“What are you getting at, Detective Dare?”
“Nothing,” Angelo said, standing. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Blackwood.”
Micki ignored him. “What did you and Bitty Vanderlund discuss that last morning she was here?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Did she talk about Vivianne Stanley?”
“Once again, that’s confidential.”
“What was her state of mind? Was she agitated? Angry?”
The therapist narrowed her gaze. “My next appointment is due to arrive any—”
“Her family painted a portrait of a sweet-natured woman. One who was in fine spirits the morning of the murder.”
“Part of what makes a psychotic break so shocking to those who know the affected individual, is how contrary to their nature it can appear. Easy going, sweet-natured, happy. This is the way they’re often described. Inside, they’re volcanos of emotion. Thoughts and feelings they ignore are stuffed away, down in the deep recesses alongside all the things they’ve wanted to say over the years, but swallowed.”
There was something mesmerizing about the psychiatrist’s gaze. Micki couldn’t make herself look away.
“And volcanos sometimes erupt,” she finished. “A psychotic break. They lose control—” She snapped her fingers. “—they snap.”
“But a volcano’s eruption isn’t unexpected. There are signs.”
“Steam and rumbles, Detective. Similar to what we all display at various times.”
“So, you’re saying she stuffed her true feelings. That’s why she was seeing you.”
“No,” she corrected, tone careful, “I was speaking generally about psychotic breaks. The underlying cause and why family is often taken by surprise when it happens.”
“You saw her the morning of the murder, correct?”
“I believe we already established that.”
“And seeing how agitated she was, you just let her walk out?”
“I didn’t say she was agitated. But nice try, Detective.” She stood. “I’m so sorry, but I’m out of time.”
Micki followed her to her feet. “Did you just write her a prescription and send her on her way? Out of sight, out of mind?”
“You’re so angry, Detective. Why is that?”
She was, Micki realized. And she wasn’t sure why. Something about the other woman, her steady gaze that seemed to say: You’re like Bitty and Cherry. Stuffing your true feelings. Your anger and hurt. Deep down. Where they grow and fester.
Micki worked to get ahold of her runaway thoughts. To control the emotion bubbling up inside.
“Not angry, Dr. Blackwood. Just not a fan of pill-happy shrinks. Vanderlund and Chablis came to you for help. Now, both are in jail facing murder charges. I don’t know about you, but to me that seems really fucked up.”
Angelo cleared his throat and stepped between them. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Blackwood.”
Her lips curved up. Superior. Controlled. The kind of woman who would never, ever snap.
“You’re very welcome, Detective Angelo. I truly wish this had ended differently.”
She walked them to the door. Micki stepped through, then stopped and turned back. “One final thing, Dr. Blackwood, do you practice hypnotherapy?”
The woman looked as surprised by the question as Micki felt at having asked it.
Her eyes narrowed slightly; the brown irises seemed to become darker. “That’s not my area, Detective.”
“Which doesn’t answer my question.”
“No,” she said, “I do not.”
Without another word, she turned and walked back to her office, shutting the door behind her.
Micki glanced from the closed door to the receptionist. She had gone white. She realized Micki was looking at her and pasted on the same bright smile as earlier. The curving of her mouth looked odd against her pale cheeks.
“Have a good day, Detectives!”
As they exited the building, Micki sucked in a lungful of fresh, cold air. It cleared her head.
“What happened in there, Dare?”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon, you know what I mean. You were starting to lose it.”
Starting? He was being generous. “She rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Obviously.”
“You didn’t pick up something off about her?”
“Not really. A little creepy the way her voice didn’t change, no matter what she was talking about.”
Creepy, Micki thought. That was it. She rubbed her arms, as if doing so would rub the feeling off of her. “There’s something not quite right about that woman.”
“Like what? Plaques on the wall, smiling receptionist, family photos on her desk.”
“I know, but—”
“What?”
“Her eyes. Did you notice how they seemed to change color?”
Apparently not, by the way he was looking at her.
Like she had lost her mind.
“Forget about it.”
“Good call, Dare. Vanderlund and Chablis snapped. You heard what Blackwood said, it can happen to anybody. Let it go before you start sounding like a head case.”
Concern in his voice. Maybe even second thoughts about their partnership.