Page 12 of Never Lie
I peer inside this new room. Like many of the rooms in the house, it’s huge. And like the living room, the walls are lined with bookcases, all stuffed to the brim with books. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many books in my life. By the window in the corner is a large mahogany desk, with a leather chair behind it and a dusty desktop computer sitting on top. The final piece of furniture in the room is a large leather sofa. Dr. Adrienne Hale clearly loved leather furnishings.
“This must have been her office,” I breathe.
Ethan glances around, an appreciative look on his face. “When we live here, I could use this room formyoffice.”
“Uh…” I don’t want to burst his bubble and tell him that at the moment, there’s no way in hell I’m willing to consider living in this house. If only because I will forever be terrified that there is a stranger hidden in one of the dark recesses of the second floor. “Sure.”
“I’d hardly have to change a thing.” He presses a hand against the sofa, testing its integrity. “Well, I’d get rid of all the books. But other than that, it’s perfect.”
“Yes. Perfect.” Over my dead body.
Ethan leans in to plant a kiss on my cheek. “I’m going to finish making our sandwiches. You can browse her library.”
Before I have a chance to protest, Ethan has left to return to the kitchen. I want to follow him, but my legs feel frozen. This office. Even more than the rest of the house, it gives me the creeps.
This is where she worked. She was almost certainly in this room on the day she disappeared. Even more than the master bedroom, this room feels haunted by her presence.
I walk over to the mahogany desk. This room is dusty, but not as bad as the living room. There’s just a thin layer of dust over the desk and the computer keys. I pluck a tissue out of a box she has on the desk and run it over the black computer monitor. Then I dust off the seat of the leather chair.
I settle down in the chair and it creaks threateningly under my weight. Is this where Dr. Hale wrote her bestselling pop psychology book,The Anatomy of Fear? For a while, it seemed like everybody in the country had read that book. It was the It Book. And she never got to enjoy it because soon after it was released, she vanished into thin air.
I study the contents of the desk. She’s got a pencil holder in the shape of a human brain, loaded up with ballpoint pens. Her keyboard is one of those ergonomic ones, curved so that her hands could lie at a more natural position. And there’s another object on the desk that gets my attention.
It’s a tape recorder.
I haven’t seen a tape recorder in many years. I vaguely remember my parents having one when I was a little girl, but that’s it. It’s an outdated piece of technology. I blow the dust off the recorder and pick it up, curious to see what Dr. Hale had been listening to before her disappearance.
But it’s empty. Of course, the police would have taken whatever tape was inside as evidence.
“Tricia! Sandwiches are ready!”
Ethan’s voice floats down the hallway into the office. I lower the tape recorder back onto the desk and leave the office to join him.
Chapter 6
ADRIENNE
Before
It is extremely rare for mental health workers to be killed by patients.
It happens about once a year in this country. In most instances, the victims have been young female caseworkers. The homicides most frequently occurred while the victims were visiting residential treatment facilities. And the most likely perpetrators were males with schizophrenia.
The majority of victims were killed by gunshot wounds.
Not that a psychiatrist who rarely sees inpatients is immune from such an attack. At any moment during a session, my patients could stand up, grab the letter opener off my desk, and jam it through my eye socket. But my risk is relatively low. Even though I see patients in my home, which people tell me is a mistake, I feel safe.
Also, I don’t actually keep a letter opener on my desk. That would be tempting fate.
And I take one other precaution. Every single patient I accept for treatment is vetted by me personally. I refuse to accept any patients with whom I do not feel comfortable.
With one exception. But that will resolve itself soon enough.
Right now, my mind isn’t on my patients as I sit at my computer, replying to messages via email. I’m currently composing a reply to a message I received yesterday from my former agent Paige.
Dear Adrienne,
I was shocked and saddened to hear that you wanted to work with another agent at the company for your next project. In addition to being an incredible writer, I have considered you one of my closest friends. I have worked extremely hard nurturing your talent these past years. Can you please let me know what I have done to offend you and I’ll do whatever I can to make it right?
