Shakespeare's Counselor by Charlaine Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

Carla said. “I sure hope it’s something cheaper. Tamsin not here yet?”
    â€œHer car is over there,” Sandy said resentfully, pointing to Tamsin’s modest Honda Civic. “But she won’t open the door!”
    Melanie and Carla gave Sandy the same kind of careful sideways look I’d found myself delivering.
    Firella came walking from the darkness at the other end of the small parking lot, pepper spray in one hand and keys in the other.
    â€œHey, y’all!” she called. “We meeting out here in the parking lot tonight?” Carla laughed, and Melanie smiled. As Firella drew closer, she counted us and observed, “One of us hasn’t made it here yet.”
    â€œOh, Janet’s car’s here, too,” Sandy snapped. “See?”
    We all looked over to note that Janet’s dark Camaro was half concealed by Tamsin’s Honda.
    â€œSo where’s Janet, and why won’t the back door open? You think Tamsin and Janet are in there doin’ it?” asked Carla. She didn’t sound angry about the possibility—only ready for them to finish and unlock the back door, so she could get in the air conditioning.
    Sandy was almost shocked out of her odd mood. “Oh, my gosh,” she said, rattled to the core. “I just never believed I could know anyone that…oh, my Lord.”
    Though I was pretty sure Carla had just been blabbing—for the pleasure of hearing her own voice, and to shock Sandy—I didn’t comment. I got a phone book from the front seat of my car, pulled my cell phone from the pocket of the drawstring sheeting pants I was wearing because they were cool, and dialed the health center number.
    Inside the building, we could hear the phone ring, very faintly. That would be the one at the main reception desk, inside the front door.
    A voice came on the line. “You have reached the Hartsfield County Health Unit. Our office hours are nine to five, Monday through Friday. If you know the extension of the person you’re calling, please press it now.” I did.
    From inside the building, we heard another phone begin to ring, this time closer. We counted the rings. After four, the female voice came back on the line, to tell me that the party I wanted to contact was away from her desk and to ask me to call back during office hours. She also told me what to do in case of emergency.
    â€œThis seem like an emergency?” I asked, not sure I’d said it out loud until Firella said, “It’s getting to be.”
    I stood back and looked at the door. Made of a heavy metal and painted brown, it was intended for staff use, so therapists wouldn’t have to enter and exit through the reception area. It was kept locked every evening but Tuesday, as far as I knew, though there might be other kinds of therapy groups that met using the same arrangement. Tamsin always locked the door when the six of us were assembled inside, and something she’d said once had made me think she only unlocked it about ten minutes before group time.
    The light wasn’t crystal clear in the area around the door, but I could tell when I aimed my tiny key-ring flashlight at the crack that the deadbolt was not actually engaged.
    So the door wasn’t locked, after all. I tugged on it again, baffled. It didn’t budge.
    While the other women watched, I again punched the “on” button of my tiny flashlight. My insurance agent would be glad to hear I’d found his giveaway so useful. This time, I shone the light all the way around the edges of the door, trying to spy something that would give me a clue as to why the door was being so stubborn. I was rewarded maybe the second or third time around, when I realized a chip of wood was protruding from the bottom.
    â€œThere,” I said, and squatted. I heard Melanie explaining to the others and many exclamations, but I ignored them. I tried to grip the sliver of wood in a pincer