“I don’t know, maybe. Although my memory isn’t sharp right now and I’m tired. I’ve got to get going.” He turned the water off. “Let me chew on it, and we’ll talk later.” I felt his presence behind me, the warmth coming off him. His lips pressed the top of my hair, and he left. The spot he kissed me felt breathy and moist.

Father Greg seemed to think visiting his brother, the head doctor, was a waste. But Cliff was the one my mom had confessed to. I was hoping he would help me puzzle it together.

After I dropped Emily at school, I drove to the wealthy nook of Hunther.

Harvest Road sloped upward, the street wide and curving and shaded by old oaks. Every five or ten acres, a long driveway trailed to a gorgeous house. Some of them massive with statues of lions or fountains and side coach houses and backyards that stretched high above the river. Some of them quaint and smaller, but with elaborate touches like a wrap-around porch or an inground pool framed by Spanish tile. Houses on the left had views overlooking Crooked River; houses on the right had backyards that led to private woods.

What did these wealthy folks think of the outdated town surrounding them? The Dress Barn, Marjory’s Greasy Spoon and Donuts, the woman who had a cougar menagerie in her backyard. No fancy restaurants, no specialty delis, no salt spas or upscale massage in this town. Where did these people dine, shop, and satisfy their expensive tastes? Maybe they had their expensive tastes shipped to them and they rarely left their beautiful houses.

I parked in the street in front of Cliff’s house. It wasn’t opulent, but was large and brown brick. Father Greg was right. It looked like an elementary school. Made sense if Cliff had patients staying in the building. His driveway wrapped around to the back, which would also accommodate employees’ cars. If he had patients living here, he’d need staff.

The front of the building was dark, unwelcoming, private. The porch was small, roofed, and hidden by hedges.

It was only drizzling, but I didn’t want to get damp. I ran up the long driveway and rang the doorbell.

A woman’s voice came through a speaker to my right. “Good afternoon. Who is it?”

“Hello. I’m looking for Cliff.” I realized I didn’t know his last name. “My name is Heather Hornne. My mother used to be one of his patients. Um, she is, she’s no longer alive, but I had some questions for the doctor.”

A pause. Then, “Alright, dear. Give me a few minutes.” Alright, dear implied she might know me. Maybe this was Cliff’s wife, Claire and Donnie’s mom. Or maybe she was the nanny or the housekeeper while I lived here.