“What kind’s that?” she asked as they started up the walk. “Crazy?”
He laughed again. “Mine was certifiable, no doubt. But what I meant was we were a bootstraps or beating kind of clan.”
“Pull yourself up by them or get a beating?”
“That’s the one.” He changed the subject. “Love this area,” he went on. “Great little pizza place just up the block. Big Easy Slices.”
Micki was only half listening. She was planning what she would say to Renee Blackwood, how she would say it. Neutral, she reminded herself. They were interviewing the woman to fill in blanks.
Officially anyway.
They crossed the porch and entered the cottage. It smelled of fresh flowers. A tabletop fountain created a melodic, soothing sound track. Micki stopped, a strange sensation coming over her. A tingling at her wrists and back of her neck.
Weird. She rolled her shoulders and looked at Carmine. “Do you feel that?”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She alternately rubbed her wrists. “Like static electricity.”
“Nope.”
A thirty-something woman manned the receptionist desk. Attractive with a nice smile.
“Good morning,” Carmine said. “I’m Detective Angelo, this is Detective Dare. We’re here to see Dr. Blackwood.”
“Of course,” she said, smile over-bright. “I’ll just let her know you’ve arrived.”
Her voice shook slightly and as she reached for the phone, she nearly knocked over her bottle of water.
A moment later, she replaced the receiver. “Dr. Blackwood will be out directly. Could I get you a cup of coffee or a bottle of water while you’re waiting?”
Before they could answer, the double doors to the right of the receptionist’s desk opened and a handsome woman stepped out. Forty-something, trim and elegant, smile as perfect as her blond bob.
“Detectives,” she said crossing to them, hand out. “Welcome.”
Micki clasped her hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Dr. Blackwood. I’m Detective Dare, this is my partner, Detective Angelo.”
Introductions and greetings complete, she motioned them into her office, closing the doors behind them. “Please, have a seat.”
Micki would have preferred to stand but sat anyway, hoping to appear more relaxed than she was. Although, she decided, something about the woman’s intent, brown gaze suggested she would see right through that.
Blackwood folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “You said you wanted to ask me some questions about two of my clients?”
“Yes. Bitty Vanderlund and Cherry Chablis.”
Not a flicker in those almost liquid brown eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“Are you aware that both Vanderlund and Chablis have been arrested and charged in separate and unrelated murders?”
“Yes, I am.”
Micki cocked an eyebrow. “That’s it? All you have to say?”
The shrink moved her gaze between them. “I’m not sure what you want from me, Detective. It was a shocking turn of events.”
Something about the woman, her tone of voice, the way she held herself, grated. Like Jack from Club Me-Oh-My, Micki decided she didn’t like Renee Blackwood. “Was it? Shocking?”
Angelo cleared his throat. Blackwood’s eyebrows rose ever-so-slightly. “Of course it was. And extremely distressing. I worked with them both for several years.”
Angelo stepped in before Micki could point out to the woman that she looked anything but distressed. “Did either of them give you any indication they were—”
“Planning to commit murder? Of course not. I’m required by law to report viable threats to the authorities.”
“What constitutes a viable threat?” Micki asked.
The psychiatrist bristled. “Excuse me?”
“It’d be your call, right? Isn’t that rather subjective for something so urgent? And considering the intimate nature of your relationship with your clients, what does it take to separate real from fictional?”
The corners of Blackwood’s lips lifted slightly. “In any relationship there’s an element of subjectivity, Detective. Did I miss something with Bitty and Cherry? I don’t know.”
“You must have. They both snapped. Their word, not mine.”
“We all have a ‘snapping’ point, Detective. It’s like an emotional fault line. The right circumstances, amount of pressure, internal or external, and a break occurs.”
“You’re talking about a psychotic break.”
“Yes.” Her lips shifted into a small, condescending smile. “We all have the capacity for violence. You’re in law enforcement; you, more than most, should understand that.”
“Can I ask you a question, Dr. Blackwood?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Within twenty-four hours, two of your patients snapped and killed a rival—who also happened to hold a title of queen. Don’t you think that’s a bizarre coincidence?”
“Absolutely.”
“Here’s the deal—” Mickie leaned forward, gaze fixed on the other woman’s. “—I don’t believe in coincidences.”