to listen—me and her counselor, that’s it. ‘Tumultuous.’ Humph. See if he could go through what she went through and not lose his mind.”
I swallow hard. “Go through what?”
She narrows her eyes at me. She’s a dumpy woman, burly, and very plain. “You know why there was no baby in the ground when they found her, don’t you?” When I shake my head, stunned, she pauses, chewing her lip, as if that’ll help her decide how much to trust me. “She miscarried the baby. Back in May. She was three months pregnant at the time. Holed herself up in the second master until she had the strength to face the world again. I’m surprised Mr. Harris didn’t tell you.”
“It must’ve slipped his mind.” As the words escape me, I want to slap myself. How could he possibly have forgotten to mention that his wife miscarried his child? “We try not to talk about the past,” I say, truthfully.
Removing a cloth hanging out of the front pocket of her apron, Samara strides to the bookshelves and begins dusting the spines. “Joanna didn’t tell him at first, of course. Mr. Harris wanted a child so badly, the news would’ve crushed him. And their marriage was already veering off a cliff—Joanna didn’t want this bump in their plans to set him off. It was horrible, the way she had to go through all of it alone. Bless the Lord for her counselor, who helped her find God before the end. At least now she won’t be alone in death, the way she was in life.”
“Counselor?” No one mentioned Joanna had been seeing a shrink.
“Last summer, she was seeing someone at a women’s clinic in the city.” She swipes the surface of the shelves clean. “She had to attend four counseling sessions before she could be medically cleared.”
“What does that mean? Cleared for what?” I sink into the leather chair in front of the hearth. “Was Joanna sick?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Come on,” I urge. “You were closer to Joanna than anyone. She must’ve told you.”
She glances at me over her shoulder as she continues to wipe down the shelves. “Believe it or not, I have no idea. I asked her many times. But her reason for going to the clinic was one thing she seemed determined to keep private.”
“Well, I’m sure the detectives will find out soon enough. They seem to uncover everything.”
“They won’t find out about the clinic. Not on their own, anyway.” With her back still to me, Samara shakes her head emphatically. “I don’t know what was going on with her, but she was worried about people finding out. When I suggested seeing someone at a specialized clinic rather than her usual doctor, and using a false name, she was all for it.”
My brain begins to swim with the new information. “Does anybody else know? Michael or Dean?”
“No, Joanna made me swear not to tell anyone. Only reason she told me was because she needed someone to drive her to the appointments. But I probably should say something now, shouldn’t I? Now that she’s…gone?”
“If you think it’ll help them find the murderer, yes,” I offer, “because if you know something and keep it to yourself, they might think you had something to do with her death.”
And now that Samara has told me, I should go to the police with the information, too.
“I’ll consider it,” Samara says. “Anyway, all that matters is that God was with Joanna in the end.”
“From what Michael tells me—I mean, what I heard him tell the police—Joanna was an atheist.”
“She was. But the counselor changed her.” She removes a few books and, scowling, replaces them somewhere a few shelves lower. “By the end, Joanna was starting to believe in religion. It helped her heal.”
Yes, it’s nice that God forgives everyone. Including liars and adulterers.
I keep that nugget to myself.
“How are you holding up in all of this?” I ask, trying