“How so?”

“Thoughtful, respectful. She was the only one I felt showed that she’d actually lost someone. Everybody else was either like hubby and the creepy guy with him, or the women, who might just as well’ve been on their way to the mall.”

“You know what Glowa’s story was?” Joe asked. “How was she connected to Lucy?”

“That was another interesting thing,” Barb answered, quickly checking her watch and putting her mug down on a side table. “She made a comment that sounded like Lucy had been her patient. I might’ve gotten that wrong. I can’t swear to it, but that was the feeling I got.”

She stood up and smoothed the front of her jeans. “Well, I’m afraid that’s it, Joe. I gotta run. God, it was great seeing you. A real treat.” She approached him as he also stood, but simply gave him a quick hug, cocking an eyebrow as she pulled away, and said, “Scared ya, didn’t I?”

She then reversed course and led him back through to the garage as he asked, “Did you get the name of the creepy guy with Lemuel?”

“Yep. Seamus. I heard the old guy call him that. We were never introduced. There was a very clear pecking order between them, where Shaw was the boss. But Seamus was like two people in one. I barely got a word out of him, so that part seemed shy and uncomfortable. But he also gave me the willies, like he was dangerous or something.”

They reached the garage, and she repeated the quick hug. “I’m probably just making it up. Too many late-night Netflix movies. Don’t be such a stranger, Joe, and think of me if you and that girlfriend you don’t talk about ever break up, okay?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It wasn’t difficult finding a name like Dr. Patricia Glowa on the internet. She purportedly had an office right across Route 120 from Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center in Lebanon, New Hampshire. Joe didn’t know the details of her relationship to Lucy Shaw or the nature of her practice, but he’d been pleased by her immediate receptiveness on the phone when he’d called out of the blue, suggesting a meeting.

He was surprised by the address she gave him, which turned out to be a modest, modern-looking business block, set to the rear of a high-end development park. There was no sign on the door she’d told him to use, and a pile of empty cardboard boxes were stacked just outside.

As instructed, he poked his head in the doorway and quietly called out, “Dr. Glowa?”

“Back here,” came the response. “Keep on coming.”

He entered a front office, with chairs pushed haphazardly around a central conference table covered with more boxes and pieces of office equipment, and worked his way to a rear door that led to a smaller room overlooking a patio and a discreet wooded area. Here was a large desk, more chairs, a few plants hoping for sunnier final perches, extra boxes, and a just-visible woman on her knees before an open filing cabinet, partially behind the desk.