After what he’d been through, he could see why she didn’t believe him. “I know this is hard to fathom,” he said, “but I’ve actually been doing pretty well.”

It had been three months since his last appointment with Rosenberg, six months since Gretchen Lowell had gone to prison the second time. He was back at work. He’d stayed off painkillers. His physical wounds had healed.

“You haven’t been in touch with her?” Rosenberg asked, leveling her gaze at him.

“No,” Archie said. “From what I hear, she hasn’t spoken a word since she was booked.” He glanced away from Rosenberg, out the window, where a gnarled plum tree glistened dark and wet, its last handful of yellow leaves a miracle against the wind. “She just lies there.”

“Is she trying for an insanity defense?” Rosenberg asked.

Archie shrugged, and returned his attention to the room. “She’s not crazy. She just likes killing people. She’ll get the death penalty this time.”

A gust of wind shook the old house, and the windows rattled. Rosenberg’s mouth tightened. She reached out and centered the tissue box on the coffee table. Archie was no psychiatrist, but he’d been a cop long enough to know the heebie-jeebies when he saw them.

“It’s just the wind,” he said.

Rosenberg’s eyes flicked up. “What’s it like out there?” she asked.

“Bad,” Archie said. It was only going to get worse.

“I was surprised you came.”

He hadn’t even considered canceling. He’d made a commitment. “We had an appointment.”

He could see something shift in her shoulders, a glance at the clock on her desk. Their fifty minutes were up. “That’s it,” Archie said. Rosenberg nodded and followed him as he walked from the office to the front hall, where his rain boots sat dripping on the Oriental rug Rosenberg used as a front mat. He pulled them on, the rubber pressing the wet wool to his feet. They were useless anyway.

“How’s Susan?”

Archie glanced up, startled. “Why ask about her?”

Rosenberg frowned innocently. “I read her column.”

Archie knew Rosenberg never asked anything casually. He looked at her for a moment, then answered the question. “Working on her book, scrambling for stories. Same old thing.”

“Uh-huh,” she said.

Archie cleared his throat. “I’ll see you in three months, Sarah.”

She held out her hand and he shook it. “You can come sooner, if you like,” she said.

“Stay off the roads.”

Rosenberg opened the heavy front door for him. “Henry said you moved,” she said.

So Henry was still checking in on him. “I did.”

“Where to?”

Archie looked out at the rain and smiled. “Higher ground,” he said.

Chapter 4

CHAPTER

4