Absolutely, Positively

happened? Is that why you went down with a spear gun?”

    Harry reminded himself to breathe. “Josh talked to you?”

    “Yes.”

    He gripped the wheel so tightly he wondered that it did not crack. “If I'd been just a few minutes earlier—”

    “No,” she interrupted very calmly. “You had nothing to do with their deaths. You are not responsible for what happened, Harry. Life is full ofwhat ifs , but they are meaningless questions. You're a man who has devoted himself to scholarly study and reasoned thinking, you must know how futile it is to ponder thewhat ifs . The answers change nothing.”

    Harry could not think of any response to that.

    “You're also a man who is very much in control of most things in his world,” Molly continued. “But some things are out of your control, Harry. You must accept that simple fact or you will drive yourself crazy.”

    “I sometimes wonder about that possibility.” It was the first time he had ever admitted his deepest fear aloud, Harry realized. Doing so made the threat all the more real.

    “Don't be ridiculous.” Molly smiled slightly. “I was speaking metaphorically. The very fact that you can even wonder if you're going crazy means you very likely aren't crazy. Real nuts don't question their own nuttiness. They think they're the only normal ones. That's why they're nuts.”

    “That's an interesting way of viewing the current state of the art of clinical psychology,” he said dryly.

    Molly touched his shoulder. “Remember what you wrote inIllusions of Certainty ? ‘Absolute certainty is the greatest of all illusions.’”

    “I remember. What the hell does that have to do with this?”

    “Total control is an illusion, Harry. The biggest one of all. You aren't responsible for everything and everyone. You're only human.”

14

    Harry went straight to his study the moment they walked in the front door. Molly, thinking fondly of a hot shower and a bracing cup of tea, trailed after him, yawning. She was learning the patterns of his life, and it had become obvious in the past few days that this particular routine was an indelible one.

    She lounged in the doorway of his private sanctum, arms folded, and watched as Harry methodically played back the calls that had come in on his private line.

    There were three messages on Harry's answering machine. Molly knew they had all come in sometime during the night. She was not particularly surprised to learn that all three were from Strattons.

    Harry? It's Brandon. Where the hell are you? Call as soon as you get in. I need to talk to you.

    The machine whirred and clicked.

    This is your Aunt Danielle, Harry. Call me immediately.

    More clicks from the answering machine.

    Harry, this is Gilford. If you're screening your calls, pick up the phone now. If you're not there, call me as soon as you get this message. Where the hell are you? It's seven-thirty in the morning.

    The answering machine pinged to indicate the end of the messages. Harry hit the rewind button. He glanced at his watch and then reached for a pen and a pad of paper.

    “Want some advice?” Molly asked softly.

    Harry did not look up from the notes he was making, but one black brow rose in inquiry. “What's that?”

    “You've dealt with enough family problems in the past few hours. Give it a break.”

    His mouth curved humorlessly. “Different family.”

    “No, all the same family. Yours. Harry, you've had a long night with very little sleep. Take a shower. Have a cup of coffee. You can answer those calls later. Much later.” Molly paused. “Like maybe this afternoon or tomorrow. Next week might be a good time.”

    He slowly put down the pen and looked at her. “What's that supposed to mean?”

    “It means that you have a right to put yourself first once in a while.” She held out her hand. “Come on. Let's go take a shower.”

    She saw the hesitation in his face, and then, to her intense relief, he took her hand and allowed himself to be led down the hall.

    At five o'clock that afternoon, Molly flipped the sign in the shop window so that it readCLOSED and groaned aloud. “I've had it, Tessa. I'm going to stop by my place to check on things and pick up some fresh clothes. Then I'm heading straight back to Harry's. I'm looking forward to putting my feet up and having a nice glass of chilled chardonnay.”

    “Is that a fact?” Tessa repainted her mouth with heavy brown lipstick.

    “I'm getting too old for short nights