The Last Clinic by Gary Gusick

Author:Gary Gusick
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Benoit Press
Published: 2012-03-31T15:00:00+00:00

17

There’s More Where This Came From.

She was having the dream with the boy again. She couldn’t see him, but knew he was younger this time, three or four years old. They were in yet another big house—an antebellum mansion this time, but the walls were whitewashed and sunlight was streaming in the windows. Maybe it wasn’t an antebellum mansion after all. Maybe it was a Mediterranean villa.

As usual, she could hear the boy laughing, peals of laughter, as though someone was tickling him. She followed the sound of his voice into an adjoining room. He wasn’t there, but someone else was. Dr. Nicoletti. He was in a white suit with white shirt, but no tie. He was drinking an espresso.

“I’ve seen you in a Fellini movie,” she said. “Did I mention I get Netflix?”

“I’ll help you,” he said. “With the boy, that is.”

“You were shorter in the movie. Or maybe it was just the camera angles.”

“You understand, we may not find him,” he said. “Things don’t always turn out the way we want.”

Then came the damn phone again.

She ignored the first ring and heard herself in the dream say, “But what about all the assholes in the world?”

“You can always send them to an Elvis concert,” he said and smiled at her like it was joke between them that they’d shared many times before but was still funny.

“Lulu wants to know if you’ve ever sheared sheep?” She made him set the espresso down. Then she took his hand to her face, and he caressed her cheek.

A second ring. “Shit,” she said, waking up. She picked up her cell and heard someone on the other end—a man—clear his throat.

It’s him, she thought. The sheep-shearing movie star.

“Mrs., ah, Detective Cavannah?”

It wasn’t him. This guy didn’t sound Italian. He sounded Southern, a twangy Mississippi accent, a little like Shelby’s. She felt disappointed and relieved at the same time. Then the weirdness of the situation hit her. Why would Dr. Nicoletti be calling?

“This is John Ravenswood.”

She searched her memory, but couldn’t place the name.

“How are you today?” he said.

He was friendly sounding, this guy, making her think it might be a run-up to a sales pitch. The telemarketers, they always began by asking you how you are today. Then they’d launch into their pitch. It always involved getting something free for two months if you’ll just give them a credit card number and agree to pay for shipping and handling. But the shipping and handling costs were more than the item itself.

“What is it you want?”

“I beg your pardon Detective. I didn’t mean to call at the wrong time. I’m the postmaster over at the Fondren Post Office. We met the other day. You gave me your card. You said how you were Hugh’s wife and all. Hugh the Glue.”

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and wondered if Kendall had made coffee. Then, closing her eyes, she saw Dr. Nicoletti, the way he handled the espresso cup, holding it so delicately with those long fingers.

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