Chapter 22

Over the next few weeks, Lizzie secured herself a line of credit at the bank and found a small furnished bachelor apartment not far from the university. I was sorry to see her leave and insisted she could stay with me as long as she liked, but she was determined to get her own place and live independently for a while.

We continued to talk on the phone every night and spent time together on the weekends, and she maintained contact with her mother through regular texts and phone calls. Mrs. Reynolds admitted that she had called J.J. and fully intended to visit him, but she was keeping it secret from her husband.

“You are not going to believe this,” Lizzie said to me when I met her for lunch at the hospital after one of my physio appointments. “Mom started seeing a therapist. She told me this morning. She’s been trying to get Dad to go for counseling, too, but of course he won’t do it.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I asked as I dug into my salad.

“It doesn’t surprise me either,” Lizzie replied, “but I wish he’d budge on something. Even just to show us that he’s not made of stone.”

“Maybe your mom will be able to talk him into it after everything that’s happened lately,” I suggested.

When the time came for me to return to work, I was beyond ready. I had to see a therapist and he asked me all sorts of questions about my thoughts and feelings since my return to work and I answered everything honestly, though I never made any reference to what happened to me during my stay in the hospital.

My wounds had healed well and I felt fit and strong, though I knew I’d be kidding myself if I thought I could chase after a suspect and leap over a chain link fence anytime soon. I didn’t do much of that in Middletown anyway.

“That’s good, kid,” Bert said when I mentioned this to him, “Now, we’ll both move at the same speed.”

I was just finishing my shift on a Thursday when a panicked text came in from Lizzie. “Nick ... You there? Please answer...”

I quickly typed a reply: I’m here. Call me.

Within ten seconds, my phone rang. I quickly swiped the screen to answer it. “What’s wrong?”

She spoke quickly in a strained voice. “Mom just called me. She said she and Dad had a huge argument and she’s locked herself in her bedroom. She wants to leave but she doesn’t know if he’ll let her. I’m worried. She was whispering the whole time.”

“Did he hit her?” I asked. “Was there any sort of physical altercation?”

“No, but she said she doesn’t feel safe. She’s afraid to come out of her room. She asked me to come and get her but you are closer. Can you go?”

I grabbed my keys off the desk and headed out. “I’m on my way right now.”

“I’ll come with you, kid,” Bert offered. “Just in case things get out of hand. I’ll give Nearville’s sheriff a call to let him know we’re stepping in his town.”

“Thank you, Bert.”

We pulled into Dr. Reynolds’s driveway, quickly got out of the car, and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, I banged five times with the edge of my fist.

“Dr. Reynolds! Are you home?”

His car was in the driveway and there were lights on inside the house.

I listened carefully for voices but heard nothing until the sound of footsteps approached. At last the door opened. Dr. Reynolds, dressed in jeans and a navy golf shirt, greeted me with a frown. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze raked disapprovingly from the brim of my police hat to the badge pinned on my shirt, then down to my gun belt and black boots.

“Your wife called Lizzie and asked to be picked up. Lizzie couldn’t leave the hospital so she asked me to come instead.”

“My wife doesn’t need a ride anywhere,” Dr. Reynolds replied.

I noticed his right hand flexing and fisting. “Where is your wife, sir?”

“She’s upstairs.”

“Could you ask her to come down please? I’d like to speak to her.”