Hemlock Bay

I’m coming back.”
    “Are you feeling depressed?”
    “No. I’m mainly just mad because of that idiot shrink they sent by. A dreadful man, trying to be so comforting, so understanding, when really he was a condescending jerk.”
    “You smart-mouthed him, babe?”
    “Maybe. A little bit.”
    “I’m glad,” Sherlock said. “Not enough back-mouthing from you lately, Lily.”
    “Oh, dear.”
    “Oh, dear what?”
    But Lily didn’t say anything, just kept looking toward the door.
    Savich and Sherlock both turned to see their brother-in-law, Tennyson Frasier, come into the room.
    Savich thought, Lily doesn’t want to see her husband?
    What was going on here? Seven months ago, Lily had come back to Maryland to stay with their mother for several weeks after Beth’s funeral. While she’d been there, Savich had done everything he could, turned over every rock he could find, called in every favor, to discover who had struck Beth and driven off. No luck. Not a clue. But then Lily had wanted to go back to Hemlock Bay, to be with her husband, who loved her and needed her, and yes, she was all right now.
    A big mistake to let her come back here, Savich thought, and knew he wouldn’t leave her here this time. Not again.
    Savich straightened as Tennyson came striding toward him, his hand outstretched. As he pumped Savich’s hand, he said, “Boy, am I ever glad to see you guys. Dad told me he called you, in the middle of the night.” Then he stopped. He looked at Lily.
    Sherlock never moved from her perch on Lily’s bed. She said, “Good to see you, Tennyson.” Such a handsome man he was, big and in pretty good shape, and at the moment he looked terrified for his wife. Why didn’t Lily want to see him?
    “Lily, are you all right?” Tennyson walked to her bed, his hand out.
    Lily slipped her hand beneath the covers as she said, “I’m fine, Tennyson. Do you know that I tried to call Dillon and Sherlock earlier? And my line went dead. Is it still dead now?”
    Sherlock picked up the phone. There was a dial tone. “It’s fine now.”
    “Isn’t that strange?”
    “Maybe,” Tennyson said, leaning down to caress Lily’s pale face, kiss her lightly, “with all that morphine in you, you didn’t do it right.”
    “There was a dial tone, then a person’s breathing, some clicking sounds, and then nothing.”
    “Hmmm. I’ll check on that, but it’s working now, so no harm done.” He turned back to Savich. “You and Sherlock got here very quickly.”
    “She’s my sister,” Savich said, looking at his brother-in-law closely. “What would you expect?” He’d always liked Tennyson, believed he’d been a solid man, one who was trustworthy, unlike Lily’s first husband, Jack Crane. He’d believed Tennyson had been as distraught as Lily when Beth was killed. He had worked with Savich trying to find out who the driver was who’d killed Beth. As for the sheriff, he’d been next to useless. What was wrong? Why didn’t Lily want to see him?
    Tennyson merely nodded, then kissed Lily again. He said, his voice as soft as a swatch of Bengali silk, “I can’t wait to get you out of this place, get you home. You’ll be safe with me, Lily, always.”
    But she hadn’t been safe, Sherlock thought. That was the bottom line. She’d run her Explorer into a redwood. Hardly safe. What was wrong with this picture?
    “What about that psychiatrist, Tennyson?”
    “Dr. Rossetti? I would really like you to see him, Lily. He can help you.”
    “You said you would institutionalize me if I didn’t see him.”
    Savich nearly went en pointe.
    Sherlock laughed. “Institutionalize Lily? Come on, Tennyson.”
    “No, no, all of you misunderstood. Listen, Lily very probably drove into that redwood last night. This is the second time she’s tried to end her life. You were both here after the first time. You saw how she was. Her mother saw as well. Well, she’s been on medication, but obviously it hasn’t helped. I want her to speak to a very excellent psychiatrist, a man I respect very much.”
    “I don’t like him, Tennyson. I don’t want to see him again.”
    Tennyson sighed deeply. “All right, Lily. If you don’t like Dr. Rossetti, then I’ll find another man who could possibly help you.”
    “I would prefer a woman.”
    “Whatever. I don’t know of any female psychiatrists who do anything other than family counseling.”
    Savich said, “I’ll have some names for you by tomorrow, Lily. No problem. But