well, who knew? Obviously Ryder. For some reason, the name rang a bell and I sorted through my memory as we entered the D & P suite. I could feel her shaking beneath my hand and frowned. Good grief. The girl was terrified.
“What’s wrong?” I asked in concern, holding her hand tight in mine.
She shook her head and pulled free, taking her usual place on the couch. I brought her a glass of water and a few Hugs from the jar on my desk.
If anybody needed some calming chocolate, it was Daisy.
Daisy? Then it hit me. No, it couldn’t be Ivanov and Max’s Daisy. It was a coincidence. It had to be.
But then, I didn’t believe in coincidences.
I watched as she carefully unwrapped the foil on the chocolate candy and put one in her mouth. Her hand shook badly. Something had her more spooked than usual. I weighed whether I should pursue the line of questioning I so desperately wanted with her so upset.
“Daisy?” I waited for her to acknowledge me with a glance in my direction. I sat down beside her without crowding her and handed her another candy. She smiled shyly and took it from me.
While she busied herself with the chocolate and whatever thoughts haunted her, I asked in almost a whisper, “Have you seen Max lately?” It was the most innocent question I could think of to ask. If she didn’t know Max, well, then no harm done.
If she did know Max, then perhaps Daisy held important information that I needed.
She stopped sucking on the chocolate momentarily, and I whispered my question to her again. “Max Chernov? Have you seen him lately?”
This time she responded with a shake of her head. Did that mean she didn’t know him, or she hadn’t seen him lately?
“Max is a friend of mine,” I offered and watched her face closely. I caught a telltale flicker in her eyes, and then she dropped her gaze.
I reached for the glass of water on the coffee table and handed it to her. “Chocolates always make me thirsty. How about you?”
She sipped the water and nodded with the slightest up and down movement of her head.
We sat in silence. I wanted her to get comfortable with me. To not feel edgy around me. She had to be Max’s Daisy. Okay, so she didn’t have to be. But I desperately wanted her to be.
“Do you know Ryder?”
She turned to me and an angelic smile spread across her face at the mention of his name. Oh no. Please don’t tell me that this wounded creature was one of Ryder’s mystery ladies.
“Have you known him for a long time?”
She nodded, and we seemed to be on non-threatening ground. Her hands had stopped shaking and her body seemed less tense to me. I pushed ahead.
“I like Ryder, but I don’t know him that well.”
She reached up and stroked my face with the fingertips of her right hand. It was similar to what I’d seen in the movies when the blind study someone’s facial characteristics. Her touch moved gently, somewhat hesitantly over the contours of my face.
“Do you think he’s nice?”
She paused and took my hand and held it to her heart. I didn’t know what to make of that. Was she telling me she loved Ryder? Or did she think he was worthy of being loved? Or did she simply not know what I was asking?
Marcy appeared at the door of her office. “Becca, do you have my schedule? I can’t find it.” She spotted Daisy and her voice softened. “Hello, Daisy. Are you here to see Dr. Daley?”
Damn. She knew our mystery patient, too. Was I the only one who didn’t know Daisy? So much for communication around here.
“I’m not sure Dr. Daley has an appointment with her today,” I offered.
Marcy furrowed her brow. “She really should only be here if she has an appointment. I suggest you check with Dick.” Not waiting for my answer, Marcy threw a quick look of concern at Daisy and then gave a not-my-problem shrug before disappearing into her office.
The exchange seemed to bother Daisy, who tried to blend into the couch. I returned to her side.
“Are you okay?” I asked and stroked her hand. It seemed to comfort and relax her. “Sometimes she frightens me, too,” I added, thinking about when Marcy had gotten so angry after Anna’s graveside service. Daisy smiled at me in a lovely girl-bonding moment.
“You can’t tell anyone, but I actually heard one of her patients call her the Wicked Witch of the West End,” I admitted, and much to my surprise Daisy nodded her head in agreement.
A tiny smile formed on her lips.
And then she laughed. It was a pure, sweet sound, the sound of a child’s laughter.
I joined in, unable to help myself, and she reached over and gave me a quick, tight hug.
Marcy called out for me. I didn’t quite catch what she wanted, but Daisy and I both jumped like we’d been caught doing something we shouldn’t.
I motioned for Daisy to stay on the couch, but before I could make myself clear, she rose and waved good-bye. And just like that, she was gone.
I frowned in concern. I could see why Max wanted to protect her from harm. But how did she know Dmitri Ivanov? And what about her reaction to Ryder? What was that all about? And then there was Marcy Palmer. Dr. P. knew Daisy by name. What else did she know?
“Becca, could you also bring my mail?” Dr. Palmer called.
I scooped it up and crossed to her office where I set it on her desk.
She took the stack with a sigh and proceeded to use her silver letter opener—a match to the one that had been plunged into Robert O’Malley—and used it to slit open each envelope with an action that bordered on such violence I could almost see Marcy Palmer plunging a knife, or a letter opener, into someone without a second thought – if it suited her purposes. She pulled out the contents of the first envelope and then went on to the next.
I must have made some sort of sound or given her an odd look because she raised her eyebrows.
“What?” Her gaze followed mine, dropping to the letter opener in her hand. “This?”
I slowly nodded.
Intense sympathy swept across her face. “I’m so sorry. It must bring back horrible memories, Becca. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It wasn’t just that. It was your expression.” Why, oh why had I said that? “You looked so angry.” Great. I’d even found a way to make it worse.
For some reason, my admission didn’t faze her. “I’m not surprised.”
Huh? I sure was.
“It’s all these bills,” she explained. “I have no idea how we’re going to pay them.”
Now it was my turn to look sympathetic. “Don’t you worry, Marcy. The police will catch the murderer.” With my help.
Since we were both feeling so sympathetic, I decided to pump her for information. “How do you know Daisy?” I asked casually.
“Hmm?” She frowned at one of the bills, then answered absently, “She’s a patient.”
“What’s her connection to Ryder?” I pretended to tidy her desk, but since she was a trained psychiatrist, I might not have fooled her.
“Her connection?”
“You know, how does she know him?” I kept tidying.
“He pays her bills.”
Huh. That didn’t sound like a CPA/client relationship unless he paid her bills because he was her accountant.
Marcy didn’t let that hope live for longer than a split second. “They live together,” she added.
I dropped a file, and its contents went scurrying across her desk. No. Oh, no.
“He takes care of her.”
I stuffed the papers back into the file and set it back on the corner of the desk with the rest of her client files.
Damn Ryder to hell. Taking advantage of a woman like Daisy. He was lower than low. Pond scum. Toilet tissue stuck to the bottom of a shoe.
“Yes, R. J. takes care of Daisy as any good brother would.” A wicked smile curved her mouth, warning that my questions hadn’t fooled her one tiny bit.
“Brother?” I repeated in a small voice.
Her smile widened. “Yes, brother. Now if I’ve answered all of your not-so-subtle questions, let’s both get back to work.” Her good humor faded. “And Becca, take it from someone who knows. R. J. Ryder isn’t worth it.”