Page 18 of One Last Lie

So, I smile and say, “Won’t you come inside for some tea? I’m sure Mrs. Ashford won’t mind.”

“Oh yes, thank you. I appreciate it.”

I lead him to the dining room and realize that I haven’t cleared the breakfast dishes yet. I start to gather them up, and Dr. Harrow asks, “How are the children?”

“They’re wonderful,” I reply.

“Are they? That’s surprising.”

What he says is logical—and to be fair, I am stretching the truth by saying they’re doing wonderfully—but the way he says it concerns me. He sounds almost flat, as though he were pointing out a strange weather phenomenon and not discussing the mental health of his dead clients’ children.

Then again, it is his job to remain objective when discussing such things. Perhaps I’m reading too much into his tone.

“They’re grieving, of course,” I tell him, “but they’ve made great strides of late. Samuel is playing, and Isabella is talking through her grief.”

“And Elijah?”

I hesitate. It’s not my place to share my concerns with him, and anyway, I was hoping to ask him questions, not the other way around.

Then again, I do feel at a loss to know how to reach him. He’s closed himself off, and breaking through his defenses to help him is a task I fear I might not be equal to. Perhaps Doctor Harrow can offer some advice.

“He is… struggling. He spends a lot of time alone. I’ve been attempting to get him to be more present, but I’ve met with resistance so far.”

“Hmmm. Does he talk about his father often?”

“No.” I frown. “Come to think of it, none of them do. Isabella’s been the most talkative, and all she focuses on is how his loss has impacted them.”

“So, he’s mentioned nothing?”

Doctor Harrow is a trained psychologist and skilled in hiding his emotions, but he can’t quite soften the tension at the corners of his eyes. He’s nervous. What could Elijah possibly know that Doctor Harrow would want him to keep to himself?

“Nothing about what?” I ask innocently.

Doctor Harrow hesitates, as though deciding how much to tell me. Then, he says, “Johnathan was on a decline before his death. He was convinced that people were after him.”

“After him?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I can’t be more specific.”

I smile. “I understand.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that I am bound by confidentiality. I mean that he was not more specific.”

“He never mentioned anyone? Perhaps someone who worked for him?”

He lifts an eyebrow, and I confess, “I overheard a brief portion of a conversation between Mrs. Ashford and a Miss Serrano from Ashford Capital.”

“Oh yes. Yes, he felt that Miss Serrano was trying to take his company from him. To be fair, he wasn’t wrong. But in his paranoia, he seemed to feel she would threaten his person.”

Now I lift an eyebrow. “So, he was specific.”

He doesn’t appear discomfited at being caught in a lie. “He would have moments of specificity but none that lasted long enough that I could consider them reliable. I was weighing a recommendation that he spend some time in professional care when he unfortunately passed. But now, I have said too much.”

He stands. “I’ll have to take you up on your offer of tea another time, Miss Wilcox. I believe I have intruded on your duties enough. If you have the chance, though, do speak to Mrs. Ashford about scheduling some sessions between me and the children. I’m anxious to be of any help I can.”

I smile. “Of course. Thank you, Dr. Harrow.”

He returns my smile, but he doesn't reach his eyes.

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