One Last Scream

Amelia sat up, suddenly awake.

Karen opened the door to find Jessie, her face in the shadows. “They sent me down here to fetch Amelia,” she whispered. “They’d like a statement, which means they’ll be asking her all sorts of rude, tactless, personal questions for the next two hours.”

“Well, that’s just too much for her right now,” Karen said under her breath.

“It’s the treatment they’ve been giving her uncle.”

Karen glanced over her shoulder at Amelia, who stared back at them, visibly trembling. Karen couldn’t let the police interrogate her, not when Amelia was so distraught and disoriented. “Go back to sleep, honey,” she whispered to her. “And if you can’t nod off, just lie there quietly until they go.”

She stepped out of the guest room and gently closed the door.

“They want her uncle to go to Wenatchee tonight to identify the bodies,” Jessie whispered. “He might not be back until very late. I promised him we’d stick around and hold down the fort.”

“Yes, of course,” Karen said.

“I told you we wouldn’t be in the way, but you never listen to me.” Jessie tapped her shoulder. “And if we hadn’t come here, you wouldn’t have met George. Talk about a sweetheart. Oh, and the way he is with his little girl. He’s just the kind of man I’ve always wanted to see you with.”

Karen frowned at her. “For God’s sake, Jessie, his wife was just murdered last night.”

“Well, I know that,” she whispered. “Doesn’t mean you can’t call him in a couple of months and find out how he’s doing.” Jessie sighed. “I put the little one down for a nap. The poor lamb cried herself to sleep.”

They headed up the stairs. Karen could hear George talking as she approached the study.

She knocked, and then opened the door. A handsome, mustached, gray-haired man in his fifties was pacing in front of George, who sat in an easy chair. The man wore a blue suit that looked slept in, and he stopped to glance at her.

George got to his feet as Karen stepped inside the room. He was wearing glasses, the Clark Kent type, which made him look even more handsome-and gentle.

A young, beefy, uniformed cop was also in the room. He sat in a swivel chair by the computer desk. He also stood up long enough to lean over and switch off a small recording device on the coffee table. The three men seemed slightly cramped in the close quarters. There was a small window above the desk, and two walls of shelves packed with books and framed photos of the McMillan clan.

“Detective Goodwin,” George said. “This is Amelia’s therapist, Karen Carlisle.”

“Hello.” She shook the detective’s hand. “I understand you wanted to meet with Amelia. But I’m afraid I kind of threw a wrench in that. You won’t be able to get a statement from her this afternoon-or even tonight. She’s heavily sedated right now.”

The detective frowned. “But we need to talk to her.”

Karen shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry. She’s asleep. It’s my fault. She was hysterical earlier, and I had to give her some tranquilizers to calm her down-the maximum dosage.”

“The poor thing, it would have broken your heart to see her,” Jessie chimed in from the doorway. “All the crying and carrying on, she was just beside herself. Thank God Dr. Carlisle was here.”

Karen shot her a look over her shoulder. She knew Jessie was trying to help. But did she have to pour it on so thick-especially with the doctor bit? Jessie quietly retreated toward the kitchen.

Turning, Karen locked eyes with George. He hadn’t witnessed Amelia in hysterics. He hadn’t seen his niece crying and carrying on to a level that required her to be sedated. Yet he seemed to know she was protecting Amelia right now. Karen could see he understood.

His gaze shifted to the detective. “Haven’t you gotten enough for the time being? Do you really need to question Amelia now?”

The gray-haired detective rubbed his chin and stared at Karen. “How long have you been treating Amelia?”

“Since the beginning of the summer,” she replied.

“In any of her therapy sessions, do you recall her mentioning anything about her father that would shed more light on what happened at the Lake Wenatchee house last night?”

She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything significant-at least, nothing that would help your investigation.”

“Sure you’re not holding out on me?” he pressed. “This isn’t one of those doctor-patient confidentiality things you’re pulling on me, is it?”

“No, sir. If you were infringing on that, I’d tell you.”

Frowning, he let out a little huff. “I still want to talk to her.”

Karen shrugged helplessly. “Well, I’m sorry.”

“Listen,” George interjected. “If you’re after more information about her dad’s state of mind, you won’t get much. Amelia has been away at school these last two months. I don’t think she knows about her dad and Ina.” He turned to Karen. “My wife and Amelia’s dad, they had an affair in August. It was very short-lived. Has Amelia mentioned anything to you?”

Karen bit her lip. “No. This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

He turned to the detective. “See what I mean? You won’t get much from Amelia. So leave the poor girl alone-at least for tonight.”

“Fine,” Goodwin grumbled. Then he glanced at Karen. “But I’d like her in my office at the West Seattle precinct tomorrow morning at nine o’clock-sharp.”

Karen nodded. “I’ll drive her myself. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. If that’s all, can I go now?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

But Karen couldn’t leave it at that. She was thinking about Amelia’s fantastic confession to last night’s shootings. She hesitated in the doorway. “May I ask you a question, detective?”

“Go ahead,” he muttered.

“I had to tell Amelia about what happened last night-based on an early report from Mr. McMillan. I really didn’t have a very clear idea.” She stole a glance at George, hoping this wouldn’t bother him too much. “I told Amelia it appeared her father had shot her mother and aunt-and then himself. Amelia asked me what kind of gun he’d used-and where the police had found the bodies. She-um, she wanted details I couldn’t give.”

The detective stared back at her, unyielding.

“Mark had a hunting rifle, he used that,” George answered-almost bitterly, as if he were just so sick and depleted from discussing it. Still, there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke. “My sister-in-law, she was shot in the face. They found her in the upstairs hallway. Ina-my wife-she-um, she was shot in the chest. She was in the living room with Mark. And Mark, he sat down in his rocking chair by the fireplace and shot himself in the head.” Over the rims of his glasses, George looked at the older cop. “Did I get everything right, Detective?”

The plainclothesman said nothing.

Neither did Karen. She was thinking about Amelia’s version of how it had happened last night. Amelia’s story wasn’t part of a nightmare or some delusion. The details she’d recalled were horribly real.

In the darkened guest room, Amelia lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. She listened to the voices upstairs in Uncle George’s study, distant undecipherable murmuring. But she recognized Karen’s voice. Maybe Karen could keep the police from talking to her for a while. But eventually they’d figure out who had killed her parents and her aunt. Karen couldn’t keep that from happening.

In fact, Karen couldn’t do much to help her at all.

Amelia wondered if she was even that good a therapist. Probably not.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t even think it.”

Amelia clung to her pillow and curled up into a fetal position. She suddenly felt sick, because along with her doubts, another thought raced through her head-an ugly thought that Karen Carlisle deserved to die.

Around five o’clock, after George and the two policemen had left, Karen went down to the guest room to check on Amelia again. But she wasn’t there. Karen felt a little wave of panic in her gut. She glanced toward the bathroom, and saw the door was closed. But she still felt wary, thanks to memories of Haley. While checking the