The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder (22 page)

Dr. Partridge nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s also a pattern. People in authority favor attractive, clever people. Research backs that up. Some of them will go on to bully as adults too. Others won’t.”

I couldn’t hold back a rant. “Well, that explains why Serena Redding or Jasmin Lorenz or Haley McKee or Tiffanee Dupont never did jail time. They seemed to have had charmed lives. Well maybe not Haley, but the rest of them.” It crossed my mind that being dead was worse than jail time for Tiffanee and Jasmin, but it didn’t stop my tirade. “And Mona Pringle still lives with the nightmare. These people were getting away with murder.”

Dr. Partridge had dropped his sandwich. Something flickered across his gentle, understanding face. Recognition. I was absolutely sure of that. And something else. Whatever it was, Dr. Partridge wasn’t happy that I’d let those names slip. I could have sworn that he turned pale, but that must have been my imagination. I was way too emotionally involved in this whole business.

He picked up his sandwich, stared at it, and put it back in its little bag.

“What?” I said. “Do you know these people? Was one of them a patient?”

He regarded me sadly. “Charlotte, even if one of them had been my patient, you must know I can’t tell you anything about that.”

I did know that, of course, but I gave it my best shot anyway. “Was it Mona?”

Dr. Partridge let his disappointment show on his face. “Charlotte, please.”

I blurted, “Because if it was Mona, she is in desperate shape. I am worried about her. She’s strung out. If you can’t tell me, can
you
contact her? You have to help. I mean, what
are
you permitted to do?”

He shook his head. “We’re not like paramedics. We can’t go racing after people with our sirens blaring, whether or not we have treated them. They have to come to us. If you see your friend, try to convince her to seek help. I would make myself available to any of these people, but we have our share of qualified practitioners in Woodbridge.”

As I thanked Dr. Partridge and walked away, I noticed he seemed to have lost interest in his lovely lunch. On the plus side, he had given me a good idea.

As I left the hospital, I saw Pepper hurrying in through the automatic doors.

“Everything all right?” I said.

“Routine follow-up. They do that with brain injuries. You?”

I hesitated, thinking that Pepper’s brain injury had been almost a year ago and she was still dealing with it. “I just wanted to talk to someone about Mona. To try to find out whether she might be—”

“Charlotte. You can’t get involved in this. I told you to leave Mona alone.”

“I know. And I’m not investigating. I assure you I have no desire to. But I feel an obligation to help Mona. We all should. She’s been missing work and she’s leaving me hysterical messages and—”

“Good, as long as you’re not involved. Oh, wait. You sound like you
are
involved. I told you not to go to her workplace or her home. What do you mean, talking to someone about her? Are you consulting medical personnel about Mona? What the hell is wrong with you? I’ll haul you in and charge you. I mean it.”

“I’d love not to be involved. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt. Or killed. There are three people dead now. And Mona—”

She let that slide. “Let me remind you that we are investigating the three hit-and-runs. And I doubt if any one of them was in any way related to Mona.”

“Are you serious? Two of them were her bullies.”

“What makes you say that? We haven’t released the name of the third victim yet.”

“You don’t have to be a big-shot detective to figure it out, Pepper. They interviewed Haley and Serena on WINY. Clearly it was Jasmin.”

“Dammit, that Todd Tyrell does more harm.”

“So it
was
her. Mona as good as told me. Can’t you find her, Pepper? Before something else happens? I’m worried about Haley, and I don’t even want that revolting Serena to be murdered.”

Pepper snapped, “We’re on it. I just told you that.”

“But—”

“Do you have any real information for me, Charlotte?”

What now? I could hardly tell Pepper that I’d seen an odd expression on Dr. Partridge’s face when I talked about Serena’s nasty little cabal and their effect on Mona.

“I thought so. Go back to your closets, Charlotte. We don’t need you getting killed too.”

She disappeared down the long corridor. I noticed she was rubbing her temple as she went.

Of course, I was starving by this time. I had ruined Dr. Partridge’s lunch, but I hadn’t taken my own. It was either pick up food or gnaw on the seats of the Miata. I headed to a new little take-out place that had a smoky bacon and lentil soup that was to die for—especially when you had garlicky croutons to drop in. A meal in a bowl; perfect for a wintry day. I got two servings for Mr. Jack “Hollow Legs” Reilly and one for me, and turboed over to CYCotics before the soup could cool. I was happy that I’d made the investment in snow tires. Jack was glad to get the soup, but not so glad to hear me obsessing about Mona.

“But where is she?” I said for the fourth time as we polished off our lunch.

“I don’t want to rain on your parade. I know this is serious and I understand that you’re worried, but you have to leave all this to the police. Pepper will deal with Mona.
She’ll
find her. You can figure out another way to be a friend to Mona. She’ll need you when they find her,” Jack said.

“Did I tell you what Dr. Partridge said?”

“Several times.”

“Well, it was revealing.”

“I suppose in a useless way. If his expression was, as you interpreted it, that he treated someone who may have been a victim or a bully. Unless of course he didn’t. Don’t want to bring you down, Charlotte, but that’s not going to get you too far. Not that you should be going far since you’re not supposed to be investigating.”

“Not investigating,” I snapped, “just trying to find Mona before she loses her job or her mind. Or before someone else gets killed.”

“Yes. And I don’t want that to be you. This is already a dangerous situation. Don’t forget that.”

For sure it could have been dangerous, but not for me. I believed that Mona would not lash out at me, not harm me. Or Jack either for that matter. She had turned to me for help and I had helped her in the past, even if not enough. She was staying in touch even if her calls were alarming. I was worried that Mona had done something that could never be undone. I hoped like hell I was wrong.

“Jack. What do you think happened to those girls to turn them into monsters?”

“I don’t know. I hardly knew them.”

“You do know the kinds of things they did to people. You’re the philosopher. Where’s the justice in that?”

Jack stared at me. “Philosophy isn’t about justice, Charlotte.”

I sniffed. “Well, maybe it should be. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m glad you care about this whole situation. I’m glad you care about Mona and other people. And I agree with you. We should do whatever we can for Mona. I’ll help you. But I hope you do know that you have a tendency to charge right in, no matter what the risks, and try to make everything right. You just have to learn to be cautious.”

“We’re just talking. I’m trying to get my head around what’s happened with those hit-and-runs and what happened when we were all at St. Jude’s. It’s haunting me.”

“That’s the thing. Why is all this coming back to haunt you now?”

“Easy to answer. Because Serena Redding is back and now she’s Mrs. Jerome Zeitz, so she has even more money and power than she did before. Oh wow, thanks, Jack. You’ve clarified it for me.”

“Sarcasm?” He wrinkled his brow.

“Not at all, Jack.” I picked up our lunch debris and tossed it in the recycle bin. I was smiling when I headed out the door. I had a flickering thought about Ramona’s bit of intel on Serena’s crumbling marriage. Her silver-haired husband had seemed truly caring in front of the television cameras. But I knew firsthand how the camera can deceive and distort.

From a work point of view, the day had been a write-off so far. My third workshop was scheduled that night and was oddly enough entitled The Fine Art of Saying No. I knew that “no” was the biggest time-saver of all. And it could save a lot of regret. I thought back to my conversation at the library. Was Ramona, like me, filled with regret for failing to help Mona live a normal life as a kid?

I was deep in thought when the phone startled me.

“Mona! I am so glad to hear from you. Where are you? Let me—”

“Forget that, Charlotte. I’m not telling you where I am. We’ve been all through this.”

“Sorry. Forgot myself. It’s good to hear from you. I’ve been worried.”

“That I’m a homicidal maniac?”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” I didn’t think that Mona could be systematically killing off people, partly because she sure didn’t seem the type, but mainly because Pepper, who was, after all, a detective, insisted that Mona had airtight alibis.

She said, “Well I believe it.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I have dissociative identity disorder.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been researching that. You know, multiple personalities. They struggle to get control? Trauma can bring it on.”

There was no doubt in my mind that Mona had suffered trauma, but this seemed extreme. “But, Mona—”

“Listen to me. I actually found a yoga mat that I think belongs—I should say
belonged
—to Tiffanee in my apartment. I don’t own a yoga mat. I’ve never done yoga in my life. It wasn’t here earlier. I didn’t bring it in. And I found a silk scarf and a pair of green leather gloves here. They’re not mine. So how did they get there? And where is my missing stuff?”

“Well, that’s—” I was struggling to find answers to these questions. Was Mona getting more delusional?

“One or more of my other personalities is doing the killing. I have no memory of it, but that’s what happens. The person has no memory of the alter-ego actions. But that would still be me. Underneath.” I heard her voice crack.

“Mona, I am sure that’s not the case. Let’s talk to someone about it. I think you’ll be very relieved if—”

“What if—?”

I waited.

And waited.

“What if what, Mona?”

“Three people are dead! Three! And one of them was completely innocent. What if I can’t stop until I kill them all?” Her voice rose, cracked, and trailed off.

I decided I’d better get back to Dr. Partridge on this one. In the meantime, I wanted to keep Mona from freaking out. “You’ve been damaged by that pack of bullies and now you’re reacting. You’re not the bad guy here, Mona. We don’t even know if anyone has been murdered.”

“Glad someone thinks so.”

“I’m not your only supporter, you know.”

I heard a soft sniff. “That’s news to me.”

“It’s the truth.”