Where There's Smoke

Lara indicated the hallway that led to the rear of the building. With Janellen behind her, she moved out of the clinic and into her private living quarters.

“I was having a glass of wine. Will you join me?”

They entered a cozy den where magazines were scattered over tabletops and scented candles flickered in votives. The TV was tuned to a cable station that broadcast classic movies. The one currently being shown was in black and white.

“I’m a fan of old movies,” Lara said with a self-deprecating smile. “Maybe because they usually have happy endings.” She used the remote control to turn off the set. “Chablis is all I have. Is that all right?”

“I’d rather have a soft drink.”

“Diet Coke?”

“Fine.”

While Lara was getting her drink from the kitchen, Janellen stood as though rooted to the floor in the center of the room. She had invaded the enemy camp, but it was certainly a comfortable place. Two walls of the room were lined with bookshelves. Most of the reading material was related to medicine, but there was also a collection of hardcover and paperback fiction. Over the fireplace, where once had hung the stuffed head of a ten-point buck, there was now an Andrew Wyeth print. On the sofa table stood a silver-framed photograph of a baby girl.

“My daughter.”

Janellen jumped at the sound of Lara’s voice as she reentered the room carrying an icy glass of soda. “Her name was Ashley. She was killed in Montesangre.”

?

??Yes, I know. I’m sorry. She was a beautiful child.”

Lara nodded. “I have only two photographs of her. That one and another in my office. I have those because I reclaimed them from my parents. None of our personal effects were ever recovered from Montesangre. I wish I had something of Ashley’s. Her teething ring. Her teddy bear. Her christening gown. Something.” She shook her head slightly. “Please, sit down, Miss Tackett.”

Janellen gingerly lowered herself onto the sofa. Lara sat in the easy chair she’d obviously been occupying when her doorbell rang. There was a crocheted afghan bunched up on the hassock in front of the chair and a glass of white wine stood on the end table.

“Is your mother in the hospital?”

Janellen shook her head.

“No?” That was obviously not the answer she had expected. “I thought for certain her condition would require at least one night in the hospital.”

“She should be hospitalized.” Janellen felt herself on the verge of tears. She picked at the cocktail napkin wrapped around the glass of soda. “I came because… because I wanted to hear what you had to say. You were there during my mother’s seizure. I’d like to know your professional opinion of it.”

“Your mother certainly didn’t.”

“I’m sorry about the way she behaved toward you, Dr. Mallory,” Janellen said earnestly. “And if you ask me to leave, I’ll understand.”

“Why would I do that? I don’t hold you responsible for what your mother said and did.”

“Then please give me your opinion of her illness.”

“It’s unethical for me to second-guess another doctor’s diagnosis when I haven’t even examined the patient.”

“Please. I need to talk to somebody about this, and there’s no one.”

“What about your brother?”

“He’s upset.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, but when Key gets upset or worried, he…” She lowered her eyes to the glass in her hand. “Let’s just say he’s currently unavailable. Please, Dr. Mallory, give me your opinion.”

“Based strictly on what I saw?”

Janellen nodded.