Page 83 of Little Shattered Dreams

“It’s not normal for me,” she said. “It’s not often I have a problem coming to terms with things in life, even hard things, like losing Clara.”

“You’re not alone. Everyone is rattled over what happened yesterday.”

She nodded and said, “Clara stopped by my office the other day. At the time, I was in a meeting with Abby. She kept pacing outside. It was obvious something was bothering her. Whenever she got nervous, she bit down on her nails. Bit them to the nubs sometimes.”

“What did you do when you saw her?” I asked.

“Not what I should have done. Instead of excusing myself from the conversation with Abby, I asked her to come back later.”

“What was it about your conversation with Abby that couldn't wait?”

“It wasn’t that it couldn’t wait. I was used to Clara coming to me whenever she was having a bad day. She could be sensitive at times and would become agitated over the smallest things. I thought that’s all it was—Clara making more of something than was necessary. I figured once I finished with Abby, Clara and I could talk, and I’d help her get past whatever she was going through, just like I always did.”

“Did you speak to her later?” I asked.

“I tried. She blew me off, and I’m guessing it’s because she felt I’d blown her off.”

“You did blow her off.”

“I know. And now I keep wondering if not making her a priority led her to … you know, killing herself. I expect that’s why I was up most of the night. It’s been many years since I’ve allowed the guilt of my actions to creep in. It’s not a good feeling.”

I finished my cup of coffee, set it to the side, and crossed one leg over the other. “I’m no mental health genius, but maybe what you felt is you being real with yourself for once. Maybe you felt a kind of realness you haven’t allowed yourself to feel because you don’t like how you feel when you do. I imagine you’d rather stay in your perfect bubble of happiness and bliss. That’s not life though. Real life isn’t fake or fashioned. It’s allowing yourself to become raw and real, to feel emotions, whether you want to or not.”

She thought about what I’d said for a time and then nodded. “I do believe I’ve learned something fromyoutoday. You’re a lot more in touch with yourself than you give yourself credit for, you know.”

I’d never been comfortable with compliments, making this the perfect time to segue the conversation back to the one we were having before.

“I’m not so sure Clara committed suicide,” I said.

“Why would you question it after the note she left?”

“I just am. I’m not sure why yet. From what you’ve said about her and what little time we spent together, it’s obvious she was moody. But it seemed like she acted out because she wanted attention.”

“I agree with you there. I felt the same way about her.”

“Let’s say there was no note. Would you still think Clara committed suicide?”

She considered the question. “I haven’t thought of it that way. I’m of two minds, I suppose. Given her personality, I’d say she was capable of such a thing. But when I think about how hard she was trying to build a new life for herself, it makes me think twice.”

“What about murder? Do you think she was capable of it?”

“I would say it depended on the person. That ex-boyfriend of hers, the one she was worried about … I think she would have done anything to keep him out of her life.”

“What do you know about him?” I asked.

“He’s back in jail again. Has been for a couple of weeks.”

A couple of weeks meant there was no connection between him and what had gone on at the retreat.

“Have you seen the suicide note?” I asked.

“I have. Chief Foley showed it to me last night, asked me if I recognized the handwriting. Looked like hers, but I’m no expert.”

“It just feels like I’m missing something.”

“Something like what?”

“Motive, for one. The one offered in the note was almost laughable, even for someone as sensitive as Clara. Plus, I don’t believe it’s the reason Quinn was murdered.”

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