The woman studied the badge, then lifted her gaze to his. “He’s with a patient right now. Could I help you?”
“Afraid not. I’ll need to speak with him directly. When he’s finished, could you let him know I’m waiting?”
She said she would, and as often happened, he didn’t wait long. The badge served as an automatic bump to the front of the line. He received several unhappy glares as, moments later, the nurse called his name.
The doctor stood as Reed entered his office. “Dr. Whitney,” the physician said, extending his hand.
Reed took it. The other man had red hair, thinning at the temples. Even so, he didn’t look much older than thirty. “Detective Daniel Reed. Thank you for seeing me so quickly.”
“I have a full book today, so if you don’t mind getting to it?”
“Of course. You had a patient named Max Cragan?”
“Still do, as far as I know.”
“He died Tuesday night. I’m investigating his death.”
The doctor blinked and cleared his throat. “I had no idea. How did he… I’m sorry. I’m just so surprised.”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Cragan? Professionally.”
He thought a moment. “I’d have to look that up to give you an exact date, but it wasn’t that long ago. Less than a month.”
“What was his condition?”
“I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m bound by patient privacy laws.”
“Let me ask you this instead. In your professional opinion, was Mr. Cragan strong enough to hang himself?
He looked startled. “He hung himself?”
“That surprises you.”
“Yes. He was a delightful man. Always positive, with a kind word for everyone.”
“And physically? Could he have set up a stepladder, climbed it, looped and fastened a rope over an exposed beam, then slipped the noose over his head and kicked the ladder away?”
The physician thought a moment, then slowly shook his head. “In my professional opinion, no. Can I say absolutely no or that it would’ve been impossible? No, I can’t.” He leaned toward Reed. “The truth is, every day I’m humbled and awed by the power of the human spirit over the limitations of the body. Everyday miracles, Detective.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Friday, March 12
10:30 A.M.
Three hours later Lyla Reed opened her front door and greeted Alex warmly. “You called on just the right day,” she said, grasping Alex’s hand. “The rest of the week I’ve had board meetings and luncheons. It’s endless, really.”
She led Alex inside the grand home. Today it smelled of flowers and lemon polish. “Thank you so much, Lyla,” Alex said. “I really appreciate you letting me do this.”
“I’m happy to, really. I told you how close your mother and I were.”
Alex opened her mouth to ask for assurances, then closed it fearing her desperation would show. That she would say something to raise the woman’s suspicions.
“Are you settling in?”
“Very nicely.”
“I heard about you finding poor Max. It must have been horrible.”
“It was. I’d gone to ask him about my mother’s ring. The one with the grapevines and snake.”
“I don’t recall her having a ring like that.”
“But you commented on it at the party.”
Lyla looked startled. “I did?”
“Yes. I’m certain you did.”
She frowned slightly. “You must be confused.”
“I must be,” Alex said. “Several people commented on it… I guess I just… I thought you…”
She let the thought trail off, feeling a little silly. But she was sure Lyla had been one of those who had noted the ring.
Lyla patted her arm. “No worries, dear. You know, I have one of Max’s designs. A brooch. He was so talented and our families were friends. Here we are.”
They entered the room. Lyla crossed to bookshelves on the right. She selected three leatherbound volumes from one of the shelves. “These are the Patsy years, as I call them. Some of the happiest times of our lives.”
She set them on a table in front of the velvet couch. “If you don’t need me-”
“I’m fine. Please, go. You have things to do.”
Lyla smiled and squeezed her hand. “I’ll come check on you in a bit.”
“Wait.” Alex held on to her hand. “Lyla, you and my mother were such good friends. Did she ever mention my father?”
The woman’s gaze went soft with sympathy. “Never. I always wondered about him. I even hinted around the subject, but she simply wouldn’t go there.”
“Why?” Alex asked. “Why so secretive? If the relationship was in the past, what difference would it have made?”
“I decided he must have hurt her badly. She was happy and wanted to leave that time of her life far behind.”
But Alex had been the creation of that part of her life. Where did that leave her?
As if reading her thoughts, Lyla squeezed her hand again. “I’m sorry. She loved you very much, I promise you. We all saw how much.”
Alex sat and reached for the first volume: 1982. Working to keep her hopefulness in check, she opened it.
The photographs looked decidedly old-fashioned. The hair and clothes. The furnishings and events.
She flipped through. Interesting how, in the short time she’d been here, she had learned who all the players were. Reed and his older brother. Clark and Rachel. Max Cragan, she realized, recognizing him from the photograph that day at his house, in his hallway.
The pages crackled as she turned them. She found herself riveted by the beautiful, smiling people. And the story the pictures depicted. Of a close-knit group. One that spent a lot of time together partying-she couldn’t really call it anything else. It was the rare photograph that didn’t include someone-or several someones-with a glass in their hand. In many of them they were hugging one another, laughing or mugging for the camera.
Obviously feeling no pain.
Alex studied her mother. She had been a beautiful woman, certainly the most beautiful of their circle. The youngest, as well. She’d been only twenty-four then, Alex realized. Younger than Alex was now, and already married and a mother.
Not that she was in any way matronly, Alex thought, as she landed on a photo of the group poolside. Her mother wore a skimpy bikini and in several shots was draped over a couple of the other husbands.
A knot settled in her stomach. Alex turned the page. There she was again, this time in a cover-up, sitting on Treven’s lap. She was laughing; he looked irritated.
The things Reed had said raced around her head. She pushed them back. But she wasn’t alone. The other wives were carrying on as well. No one looked scandalized.
As Alex moved on to the second album, then the third, the photos evolved. Her mother seemed to become less carefree and more introspective. Candid shots caught expressions of worry, unguarded anxiety, furtiveness.
Alex passed a hand over her face. Or was she imagining it all? Had Reed’s story caused her to look at the photos differently? Change her presumption about her mother’s life?
“Hey, Alex. This is a nice surprise.”
Reed’s younger brother, she saw. Alex smiled and closed the last album. “Hey back, Ferris. Your mother offered me a peek at the family photo albums.”
“Still trying to catch up on your past?”
“Yup, still trying.” She stood and carried the three albums back to the bookcase. She reshelved them, then turned to find him standing directly behind her, close enough to lift her hand and touch.
“Any luck?” he asked.
Uncomfortable with their proximity, she inched backward. “Truthfully? Not a lot. But it was fun seeing them.”
“Would you like to go out to dinner?”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah. Tonight?”
“I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Thanks anyway.” She stepped around him and crossed back to the couch to collect her purse.