Free Suddenly by Barbara Delinsky Page A

and yes, this was a loss for the town. But another doctor could be found, and in the meantime, he, Paige, and Angie could service their patients just fine.
    Susan Hawes, who owned the Tavern, slid in opposite him. She was a born hostess, a natural talker. “Beautiful eulogy the minister gave this morning,” she remarked. “Makes it even harder to understand why a woman like Mara would take her own life. Of course, ministers don’t always talk about the down side of folks.” She grew reminiscent. “She wasn’t a regular here by a long shot, but when she did come in, she could drink with the best of them. She used to sit with old Henry Mills and match him beer for beer until he felt so bad making her drunk that he stopped. He was always back the next day, drinking again, but for that one time, at least, he went home sober.”
    Peter cracked his knuckles. “She did have a different way about her.”
    “I heard she was stone drunk in that car.”
    He shook his head.
    “Then what?”
    He shrugged. Sure, he had known about the Valium. But he hadn’t dreamed she was taking so much. “Since I wasn’t with her, I can’t really say.”
    “Was she seeing anyone local?”
    “Nope.”
    “No man in her life?”
    “Nope.”
    “Spud Harvey’s gonna miss her. He used to watch her coming and going around town. Nearly drove him crazy when she had that little fling with his brother a while back. Spud was in love with her, but don’t tell him I told you so.”
    Peter might have made a pithy comment to the extent that Mara had been worlds above the Harvey brothers, intellectually and in every other way, had his beeper not sounded just then. Susan pointed to the phone behind the bar and left him to it. He dialed the number of his answering service, thinking all the while about Mara. He knew about the thing with Spud’s brother. It had been an impulsive weekend and had meant nothing. Mara had done things like that sometimes.
    But death? Death was final. He still couldn’t believe she had done that.
    “Doctors’ office.”
    “Trudie, it’s Peter Grace.”
    “Oh, hi, Peter. Dr. Bigelow just left a message asking you to cover for Dr. Pfeiffer in the morning. She said to call her at home later if there’s a problem.”
    Peter sighed. “Thanks.” A problem? He supposed there wasn’t. He had hoped to sleep late, but it was probably just as well this way. He hadn’t slept late—hadn’t slept well —since he had learned of Mara’s death. Demons kept waking him up, reminding him of the last time he’d seen her.
    It had been late Tuesday afternoon. Mara had sent the nurse to ask if he could see her last patients for her. Covering for each other was a way of life, one of the very purposes of a group practice; still, he had been tired enough himself to be annoyed. So he had stuck his head in at her door and found her standing by the desk.
    “What’s the problem, Mara?”
    She had looked at him in confusion. “Uh…”
    “Are you sick?” he remembered asking. “You look like shit.”
    She hadn’t said a word, had simply stared at him in that same confused way for another few seconds. Then, as though some spark inside had given her sudden momentum, she had bolted forward, pushing past him, running down the hall toward the door.
    “Jesus, Mara,” he had said, but she hadn’t heard that, any more than she’d heard the “Crazy bitch” he had muttered on his way back to work.
    He kept seeing her running down the hall, kept seeing it over and over again. He wondered if she was haunting him.
    Lacey arrived at the booth just as he returned. “Good timing,” she said with a smile. “Have you been here long?”
    “Ten minutes,” he said, slipping a hand under his suspender as he settled down in the booth. He took a long drink, using the time to shift gears from Mara to Lacey.
    Lacey was a looker. At twenty-eight she was thirteen years his junior, but the age difference didn’t bother him one bit. He was the knowing