Fog and Fury (Haven Thrillers) by Rachel Howzell Hall

Author:Rachel Howzell Hall [Hall, Rachel Howzell]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2025-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

22.

Saturday morning brought with it thick fog. But as I drove north on Highway 1—before I could even begin to list types of gems—the fog thinned, and sunshine spread like butter across the blacktop. And then I saw the blue sky and the gray ocean, and ahead of me, there was nothing but a straight road without one curve or bend.

This was not the devil’s highway.

Why couldn’t all of this highway be straight? Why was it crooked headed back to LA?

My grip loosened, and I unclenched my sphincter and rolled down the windows. I was now driving like I wasn’t on my way to court-mandated therapy.

I’d save that list of gems for a true emergency.

India knew many of the health and mental care providers in Sableport. As a medical examiner, she’d performed autopsies on their clients and had shared a courtroom bench while waiting to testify on the stand. “Nikki is super sweet,” she’d told me the night before. “She’s also discreet. She’s lived life. You’ll like her.”

Feeling swell in a pair of white jeans and a soft-pink lace-cuffed Henley, I glided onto Brayan Street. The glass and coral-colored two-storied office building was nestled behind a phalanx of tall palm trees. Parking in the lot was free, and there was a secret side entrance that didn’t alert the world that I had come to see a shrink. I almost looked forward to talking to a stranger for forty-five minutes.

I held my breath as I walked down a pale seafoam green hallway marked every five steps with a new door to a therapist. I stopped at the end of the hallway and the door of Dr. Nicole Pugh. After several big breaths in and slow breaths out, I pushed open the door and entered a waiting room with taupe and cream light wood furniture, framed photos of the Pacific coast, and an administrative assistant who blended in with all of it. The nameplate on her desk told me that she was Gemma Strauss. She smiled her white smile and tilted her blond head and said, “Good morning.”

I told her my name and smiled right back at her before plopping into the armchair that faced the door.

Gemma pushed a button to let Dr. Pugh know that her nine o’clock had arrived.

I hadn’t checked out Dr. Nicole Pugh on the internet or PeopleFinder—that’s because I hadn’t planned to call her and schedule an appointment. Compliance, though, had caught me by surprise. India trusted her . . . Then again, India married Tyler, who’d actually cheated on his existing girlfriend when he started dating India. Sometimes, my bestie’s judgment could also be shitty.

The door opened, and a white woman with dark eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and a broad smile said, “Alyson?” She wore a white shirt with French cuffs that I immediately coveted, and her soft-pink espadrilles gave me ideas. Now that I was a private detective, I could wear espadrilles too. That made me smile.

Her corner office was just as calm as her sitting room and as comfy as those pink shoes looked.

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