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something bad to her.”
    Dr. Leahy uncrossed her legs. “Do you need a few minutes now?”
    “Yes, please.”
    Dr. Leahy stood. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Do you want anything?” Her jaw dropped, then settled into rhythmic chewing movements.
    “Some water, thank you.”
    After a few minutes of counting ceiling tiles, Agnes’s mind went blank.
    Dr. Leahy walked in, twisting the top from a water bottle with a crackle. She handed the bottle to Agnes, sat down, and crossed her legs. Her jaw relaxed. “Agnes, what do you do at the animal shelter?”
    “I coordinate adoptions. And help take care of the animals.”
    “Do you work with men?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you get along with them?”
    “They’re nice to me.”
    “You never had a problem with any of them?”
    Agnes bobbed her head. “There was one man who used to tease me.”
    “How did you deal with it?”
    Hurt him.
    Agnes looked up at Dr. Leahy and paused before dropping her eyes to the table again. She really couldn’t hear it. “I tried to stay away from him.”
    “Did you report him?”
    “No!”
    Dr. Leahy flinched at the increase in volume. She wrote a quick note. The blunt tip of the pencil squeaked across the paper.
    Agnes folded her hands together, the tissue between them. “What good would that do?”
    “What happened to him?”
    “He was fired. He didn’t do his job very well.”
    “Did you have anything to do with his firing?”
    “No.” Barely audible.
    Dr. Leahy turned a page of her tablet and wrote a few more squeaky words.
    “I’d like to ask a hypothetical question now. What are your views on the use of animals in medical research?”
    “It’s necessary. I just wish there was another way.”
    “Would you sacrifice all of the animals in the shelter for research if it could bring back Ella’s memory?”
    Agnes looked at Dr. Leahy’s lap. The pencil was silent. So was the voice. But it was an easy question. “Yes, but only if it would help all of the people who suffer from Alzheimer’s. I wouldn’t do it if it was only for Ella. That’d be selfish.”
    The pencil squeaked.
    “I have one more thing I want to ask, then I’ll let you go. I know you’re getting tired. Why do you dress like that?”
    “Like what?”
    “Your clothes don’t fit very well. They’re too big.”
    “They’ll fit. Cotton shrinks.”
    How do you feel about that?

CHAPTER 6
    J ASON P OWERS TIPTOED INTO THE OUTER OFFICE OF Dr. April Leahy, MD, Psychiatrist, trying to silence the squeak of his shoes on the hardwood planks. Since the office was on the second floor, he expected the floor to creak or groan with each footstep. But it was solid, a credit to early-twentieth-century craftsmanship. Unlikely to give up any of its secrets.
    The building was close to downtown Santa Rosa—far from the myriad of generic medical suites that had sprung up like suburbs around each of the area hospitals, but within a heartache-and-a-half of Eugenia’s former apartment. With downtown parking so tight, he had found a spot on this very street on more than one occasion and jogged the two blocks to be with her.
    He inched over to a long, brown leather couch and sat. It had the look and feel of Ethan Allen. Abstract artwork bore original signatures, and three of the four pieces could easily have doubled as Rorschach inkblot tests.
    He couldn’t appreciate the comfortable feel of the couch. The space was too much like the living rooms of yuppie condos. They were the perfect birth control—no mop-and-bucket sex in there. To yuppies, foreplay probably consisted of spreading a paint drop cloth on the guest bed duvet. He massaged the soft leather and inhaled its musky scent. Strictly feet-on-the-floor furniture. Not like at Eugenia’s—
    A loud click shot through his daydream. At the far end of the room, a crystal doorknob turned. The door flew open and a thirtyish woman glided into the room. She wore creased slacks and a matching charcoal vest over a red,