“I beg your pardon?“
“Sounds as if he's trying to control your behavior from afar,“ she said. “Not a good sign.“
“He's not trying to control my behavior,“ I said. “He's worried about me.“
“Sometimes it takes that form,“ she said, nodding. “Tell me, have you considered using this enforced separation as a time to reexamine your relationship with this… actor person? To establish appropriate boundaries?“
I blinked, somewhat taken aback. If you asked me, it was Dr. Lorelei and some of the other therapists who needed to work on the appropriate boundaries thing. Since the first day I'd met them – only two weeks ago, though it seemed rather longer – they all seemed to think me badly in need of their services. And not just therapy, but the particular species of therapy each one of them practiced. For instance, the woman who did weight management counseling, calling her business Eat Your Way Skinny, and her arch rival, a size-acceptance guru, began feuding over me the minute they saw me. Which I couldn't help resenting; I thought I'd already reached not only a pretty acceptable weight but also a decently philosophical attitude about the fact that I would never be a willowy blonde like my mother.
And now here was Dr. Lorelei trying to shoehorn me into her couples' therapy practice.
“I'll think about it,“ I said. I'd found that was as close as I could get to “leave me the hell alone“ without triggering a discussion on why I always reacted with such hostility to their efforts to help me. “Was there something you needed?“
“Will the offices be open tomorrow?“ she demanded. “We'd all like to be able to notify our patients if the offices will be closed tomorrow. Or if the police will be present; it could be extremely traumatic for some of our patients to see the police on the premises.“
“As far as I know we'll be open tomorrow,“ I said. “But I can't guarantee police-free premises, under the circumstances, so maybe you should advise any clients who might be on the lam to skip this week's appointment.“
I left her with her mouth hanging open and went in search of a phone book.
Roger had begun trailing after me, looking as if he were about to say something, but then Roger was capable of looking that way for hours with no audible results. I ignored him, and he continued to follow me, an irritating and faintly threatening presence. I couldn't quite tell why I found him threatening – he was only about five-ten, the same as I, or would be if he stood up straight. Perhaps it was the combination of his stooped posture, stocky form, and shaggy hair – it was rather like having a hulking bear shambling along at my heels, and a bear I wasn't entirely sure was tame.
I shook him off, finally, when I dropped by the shoe-repair shop across the street and used their phone book to look up numbers for the lawyers Michael recommended. Then I went back to a reasonably empty comer of the parking lot and pulled out my cell phone. The first lawyer wasn't in. The second one agreed to race down to the police station.
The parking lot had emptied out considerably by the time I finished. I was relieved to see that most of the other dog owners had already taken their charges home – to air-conditioning, I hoped. A dozen of the programmers still seemed to be harassing the officers guarding the entry to the office. No sense upsetting the local authorities more than necessary, I thought, so I strode over to tell them all to get lost until tomorrow.
“But what about our build?“ moaned Keisha, a petite African American who was one of Mutant Wizards's few female programmers. “Do you realize what it's going to do to our schedule if we miss today's build?“
“Schedule's totally f – I mean, it's totally messed up already,“ Frankie muttered.
“No, we'll manage,“ Jack said, arriving on the outskirts of the group. “We've got that spare server over at the Pines, remember? We can do the next build there.“
“Yeah,“ Frankie said, “but what good will that do if they won't let us in to get our files?“
“Don't worry,“ Jack said. “Luis took care of that.“ All eyes turned to Luis, but only briefly, since they realized almost immediately that Luis wouldn't be giving them any explanations. Luis, a slender twenty-something Hispanic, was one of the few staff members for whom I hadn't found a nickname – he was so quiet that I tended to forget he existed when he wasn't actually around. When he saw us looking at him, he blushed and stooped slightly as if trying to make his already slight form too small to be seen.
“As soon as we heard the police were coming, Luis realized that they'd probably kick us out and shut us down,“ Jack went on. “So he tarred up the contents of our server and e-mailed them to his home e-mail account.“
“Way to go, Luis!“ Frankie exclaimed, and they headed off in a cheerful, chattering herd.
“Anything I can do for you?“ Jack said, lingering behind.
“Nothing I can think of, beyond what you just did,“ I said. “No, I tell a lie – here, take Spike, and ask Frankie to keep him until Rob gets back. If Frankie balks, tell him I need to be free to dash out at any time during the night to bail Rob out.“
“Can do,“ Jack said, picking up Spike's crate.
Offloading Spike cheered me up a little. The only thing more depressing than spending the evening alone in the dark, cramped Cave was having to share it with Spike.
I finally got into my car, still ignoring Roger the Stalker, who stood at the edge of the parking lot, hands in pockets, watching me drive off. I revised my assessment of Roger. He wasn't just a little strange; he was seriously creepy. Maybe it would be a good idea to have the chief check him out. Or better yet, one of our resident shrinks.
I turned on the radio before starting the car, and I punched the button for the college station to see if our murder had made the news. As usual, I hit the middle of a commercial, and a particularly annoying commercial at that, for a local auto-repair shop. I'd have switched stations, but I needed my good hand on the wheel, so I tuned out the Fabulous Singing Muffler Sisters and was fretting uselessly about what might be going on down at the police station – and should I drop by the police station? – when a familiar voice broke into my reveries.
“Yeah, but you are,“ I growled back.
I fumed for a few more minutes as Dr. Lorelei imparted more generic advice on managing one's relationship. Possibly good advice, if you weren't too irritated to pay attention. The woman – she sounded very young – who had apparently called in to ask Dr. Lorelei a question fell all over herself with gratitude, so maybe it was good advice. But I couldn't help feeling irrationally annoyed that after I'd managed to cut Dr. Lorelei off in the parking lot, she'd found a way of following me home.
Though as I learned at the end of her show, it was only luck and my normal preference for quiet thinking time on the drive home that had saved me from hearing her before. The college radio station aired
Perhaps 1 should complain to the programming director. I began phrasing a witty letter accusing the station of air pollution. But no need – Lorelei's days on the college station were already numbered. September 1 would bring the debut of a new nationally syndicated version of
I wondered if the college radio station would be replacing her with another psychologist who hadn't yet broken into the big leagues. Perhaps she had recommended one of her colleagues around the office? Not that any of them seemed hot prospects to me. Certainly not Lorelei's partner. Apparently couples therapy, like mixed doubles, had to be done in coeducational pairs. I wasn't surprised that Lorelei had chosen to join forces with a mousy-looking male therapist so self-effacing that he never seemed to speak except to echo something Lorelei had just said.
But at least they didn't squabble, like the dueling weight therapists. Or Dr. Brown, inventor of the Affirmation Bear, whose improbable specialty was anger management, and who carried on a running feud with the burly, red- faced psychologist who seemed intent on browbeating the world into studying assertiveness.
My cell phone rang. Normally I try to avoid using it while I'm driving, but I was only one block from the
