“Did Kerry Sue happen to mention that I have called three times because my cousin’s car was stolen? Yes, stolen…The first time I called we were watching the woman drive Louisa’s car away. You could have caught her by now, which I happen to know would have looked good in your monthly report to the city council…No, that is not a threat— I can't talk to you. Here, talk to Louisa.” With a face like thunder she thrust the phone in my direction. I took it gingerly and held it to my ear, but I must have hit one of its miniscule buttons and disconnected it, for all I heard was a dial tone.
“Um, I guess I cut him off.” I glanced at Kay for help but she was looking away from me out her side window. I was still trying to find the right button to make the thing work when the phone gave the annoying rendition of Fur Elise that Kay had selected for its ring. I fumbled with it. “Hello?”
“Hello? Mrs. McGuire? We seemed to have been disconnected.” It was Chief Johnson, sounding as frosty as Kay. “I understand that your car has been stolen? Can you give me the particulars?”
“It was the woman who drove away with Bob last night—”
“What?” His voice rose several notes. “The same woman has stolen your car? What about Mr. Richardson? Was he still with her?”
“No, we found him in the old barn, and we were going to his house to get my car, and we arrived just in time to see her drive off in it. She was wearing different clothes, but it was definitely the same woman.” Something about the man made me babble.
Silence stretched into several seconds. When he spoke his voice seemed carefully controlled. “And is Mr. Richardson all right?”
“Yes, thank you, he’s okay,” I replied. “Do you want to speak to—” Bob’s hand gripped my shoulder over the back of the seat, and when I looked at him he shook his head urgently. “—um, to Kay again?” I finished, making a puzzled face at Bob. Now Kay shook her head and scowled at me.
“No, that won’t be necessary. Just give me the information on your car and we’ll start looking for it.”
I described my little car’s make and color.
“That sounds like the car you were driving last night.”
“Yes, Bob and I have identical cars. Well, except for the license plates.”
“I see.” He managed to infuse his words with the suggestion that it was extremely peculiar for Bob and me to have the same kind of car. “All right, give me the plate number for yours.”
I did, thinking it was a miracle I was able to remember it.
“How was she able to just drive off in your car?”
I knew this was going to come up. “I left the keys in it.” At least I hadn't babbled this time.
“I see.” Several more seconds ticked by. “And the theft occurred at Mr. Richardson’s house? All right, we’ll get on it. I take it you no longer need to file a missing person report.”
“No, he’s not missing now, thank you.”
“Right. That’s the usual pattern in these cases.” He disconnected the call. I pulled the phone away from my ear to look at it. The usual pattern? How many men disappeared out of grocery stores in this town? I knew that Willow Falls had changed in the years I'd been away, but still. I handed the phone back to Kay, who dropped it into the compartment between our seats and restarted the car.
“He said they’d look for my car.”
“Great,” she growled as she pulled back onto the street. Brakes screeched, a horn like the trumpet of doom blared, and an enormous SUV pulled around us. Several teenage faces glared from the windows. “Damn. I’m going to get us all killed, and you can lay that on Ed’s doorstep.”
Now, back in her apartment, Kay bustled about toasting bagels, spreading cream cheese, and slicing tomatoes, while I poured tea over ice into tall glasses. Bob excused himself to wash up. When he returned we each grabbed a plate and glass and settled at the trestle table. Bob took a huge bite.
“Thanks, Kay, I'm really hungry,” he said.
She too had taken a bite. She said thickly, “I thought you would be.” She swallowed. “Okay, you can have your bagel. After that I want to know what’s going on.”
He nodded, taking another bite. He seemed to have aged several years since yesterday. I looked down at the food on my plate. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I tried to eat. My stomach was as confused as my head. A few hours ago, all I had wanted was to know that Bob was safe. Now he was back, and I dreaded what I might hear in the next few minutes. What, after all, did I know about this man? He could be anyone. Or anything. He could be the reporter I'd been dreading, or a spy or in the witness protection program or a hit man or—
“Okay.” Bob put down his glass of tea. “This is hard to say, it sounds so insane. I mean, stuff like this doesn’t happen to people like me, only it has, and—“
“Just tell us,” Kay broke in sternly.
“Yes. Right. Well, the beginning of it was, I found out about a murder.”
I had just managed a sip of tea, which caught in my throat. I snorted and Kay whacked me on the back. “I'm okay,” I said, shaking her off. “I'm okay. Go on.”
“There’s so much you don’t know about me. First of all, I'm not a writer. It felt so weird to lie about that.” Bob shook his head. “I was sure you could tell by my expression I was making it up, Louisa. When I met you it was the first time I tried out any of the cover story I'd made up.”
Aha! put in one of my mental voices. You were right about him hiding something. “I was afraid you were a reporter looking for a story on how my husband died,” I blurted.
“A reporter? No, I said I was a writer to have an excuse not to go to a job every day.”
“What the hell are you, then?” Kay demanded. “Is Bob Richardson your real name?”
“Yes. Really. Coming up with fake ID was beyond my capabilities. I’m a hypnotherapist.” We both stared at him. He gave us a faint smile. “Well, somebody has to do it,” he quipped.
“I saw a website for a hypnotist with that name,” Kay said.
I nodded, remembering the website as well. “And an artist and a guy who breeds water lilies,” I added. Kay gave me her ‘too much information’ look.
“I do have a website,” Bob said. “I'm pretty well known in High Cross. I've done hypnosis a long time, over twenty years. I work with all kinds of patients, but my specialty is hypnotic anesthesia.”
“Is what?” Kay asked.
“Hypnotic anesthesia. Some people are allergic to drugs or they don’t want to use them. If they’re capable of being deeply hypnotized, we can use it as an alternative to regular anesthesia during an operation or at the dentist, or during childbirth. It can speed healing too.”
He picked up his glass of iced tea and drank the last of it. He stared at the ice, then rose and walked over to the pitcher sitting on the kitchen counter.
“A few months ago I started working with a new patient, Ian. Nineteen, planning to be a chef. Just starting at the culinary academy in High Cross. Nice kid, very focused on what he wanted to do.” He refilled his glass and stared at it as he spoke. “He needed to have his wisdom teeth pulled, and he was allergic to most anesthetics. We had some sessions to establish his ability to go into deep trance and he was a good subject.
“I was testing the depth of his trance when something new came up. By regressing a patient in time, taking him back to his last birthday and having him recall details, and repeating it for the year before, I can get a good idea how deeply hypnotized he is. I use birthdays since they have special significance to most people. But when we reached Ian’s fifteenth birthday it was clear that something happened on that day. He became agitated. I pulled him away from it to relax and to give myself time to think.”