“He seems evasive when he’s talking to me. His body language. The way tidbits keep emerging, as if he coughs them up only when he’s feeling cornered.”
“Before you moved to Saratoga, did you have any inkling that Guy might be cheating?”
“None. Oh, there were nights when he was out on business up here, and I couldn’t get him on the phone until later, and I’d feel a sliver of worry. It didn’t seem based on anything rational. He never gave me a reason not to trust him.” I sigh, frustrated as the next thought emerges. “Besides, we’ve been married less than a year, together less than two. What kind of man cheats just months after his honeymoon?”
Now Dr. G sighs. Not a comforting sound.
“There’s a certain type of man who, despite how he comes across, has a difficult time with intimacy.”
“That’s not Guy,” I say. Even to me, my tone sounds defensive. “He’s always been loving and supportive.”
“In the beginning this kind of man is loving and supportive. But as the relationship intensifies, he begins to pull away. And he has affairs, even early in the marriage. I’m not saying that’s Guy, but it’s something to be aware of.”
I recoil at the thought.
“I’ve never sensed Guy pulling away,” I say. “He’s seemed a little frustrated lately, as if he didn’t expect my recovery to take so long.”
There are a few moments of silence, and I sense the doctor thinking.
“What?”
“You’ve had a commuter relationship with Guy from the beginning. If he does have a problem with intimacy, he’s always been given a temporary reprieve by returning to Saratoga on Monday mornings. Once you moved up there, it may have thrown him off-kilter, made him feel boxed in. But let’s not get ahead of things. There may be nothing more to this than poor judgment on Guy’s part. Try to arrange a time to talk this weekend and assess the situation close up.”
“Okay,” I say. It feels as if there’s a brush fire racing across my nerves, and I try to pull my thoughts together. “What about this whole matter with Paul?”
“I know it’s important to get to the bottom of that, too, but for the next few days it’s probably best to focus on your marriage. Talk to Guy. Is your overall sense of him still the same? Do these mistakes seem like minor blips, or do they hint at something more? I’m afraid I have to get off now, but we’ll catch up more by Skype next week.”
I hang up, feeling worse than when I began the call, a sensation I’m not used to experiencing following appointments with Dr. G. If Guy has difficulty with intimacy, that’s not one of those problems you just MacGyver with a sexy weekend getaway and a bottle of Dom Perignon.
She’s right, though. I have to call Guy and reconnect with him in person. I thought that I’d have more clarity if we were apart, but I see now that the only way to possibly resolve our issues is to be in Guy’s presence. That way I can take measure of his words and behavior, and examine how I respond.
As I rise from the desk, my glance falls onto the scrap of paper on which I’ve scribbled Gavin Bloom’s phone number. Despite Dr. G’s urging to put the Paul stuff to the side now, I don’t want to. In a strange way, Paul and his showing up at my hotel in Boston seem to matter right now. And yet I’m at a dead end in terms of understanding why.
I pick up my phone, ready to call Guy. It seems so strange that the prospect makes me nervous, as if I’m reaching out to a man I’ve recently met.
But before I can tap the digits, the phone rings in my hand. It’s a local number, though not one I recognize immediately. I say hello, on guard.
No one responds. There’s only the sound of a person breathing, and I’m transported back to the morning I found Eve’s body, the call from the mystery woman with the breathy voice.
“Ms. Harper?” a woman says finally. With a start I realize I recognize the voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Detective Corcoran. We’d like you to come down to the station.”
Chapter 18
“Tonight?” I ask.
“Tomorrow morning will be fine,” Corcoran says. “We have some additional questions for you.”
I want to scream in frustration. This ugly business about the murder stubbornly refuses to go away—though, based on what Guy confessed yesterday, I should have guessed the cops would be circling back to me.
“What’s it in regards to?” I ask, trying not to sound flustered. Maybe she wants to verify a response Guy gave her, or probe to see if I’ve had any suspicions about Guy and Eve Blazer. Though I can’t see what difference my answer would make in either case because Guy has an alibi for the time of the murder. Of course, she may simply want to resume torturing me about the mystery caller. That’s clearly become a favorite pastime of hers.