Spencer would have to eat everything in order. Isabella, on the other hand… she was the one who would be able to mix everything up.
“How does Isabella deal with her OCD?” Kenzie asked. “Is she on medication? In therapy? How does she manage thoughts that intrude in her life?”
“She’s in therapy. No meds, as far as I know.”
“And Spencer?”
“I don’t know which one he’s doing right now, if either. He has a sort of unique approach to things that disrupt his life.”
“Oh?”
Zachary told her about how he had moved to Vermont because of the billboard sign ban. So that his life wouldn’t be overrun by having to count signs all day every day.
Kenzie stared at Zachary. He thought at first that she was done eating and was waiting for him to finish, but she still had food on her plate, forgotten. He looked down at his food, then up at her face.
“What?”
“Spencer deals with his OCD by removing the triggers.”
Zachary nodded. “Right.”
“He removes his triggers.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Getting information from Molly about the OCD support group where Spencer and Isabella had met had taken some persuasion. She had been reluctant to even talk to him again, let alone part with any information.
“Isn’t it supposed to be anonymous?” she asked. “It’s one of those doctor-patient privilege things. Or like AA. Everybody only goes by their first names, and they’re not supposed to talk about what goes on in the support group outside the meeting. People don’t want everybody knowing that they have OCD.”
“Molly, I really need to talk to somebody who knows a little bit more about Isabella’s OCD if I’m going to help,” Zachary coaxed. “I’m not asking for the name of her therapist. I just want to know what meeting she goes to. The one where she and Spencer met. Do they still meet every week?”
“I don’t know.” Molly went into her little galley kitchen and fussed around, making some tea. “Isabella only goes now and then, and I don’t think Spencer has been in a couple of years. If you want to know more about Isabella’s OCD, you can just ask me. Or ask Isabella herself. We’ll tell you whatever it is you want to know.”
“I really need an unbiased third party.”
“You’re not even supposed to be investigating anymore. I told you to mail me your final report. I’m not paying any more.”
“I’m not charging you any more. I just want to be sure I have all the details right…”
“Isabella didn’t drown Declan. It was an accident. She didn’t have anything to do with it, other than that she was watching Deck when he wandered off.”
Or she hadn’t been watching him. Zachary refrained from reminding Molly that if Isabella had actually been watching him, he wouldn’t have wandered off.
“Maybe it wasn’t Isabella’s fault. I’m willing to consider that.”
Molly looked unconvinced.
“I just want to talk to someone who knows the two of them. Outside the family. Someone with more experience in OCD.”
Molly’s eyes went sideways to Kenzie. Zachary and Kenzie had hoped that having a woman along might soften Molly up a little. He hoped she’d open up and be more cooperative with a woman. That had backfired, with Molly immediately distrustful of the stranger. She had hired Zachary. Not Zachary and Kenzie. Even though they introduced Kenzie as Zachary’s assistant, she obviously didn’t like it.
“Molly,” Zachary tried again. “I don’t think it’s breaking any confidences to tell us where and when they met with their support group. Surely a lot of people must know those details.”
“It isn’t exactly a secret,” Molly admitted.
“Then if you can just give me the information, I’ll get out of your hair.”
She still dithered, pretending she had to look it up in her notebook. Kenzie looked at Zachary, and he knew she was thinking the same thing. Molly was just stalling. A couple of times she looked at the phone, an older-model landline, and Zachary wondered whether she was going to call Isabella to ask permission or wait until after they were gone and then call to give her a warning.
Finally, Molly pulled out a scratch pad and wrote out the address and the time of the meeting. She glanced in Kenzie’s direction but handed the note to Zachary.
“I don’t like this,” she warned, just in case they hadn’t understood that from her previous objections. “I don’t think this is right.”
“The reason you hired me was to find out the truth,” Zachary said. “And I think I might have found something.”
Of course, the OCD group wasn’t that day, and they had to wait until the group met again, because a ledger wasn’t kept of the individual members with their contact information. Members could exchange information among themselves, but there was no central register kept. It wasn’t quite anonymous, but they did their best to respect their members’ right to privacy.
The next couple of days were excruciating. While Zachary had plenty to do, trying to start the process of getting his identification reissued when he didn’t have any identification to prove who he was, it mostly involved phone calls with long hold times. Bowman was a gracious host, but Zachary knew having a house guest was stressful, and he didn’t want Bowman to think that he had to provide entertainment. He just needed a place to sleep and to pick up a few meals until he was able to get back on his feet.
The night of the OCD support group finally came, and Zachary headed over to the meeting place, the basement of a church. There were signs up stating that the group was nondenominational and not associated with the church that provided the space. Zachary stuck his head into the room, reluctant to go in without an invitation.
“Don’t be shy,” a voice boomed out behind him. “Go on in. Everyone is welcome.”
Zachary turned his head to find that the big voice had
