Smoke and shadows, after all, are where she thrives.
She will take care of Tomasâwho knows too much, yet does too littleâafter that. And the strung-out kid in the abandoned house that this useless man was supposed to be watching?
Heâll be considered lucky in comparison to Tomasâs coming fate.
Chapter Five
T he Sierra Vista Rehab Center was located on a busy intersection only one block from an affluent residential enclave that included a country club and guarded gates . . . not quite what Grif had expected. Other than the nursesâ station and the white-tiled halls, the interior wasnât what he expected, either, and skewed toward homey rather than institutional, or at least like an exclusive private school. As Grif and Kit followed a nurse to the head administratorâs office, he wondered how many of his preconceived notions were taken from the cinema, black-and-white flickers where wild-eyed patients were wheeled from room to room by stoic attendants, their straitjackets crisp, gazes empty, mouths slack.
He saw no such examples now, though they hadnât been allowed into the patientsâ ward, and were instead being led to the administratorâs offices, presumably for last-minute instructions on how to interact with the patients in general, or at least with Mary Margaret. It wasnât until they were seated across from Ms. Lucinda Howard, with a wide, glossy desk looming between them, and her certificates and diplomas splayed across the wall behind her, that he realized something was wrong.
âHow did you say you knew Ms. DiMartino again?â
Kit and Grif looked at each other. They hadnât, though Ms. Howard had their visitorâs request form squared in front of her. Theyâd submitted it five weeks before, but had obviously left out the part about Grifâs having known Mary Margaret fifty years earlier.
âWeâre old friends of the family,â Grif said instead. âMary Margaretâs nephew, Ray DiMartino, told us where to find her.â
Ms. Howard dismissed the familial bond with a sniff. âYou understand this is highly unusual. Itâs rare that people outside of immediate family are allowed to interact with the patients. At least while theyâre under direct care.â
âMary Margaret doesnât live here full-time then?â Kit posed it as a question, but she, too, already knew the answer. She was just reminding Ms. Howard that they could, and would, eventually talk to the woman. Within these walls, however, the outcome of that meeting could be observed and controlled.
âNo,â Ms. Howard answered, with a tight smile. âMary Margaret is a high-functioning patient. She had great results with our psychosocial rehabilitation program and had been living independently for over twenty months before this latest . . . incident. Your paperwork indicates youâre already aware of this, which raises the question: why?â
âWhy what?â asked Grif.
âWhy disturb her with questions about her past? Youâre aware of her history. Yet youâre not doctors, so you canât deal with the feelings and possible fallout that raising these issues outside of therapy might cause. Is there any particularly good reason that you might disturb the mental health of an individual who is already teetering on the brink of yet another breakdown?â
âWe certainly donât want to cause Ms. DiMartino any distress,â Kit said, leaning forward. âBut weâre looking for someone who disappeared a long time ago, and she might be able to help us locate their whereabouts.â
Ms. Howardâs lips tightened like a string, and she glanced back down at the paperwork, but the top sheet gave explicit familial permission for their visit. Mary Margaret had been consulted, and accepted the appointment when Kit called the facility five days earlier, so no matter what Ms. Howardâs
Ruth Wind, Barbara Samuel