The Spirit Tree (5 page)

I drew a quick breath, unsure of what to make of the vision. I’d invaded his privacy.
Ridiculous
! My
imagination
is just playing
tricks on me.
My mind had wandered where it shouldn’t have.

“I’m Aaron, by the way.”

The sound of his voice made me jump. “Huh?”

“Aaron. My name is Aaron.”

“Tessa.” I shook my head. “Sorry, I was in my own bubble there for a second. Nice to meet you, Aaron.”

“What did you do to your leg?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. A flesh wound.” He took it as a joke. I had no desire to tell him a cop had shot me. What kind of person gets shot, anyway?

We took another step toward the counter. I angled myself so I could watch the line and him at the same time.

“What do you do for a living, Tessa?”

I liked the sound of my name on his lips. “I’m a mental-health therapist.”

“Wow.” He chuckled. “That isn’t what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Just not that.”

People tended to react in one of two ways when I told them what I did for a living. They either closed up, or began spilling their deepest secrets. I bet he would clam up. I took another step toward the counter.

“An extra-large coffee, no cream or sugar. My name is Tessa.” The barista behind the counter smirked. Most people ordered the fancy coffees and teas. I already had wide hips. No sense in tacking on five hundred additional calories in the form of fancy coffee.

“Extra-large coffee, black. Name’s Aaron,” the man said over my head as we moved to the edge of the counter to wait. “How about dinner sometime, Tessa, the mental-health therapist?”

I waited for the punch line, or for him to change his mind. Had he just asked me out? Our orders came up. I reached for my cup, and his hand brushed mine. He jerked his hand back, as if I’d shocked him with static electricity. I caught another flash of his life. This time he knelt with his arms around two dark-haired children.

“Sure. Dinner. I’d love to.” I couldn’t believe it when he scribbled his number on a napkin and stuffed it into my bag.

“Great.” He held the door. We walked in the same direction, sipping our coffee. My heart sank when he turned to the entrance of the police station.

“Are you a police officer?”

“A detective.”

“Oh.” I waited while he opened the door. My inner voice told me to give his number back.

No one sat behind the Plexiglas window, but someone had taped a phone list to the window. I couldn’t remember the name of the detective who’d come to the hospital. Had he given me a name? I could buzz for Officer Smith, though I doubted the woman would be happy to see me.

“Who are you here to see?” Aaron folded his arms across his chest.

“Officer Smith.” I smiled and lifted the phone.

“All right, well, call me.” He gave me an odd look and disappeared behind another door.

I drew a breath and dialed the phone. “Hi. This is Tessa Lamar. You came to talk to me in the hospital.”

“I’ll be right up.” Officer Smith didn’t sound happy.

I turned to a bulletin board and studied the faces of wanted criminals and missing children, including the two kids from the news story: Lilian and Jonas Rivera, ages four and eighteen months. I startled when the door buzzed behind me.

“I’m not on your case, but I’ll walk you back to Detective Samuels.” Officer Smith led me through rows of cubicles. Did my energy make her nervous, or was it something else? Something like me facing a murder charge.

Aaron leaned against a desk in an office as a small white-haired woman spoke to another detective. Officer Smith stopped in the open doorway and knocked. My heart fell to my feet. Detective Samuels, whom I’d met in the hospital, sat behind the desk. To add insult to injury, the old woman turned at the sound of the knock. The witch from the hospital.
Dang it.

“That’s her. That’s the one I was telling you about. She said she was going to pull the plug, and she did.” The wicked witch of the welcome desk pointed.

The room temperature spiked, and my leg started to throb. “I need to sit down.”

Someone eased me into a chair. The woman spoke with the officers inside the office, but I couldn’t make out her words. Not that I needed to hear to know what the old bat was telling them. So much for dinner with Detective Blue Eyes.

The door opened, and Aaron escorted the woman out. When he returned, he avoided my gaze. “Ms. Lamar, will you follow me, please?”

I placed a crutch under one shoulder and the laptop case on the other, following him inside the office. I couldn’t believe my freakin’ luck. When did my life turn into such a mess? I decided to ignore Aaron, and turned to the other detective. “Good morning, Detective Samuels.”

“A suspect in two murder cases in one day. You’ve been a busy girl, Miss Lamar.” He studied my face.

“I didn’t kill my uncle.”

“We will need to touch base with the ICU, but I doubt there’s any truth to Mrs. Lipinski’s allegations.” He grew more serious. “I’m sorry for your loss. Please forgive my insensitive comment.”

“I came to look at the pictures again. When you questioned me at the hospital, my aunt and great-grandmother were there. I didn’t want to upset them.”

“Of course.” He opened a file and set a stack of pictures in front of me.

I ignored Aaron’s presence and studied each picture. I maintained a poker face, determined not to let them see me blanch. Halfway through the stack, I knew I’d seen the would-be intruder before. “I saw him, at the hospital. Getting into an elevator, on the third floor, outside of the ICU.”

Samuels glanced at Aaron, then back to me. “What time was that?”

“I’m not sure, maybe twenty minutes before my uncle died. He was with another man, and they seemed angry.” I motioned with my hand. “Judging from their nonverbal cues, I mean.”

“Did either of them see you?”

“No, I don’t think so. I went the other way until I heard the elevator door close. If they saw me, it would’ve been from behind.”

“What made you turn and go in the other direction?” Aaron crossed his ankles and unfolded his arms.

“As I said, they seemed angry. They were Native American. At first I thought it was some of my uncle’s tribe coming to visit, only something was off. I don’t know why, but I knew I needed to avoid them.” I slowed down before I said something stupid. “If you check the hospital security cameras, you might be able to get video.”

Aaron nodded.

“When you put the photos in front of my aunt and great-grandmother, please use the clean images. One lost a son, the other a husband. They don’t need to see these.” I sat straighter, emboldened after standing up for my family.

“Of course.” Samuels eased back in his chair. “The report said you fired a semiautomatic shotgun through a jalousie window and broke only two panes.”

“No. The guy broke one pane trying to get in. The hole was big enough to shove the barrel through. The second pane broke when I fired. It was a new gun, smooth, less kickback.”

“How many shots did you fire?”

“One.”

“Did you reload?”

“No.”

“Who taught you to load a ghost round?” Samuels’s grin returned.

Aaron exhaled a breath between his teeth.

“My uncle Charlie.”

Samuels nodded. “Anything else that might help us solve this case?”

Both men perked up a bit when I hesitated, as if sensing I was holding something back. I bent and rubbed my calf above the ring of bandages. “Sorry, the gunshot wound is making me wish I’d followed doctor’s orders and stayed off it.”

Tension creased the corners of Samuels’s eyes.

“I can’t think of anything else, but I’ll let you know if I do. Is that all?”

Samuels nodded.

I stood, making a show of holding on to the back of the chair. Aaron handed me the laptop bag. “Let me walk you out.”

“Thank you.” I wanted to run, or walk very fast, but I’d made such a point of my injury, I didn’t dare.

Aaron turned to me. “Tessa, uh . . .”

“Dinner is off.” I laughed.

“No, not off. Just postponed, until after the case is over.” He glanced over the cubicles and leaned to whisper, “I’d like to get to know you. Any woman who can look at crime photos without blinking and fire a shotgun . . . Like I said, after the case is solved.”

I nodded and hobbled toward the exit. Today sucked, almost as much as yesterday, and I had little hope for improvement.

Behind me, Samuels said, “Careful, Burns, you know what they say—your badge can get you pussy, but the pussy can get your badge.”

Yep, being thrown in a jail cell would be a picnic compared to my morning.

My bag bounced against my crutch as I walked into the counseling center. Mr. Owens, my first patient, rose when I entered the building. All eyes turned toward me, and I took a step back.
I shouldn’t be here, couldn’t be here. Lord in
heaven
, why had I come to work?

My boss pushed toward me. “You’re over an hour late. Why didn’t you call?”

I lowered my voice. “My phone is dead. Can we speak in private, please?”

He drew his chin back, flattening his jowls. Did he expect me to discuss my personal issues in front of a lobby full of patients?

I limped toward the reception desk in the hopes of gaining a little privacy. “I apologize for not calling in. It took me forever to get here with these crutches. My uncle passed away this weekend, and I’ve been taking care of details.”

“I see. Well, I suppose that is an acceptable excuse. I won’t write you up, but we’ll talk more after your session.”

The receptionist squirmed, avoiding eye contact with the director. Once he returned to his office, the receptionist sighed. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better.” I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Mr. Owens stood beside me, fidgeting.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” I motioned toward the chairs. “Mr. Owens, please have a seat in the lobby. I’ll be right with you.”

I turned for the door, but he followed closely behind me, wringing his hands and mumbling. The door between the lobby and the offices remained locked until the receptionist pressed the button. The door buzzed, the lock turned, but I didn’t catch it before it locked again. Once again, the receptionist hit the button and I missed it. “Hey, Mr. Owens, can you get the door?”

Once we sat, I decided to begin the session rather than unpack my bag. Mr. Owens’s anxiety had spilled over to me. I squared my shoulders and drew a cleansing breath. “I apologize for running late. You seem anxious. Let’s get started.”

I eased back in my chair and waited for him to reply. He looked around the office, wringing and fidgeting. I’d treated him for severe anxiety over the previous year. Of all the patients to keep waiting, he was the worst.

“I went to the zoo with my son.” Mr. Owens lowered his eyes.

“That is an impressive step. How was it for you, taking your son to the zoo?”

“We didn’t stay. He wanted to look at the snakes.”

“Mmm-hmm. Did you go into the snake exhibit?”

He shook his head. “No. I told him I had a headache. We left right after we got inside.”

“A lot of people don’t like snakes. What happened after you left?”

Mr. Owens’s eyes locked onto my chest. I always dressed modestly for work to avoid potential sexual attraction on the part of my patients. My hand went to the turquoise amulet. “What happened after you left the zoo?”

Mr. Owens turned his head and his eyes went wide. He moved his lips but could only gasp for air. He clenched his chest as if his heart had ceased to beat. Spittle began to drip down his chin.

“Mr. Owens?” I stood, and his panic went from bad to worse. He leaped onto the chair and screamed. No words, just an ear-piercing sound that rivaled an air horn. I lunged for the phone, but he grabbed me before I reached the receiver. I was prepared for him to shove me down, but instead, he pulled me onto the chair by my arms. My calf scraped the edge of the desk, causing pain to burst through my leg.

The office door flew open, and two male therapists entered the room. Mr. Owens’s racket set off emergency protocols.

Mr. Owens stopped screaming when the men stormed in. The fit ended, and I started to climb down from the chair. Mr. Owens held me in place and screamed one word that sent the ten-by-ten space into chaos. “Snake!”

My patient freaked out, and I held him in an effort to calm him. I knew I didn’t have to worry. As much as I disdained the idea of snakes, they wouldn’t hurt me.

A menacing-looking snake, about four feet long, crawled out of my computer bag. It appeared to have diamonds on its back. I didn’t hear rattles. Certainly a rattlesnake would rattle. Then again, who could hear the rattling over all the commotion?

One of the male therapists backed out of the office, the other froze, crouched, arms wide—prepared to tackle something. Mr. Owens held on to me like a drowning man, and once again, became the human air horn.

People shouted down the hall—
snake
,
rattlesnake
,
911
,
lockdown
, and various curses. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. We lived in Florida, home of more than fifty species of snakes. However, the fact that the slimy demon had hitched a ride in my bag did give me the willies. It might be my protector, but I’d rather not carry it around.

“Mr. Owens? Please. I can’t breathe. We’re safe on the chair.” I struggled to get my hand beneath his arm to loosen his grip. I didn’t want to have to use self-defense moves while standing on a comfy chair, with a potential rattlesnake on the floor.

Mr. Owens eased his grip but continued to howl. I managed one deep breath before the entire snake emerged from the laptop bag, and he gripped me even tighter. The other male returned with a push broom in one hand and a fire extinguisher in the other. Did he plan to light the broom on fire and burn the snake? The crouching orderly leaped back and took the broom. He wielded it like a sword, swishing this way and that.

“Cut it out. You’re only going to make it mad!” I shouted over the screaming patient. How long could a human being continue to scream before his voice gave out?