the cigarette for a moment. “His favorite time for one of these was after sex.”
And there it was, the thing I’d forgotten all those years. The snap of a lighter, the smell of cigarette smoke filling the air. My father didn’t smoke.
“What really happened that night?”
“He was here, then he went out, said he had to go talk to her, said she’d called him crying and he had to end it once and for all, she was getting all crazy on him. He stumbled home around midnight, climbed into bed stinking of beer and sweat. Next day we hear about the murder. Said he figured your dad must of come in later, but he’d get blamed for it.”
“What do you think?”
“I think maybe there was a little more to it.”
“I think you’re right. Did you ever see Tom McBride around after that? Or did Mark ever mention him?”
“Never saw him, never talked to him.” Her gaze flicked up for a moment to a wooden fishing trophy tacked high on the wall. She realized I was watching and turned back to me. “And I never could figure out why Ginny got rid of Tom and hooked up with another asshole.”
It was an odd statement, considering the source. “People do strange things,” I said.
“That all?” She looked tired.
“For now, but some other officers will probably want to talk to you.”
“Might as well talk while I still can.” She broke into another cough.
I sat in my truck for a long time outside my old house. Where had my dad gone after he got out of camp? There’d been three days when no one saw him—his boss gave him his last paycheck and that was it. I thought back to when I was a kid, he and Mark coming home drunk as skunks, cleaning fish in the garage, their hands covered in blood and scales….
I called Doug. “We’re going to need some cadaver dogs, up at an old fishing cabin.”
They found my father’s body two days later. He’d been shot with a twelve-gauge shotgun—in the back. They weren’t sure whether Mark shot him before or after he killed my mother, but it didn’t matter. He was dead, and I could finally lay my father to rest.
For the next week, I threw up every morning, so I went back to the doctor. Then I went straight to Jeff’s office.
“Got some news.”
He wheeled back his chair. “Yeah? What’s that?
“I’m pregnant.”
He dropped the chair down. “Holy shit! How… like, when?”
“I guess the last time.” I knew I’d skipped my pill a couple of times when I rushed to the station early, but I’d just taken them the next day, figuring chances were slim. Obviously not….
“What are you going to do?”
“Keep it, I guess.”
He grinned, his face full of hopeful excitement. In a second he’d be handing out cigars.
I said, “I’m still coming around to the idea, so you have to go easy on me. No baby balloon bouquets yet, no telling anyone. It’s early, and I’m older, there could be complications.”
“Deal.” He stood up with his arms stretched wide. “Come on, give me a hug, Mama.”
“You shithead.” But I walked into his arms.
The next day I called Nadine Lavoie, told her I had some follow-up questions. She welcomed me at her office with a smile, but she looked concerned.
“Is Sara all right?”
“She’s doing fine, considering. I kind of lied about why I’m here. I need to talk to you about something else.”
Now she looked confused. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s about me. I think I need some help. My parents, they were murdered—years ago, but I still get nightmares. And I’m pregnant….”
“I see.” Her body relaxed. What had she thought I was going to say?
I noticed that some of her books had been packed. “You going somewhere?”
“Just taking a little sabbatical for the summer, while I consider moving to Victoria.” She touched her head where she’d been injured during the attack. “This made me do some thinking.”
“About your daughter?” It was a random guess, but her body stiffened.
“Yes, we’ve lost touch. She lives on the streets.”
How did a shrink’s kid end up on the streets? I thought of the baby growing inside me. What kind of hell would my child end up in with two cop parents? How bad would I screw him or her up?
Nadine shook her head, like she too was trying to clear away a negative thought, then said, “How about we talk, then I’ll see who I can suggest that you might connect with here?”
“It’s a start.”
She smiled. “We all have to start somewhere.”
A Preview for
You need to know the rest of the story…
Read on for the first chapter of Chevy Stevens’ chilling
ALWAYS WATCHING
Available digitally in June 2013
You can try to forget the past, but you can never escape it…
CHAPTER ONE
The first time I saw Heather Simeon, she was curled into a ball in the seclusion room at the hospital, a thin blue blanket tight around her, the bandages sharp white lines circling her wrists. Her blond hair obscured most of her face. Even then, she still gave off a sense of refinement, something in the high cheekbones barely visible through the veil of her hair, the beautifully arched brows, the patrician nose, the delicate outline of pale lips. Only her hands were a mess: the cuticles raw and bleeding, the nails jagged. They didn’t look bitten, they looked broken. Like her.
I’d already read her file and talked with the emergency psychiatrist who’d admitted her the night before, then gone over everything with the nurses, most of whom had worked in the Psychiatric Intensive Care unit for years, and who were also my best sources of information. I might spend fifteen minutes to an hour with each patient during my morning rounds, but the rest of the time I was at my office in the Mental Health building, treating patients who are out in the community. That’s why I like to bring a nurse with me when I first meet a patient, so we’re on the same page with the care plan. Michelle, a cheerful woman with curly blond hair and a wide smile, was with me now.
Heather’s husband had come home the night before to find her sprawled on the kitchen floor, the knife near her hand. When she was admitted to the hospital, she’d become agitated, crying and fighting the nurses. The emergency-room doctor ran a drug screen that came back clear, so she’d been given Ativan and placed in the seclusion room. She was under close observation on the monitor, and a nurse checked on her every fifteen minutes.
She’d been sleeping all night.
