She gave a half-smile. “You said they’d help deter peeping Toms.”
I stepped closer, my gaze locking with hers. “I don’t think a peeping Tom is your biggest concern, Rose.”
The smile vanished. A flicker of fear darted across her eyes. “What do you know that I don’t?”
I took another step forward. “I have questions. I need you to answer them. All of them. And I need you to be honest with me.”
She stilled. Her breath caught. “…Okay.”
“What exactly was your relationship with Andrew McGregor?”
Her arms crossed, but not defensively. “First off, like I’vealready told you, we didn’t sleep together. We bumped into each other a few times around town, and one day he asked me out. I said yes to coffee. We talked. I felt nothing. Turned him down for a second date. No kiss, no sex, not even a flirty vibe. That’s the whole story.”
“Then why go to him for help with the bear?”
“I remembered him mentioning a brother in forensics. I needed help. I wasn’t thinking about anything else.”
“And that’s the truth?”
“Yes.”
I studied her for a long moment. “What about Carl Higgins?”
Her expression shifted—something flickered. Guilt.
“I shouldn’t have called the cops on him,” she admitted. “But I did. He waited outside my work for hours. It freaked me out.”
“What was he coming to therapy for?”
“Anxiety. Panic attacks. He’d recently gotten sober and was dealing with the fallout.”
“Did he mention a girlfriend? Wife?”
“He said no. But honestly, patients don’t always tell the truth.”
“I want to see his file.”
Her back straightened. “I can’t. Confidentiality.”
“I want to see it, Rose.”
Silence.
Then a slow, reluctant nod. “Okay. I’ll pull it. Off the record.”
“Thank you.”
I let that hang in the air a beat too long before I said, “Do you think Andrew’s death and Carl’s are connected?”
She didn’t answer right away.
She didn’t have to. Her eyes said everything.
“Yes,” she whispered.
I nodded once. “So do I.”
A cold shiver rippled through her. She tried to mask it, but failed.
