An Appointment With Murder Read Online Free Page A

walked towards me, sat on the couch and placed his hand in my lap. I looked down at it.
    “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah,” he said softly, and paused. He was so close to me I could smell his aftershave. “I have to admit, your coming to see me today is very courageous. I didn’t think I would ever see you again after last time.”
    “I didn’t come here to talk about old times. I just need some pills. Please!” I pleaded, trying to inch away from him. He was invading my personal space, and it wasn’t the first time.
    I knew it was a mistake to see him again. I thought I’d put the past behind me. He’d been a great shrink, but I had had to screw it all up by sleeping with him. It had been three months since I’d sat in this same spot pissing and moaning for the umpteenth time about the trivial disappointments in life. Unappreciative husband. Money issues. Typical, stupid stuff. I’d been comfortable with the good doctor. He’d been my therapist for years, so I trusted him completely. But a boundary had been crossed that day. In the midst of my ranting, he’d come to me and kissed me so passionately that all my defenses melted away. We’d made love on the overstuffed couch, without a word. And when it was over, we’d gotten dressed. We didn’t make eye contact until I opened the door to leave, then he’d said, “I know I don’t have to remind you, but my reputation is everything in this business. Please be discreet, I beg you.” He’d slicked his hair back with one hand as he saw me out the door. The memory slipped away as I was jolted back to reality.
    “Okay, Sarah. I can see you’re distressed about something and don’t wish to discuss it with me. But I cannot, in good conscience, prescribe medication for you without knowing the cause of your anxiety.” He rose from the couch, walked back to his desk, and sat down, posture perfectly straight, interlaced fingers resting on the desktop. He studied me, his head tilted slightly to one side.
    “How’s your wife, doctor?” I asked nonchalantly, inspecting my fingernails. I would not give up without a fight, and if I had to resort to blackmail, so be it.
    He paused only for a moment before smiling and withdrawing something from a drawer in the desk. He scribbled quickly, and gently tore off the top sheet. “A prescription for Ativan, 3 mg before bed for three nights,” he said, extending his hand across the desk.
    Off the couch and in front of his desk in an instant, I leaned over, snatched the piece of paper from his hand, and calmly left the room.
    * * *
    I drove to the pharmacy, filled my prescription, and sat in my car in the parking lot. The view through the windows of my steel cocoon was obscured by the light drizzle and the effect of my breath on the cold glass. I was about to indulge my growling stomach with a granola bar retrieved from the glove compartment when I heard the phone ringing in my purse. I dug it out. It was Gabby.
    “What the hell? Just listened to your message on voicemail. Are you okay?”
    Gabby’s was not a soft, feminine voice, and I moved the phone a distance from my ear before replying. “I’ll be fine. Has Detective Flynn called you yet? He’s in charge of the investigation.”
    “Do they have any idea who it was?”
    “Not yet. They’re working on it.”
    “I can’t believe she’s friggin’ dead.” Neither did Gabby mince words. An outspoken feminist type, and a lesbian to boot, she nevertheless had a kind spirit and her sense of humor compensated to a great extent for her lack of tact. With curly, blonde hair and an abundance of curves, she was what people referred to as a lipstick lesbian. That she was a little on the chunky side somehow suited her. Few of our massage clients were aware of her sexual preference. I’m not sure why, but I thought it better that way.
    “Did Beth ever talk to you about an ex-boyfriend or any other guy she was involved with before Jacob?” I asked.
    “Never mentioned anyone to me.