on it.

“Zoe,” I read. We’d never formally met, but she used my first name. Establishing her dominance? “Urgent police consult called me away. Call to reschedule.” It was signed “BG.” Not “Beverly.”

Damp breath tickled my ear. “Are you—I beg your pardon, Ms. Hayes.” I wheeled around and found myself nose to nose with Phillip Woods. I hadn’t heard him approach. “Is that note perhaps—so sorry to intrude—but is that possibly a message from Dr. Gardener?”

I tried to back away but bumped into the door.

“Oh, excuse me,” he exclaimed without moving away. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I mean to say, I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Beverly—oh my. Small world, isn’t it?” He stopped to clear his throat, as if realizing the awkwardness of our situation. His eyes shifted, flitting to the wall, back to me. “Well. I didn’t expect to see you. Certainly not here. Where’s your little girl?”

I swallowed. “She’s home. I work here, Mr. Woods. I’m an art therapist.”

“Oh? Oh my. How fascinating. Yes. Well, then. You and Beverly must be colleagues.” Mr. Woods peered at me through thick lenses, blinking rapidly. I tried to smile, but my mouth twisted, must have resembled a grimace. “So, your little daughter’s at home. I don’t have children myself, of course. Not yet. Although I may finally have found the right woman.” He giggled briefly. “Well, maybe. Time will tell. But you seem a devoted mother. Lucky for your child. I was sent away to school when I was just a boy. To Europe. Switzerland, actually. You see, Mother traveled with Father. Diplomatic service. But it wasn’t all bad. I met Charles, Andrew. Stephanie. All sorts of royals.”

“Interesting,” I said. “How many of you were there?”

“How many?”

“Children.”

“Oh, well. Just myself. Just the one.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting away. Changing topics. “I’m puzzled about Beverly— Dr. Gardener. I don’t understand where she can be. She should have known I was coming by. I called the station first, of course. But they, well, they put me on hold. Can you imagine?”

“You called her radio show?” I’d often wondered what kind of people called in and aired their problems for others’ entertainment. How could they seek serious help in three minutes between commercial breaks? But here was cashmere-coasted Phillip Woods, admitting that he’d made a call.

“Yes, I called. I told them I was a close friend of Beverly’s, but they still didn’t put me through.”

“Dr. Gardener’s your friend?” Prominent Beverly Gardener and mousy Phillip Woods? It was hard to imagine them in a room together, much less in a personal relationship.

“Oh yes. Of course. We’re very close. Believe me, heads will roll when she finds out they put me on hold. I waited a half hour, and then they disconnected me—can you believe it? I called again, and the line was busy. So I called here and found out she was expected, and I left the message that I’d be dropping by. I should have done that to begin with. But I thought I’d give her a kick, you know, a dear friend popping up on the air.”

“I see.” His story seemed far-fetched. Probably he was making it up, creating a cover story, embarrassed to be found seeing a shrink. I began to move away, but he stepped into my path.

“The receptionist confirmed that Beverly was expected in her office today. I can’t imagine where she is.” Had Agnes sent him down here? She should have known better.

“Well, Dr. Gardener’s a busy woman; you’d probably be wise to make an appointment.”

“An appointment? Me? Oh, I don’t think so. She’ll make the time.”

“Like I said, she’s very busy.” I looked him in the eye.

“Besides, she owes me half an hour. After all, I waited on hold all that time.” He chuckled, as if at a joke. If there was one, I didn’t get it.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know when she’ll be in.” I took a sideways step and began to walk away.

He nodded, staring at the floor. “Yes, all right.”

“But I doubt it’ll be soon.” I walked a few steps and turned back.

He stood still, bereft. A lost man in need of help.

“Maybe Agnes, the receptionist in the lobby, can phone her beeper for you.”

“No, no. I don’t want to alarm her. It’s no real emergency.”

His gaze remained on the floor. His eye kept twitching and he bit his lip. I was afraid he was going to cry. I hoped he wouldn’t; I didn’t know