Angels Fall

normal things women talk about. There's karaoke at Clancy's, and the walls are crowded with the heads of dead animals, Ek and moose and deer, even bear. People sing, mostly country, with varying degrees of talent. There was the onset of a panic attack, but I didn't run, and it got better. I have a friend in the Fist. More than one, really, but there's nothing quite like a girlfriend.
    Sometime today I must have packed my things, but I don't remember doing it. Maybe I did it on my break after Pete hurt himself. Maybe. The blood, seeing the blood shot me right hack to Maneo's. So it was, for a minute, Ginny's blood, not Pete's.
    But I've unpacked it all, and put everything away. Tomorrow I'm going to see Doc Wallace to describe, as best I can, the man and woman I saw along the river. Because I did see them. I saw what he did to her.
    I didn't run today. And I'm not going to run tomorrow.

Chapter 13
     
    DOC WALLACE set out tea and coffee, each in lovely old stoneware pots, and sugar cookies on a pale green Depression glass plate. He served it all among the framed family photographs and fussy throw pillows of his pretty parlor with the finesse of an elderly aunt entertaining her weekly book club.
    If he'd troubled with the fussy touches to relax Reece. he'd succeeded. She found herself charmed instead of anxious while they sat in front of the low glow of the fire with the scent of gardenia potpourri scenting the air.
    Her first impression was of comfort and ease, and her second: This was a man who'd been well trained.
    No wall of animal heads here, she thought, no wagon wheel lights or thick, Indian-style blankets. Though she knew he fished, there was no stuffed trout over the mantel, but a lovely oval mirror in a cherry-wood frame.
    Her grandmother would have very much approved.
    In fact, she thought the room could easily have been found in a home on Boston's Beacon Hill, and said so.
    "It was my Susan's favorite room in the house." Doc passed her the tea he'd poured himself. "She used to love to sit and read in here. She was a great reader. I've kept it as she liked it."
    He smiled a little, handed Brody a cup of to. "Figure she'd haunt me otherwise. And fact is…" He paused a moment, and behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes were kind and shrewd. "I can sit down here after a long day and talk things over with her. Now, some people might think that's a little crazy, a man talking to his dead wife. I think it's just human. A lot of things some might think are a little crazy are just human."
    "Being a little crazy's just human." Brody commented as he helped himself to a cookie.
    "I'd be human then. And look," Reece began, "I appreciate you trying to put me at ease. I do, and you have. But I know I'm a simmering stew of neuroses with chunky bits of phobias, seasoned heavily with paranoia."
    "It's good to know yourself." Brody bit into the cookie. "Most people don't know they're nuts, which is annoying to the rest of us."
    She spared him a glance, then focused on Doc Wallace. "But I also know what I saw by the river was real. Not a dream, not a hallucination. Not figments of my fractured mind and hyper imagination. Whatever the sheriff thinks, whatever anybody thinks, I know what I saw."
    "Don't get too worked up at Rick," Doc said mildly. "He's doing his job, best he can. And he does a good one for the Fist."
    "So everybody says," Reece muttered.
    "Still, it may be that we can help him along with it."
    "Do you believe me?"
    "Doesn't matter if I believe you or not. But I've got no reason not to take you at your word. Seems to me you've been doing everything you can to keep a low profile around here." Doc doused his own coffee liberally with what Reece knew was half-and-half from the little glass creamer. After stretching out his legs, he crossed the ankles of feet clad in snazzv running shoes. "I'm forced to report my attempts in this area have been a miserable failure."
    "Well, reporting a murder tends to turn the spotlight on the messenger. Doesn't make much sense you'd make up a story like this and pull everybody's attention onto you." He nudged up his glasses, peered at her through sparkling clean lenses. "Besides, Brody appears to believe you, and I know him to be a tough sell. So…"
    Doc set his coffee aside, picked up his sketch pad and a pencil. "I've got to admit, this is exciting for me. It's like being on Law and Order ."
    "Which version?"
    Doc grinned. "I like the original myself. Now, Brady's told you