“You and Stevie . . . stayed here?”
“Well, not right here in the store. At the Dollhouse Inn. Down the road. It’s sort of like a motel, but not like any ordinary one. It’s totally fantastic. The rooms have themes.” Her eyes lit up on that word.
“When was this?”
“When he came to see the creepy hypnotist about breaking his smoking habit.”
“Did you meet the hypnotist?”
“No, that was Stevie’s thing. I stayed at the inn.”
“You said the hypnotist was creepy. How did you know that?”
“That’s what Stevie said—that he was a really creepy guy.”
“Did he say anything else about him?”
She frowned, as if from the strain of trying to remember. “That he was disgusting.”
“Did he say what he meant by that?”
She shook her head. “No, he just said it. Creepy and disgusting.”
“Did he say anything to you about having nightmares?”
“Yeah, but that was later. Something about a giant wolf sticking a hot knife in him. Stuff like that. A wolf with hot red eyes, on top of him.” A visible shiver ran through her body. “God, how gross is that!”
“Did he tell you he had the dream more than once?”
“A lot. I think like every night after he saw the hypnotist. He said it was disgusting.”
“The dream was disgusting, like the hypnotist was disgusting?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Did Stevie use that word a lot?”
The question seemed to make her uncomfortable. “Not really a lot. Just sometimes.”
“Can you remember anything about those other times when he used it?”
“No.”
The answer came out too quickly to suit Gurney. But he sensed that pursuing the issue would be a mistake. He’d have to find a way to revisit it later.
For the moment, he wanted to lower the level of tension, not raise it. And that meant moving slowly around obstructions rather than trying to break through them. A meandering style of interviewing felt unnatural to his linear mind, but sometimes it was the best way forward.
“How much of a smoking problem did Stevie have?”
“What do you mean?”
“Had he tried to stop before?”
“I guess.” She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure.”
“Did he talk much about wanting to stop?”
“We never talked about smoking.”
Gurney nodded, smiled. “I guess most people don’t.”
“No. I mean, why would they? It’s a stupid thing to talk about.”
“After his hypnosis session with Dr. Hammond, was Stevie able to stop smoking?”
“No.”
“Was he upset by that?”
“I guess. Maybe. I’m not sure. Maybe he didn’t really want to stop. Mainly he talked about the horrible dream and how disgusting Hammond was.”
“Did he seem angry that the trip had been a waste of time and money?”
“A waste?”
“Well, I’m just wondering, if seeing Hammond didn’t help him stop smoking . . . did that make him angry?”
She looked perplexed, as though this were a subject she’d been revisiting in her own mind. “He said he was angry, when I asked him about it.”
“But . . .?”
“But when Stevie gets really angry . . . I guess I should say when Stevie got really angry . . . his eyes would change, like . . . I don’t know how to describe it, but . . . but even big guys would back away from him.”
“And he didn’t look angry that way when you asked about the time and money?”
“No.” She fell silent, looking sad and uneasy.
Gurney was pondering the best way to ask his next question when he heard a swish of fabric and out of the corner of his eye caught sight of the formidable Tabitha ascending the staircase with a remarkable lightness of foot.
She came to the table beaming, placing between them a black lacquer tray with a liter of designer water, a fancy bowl of ice cubes, and two glasses. She gave Gurney a coyly apologetic wink. “I brought an extra glass, just in case you change your mind.”
“Thank you.”
She paused a second or two, then whirled away and down the stairs with a panache that Gurney assumed was her default style.
He noted Angela watching Tabitha’s departure with a mixture of anxiety and awe. He waited until she was well out of sight before commenting. “Interesting woman.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told her we might be interested in buying a doll.”
“Why did you tell her that?”
“Well, I couldn’t tell the truth, right? I couldn’t say that I was meeting someone here to talk about my boyfriend’s horrible death.”
“Who did you say you were meeting?”
“You.”
“Right. But who did you say I was?”
“Oh. I just said your name and that you were a friend—not that you were a detective or anything like that. I hope it’s okay that I said you were a friend?”
“Of course. That was a good idea.” He paused. “Was there a special reason you wanted to meet here?”
“I love it here.”
He glanced around, trying to put himself in the mind of someone who’d feel at home in such an exotic, fantasy-based environment. “You love it because of all the dolls?”
“Of course. But mainly because this is where Stevie got me my all-time-favorite Barbie.”
“Was it a special occasion?”
“No. He just did it. Which made it even more special, you know what I mean?”
“It sounds like he wanted to make you happy.”
Her eyes started to well up.
He continued, “So this is a very special place for you. I can understand that.”
“And I couldn’t stay at my brother’s. If Detective Hardwick found me there, then other people could. So my brother lent me some money and a car from one of his used car lots, and I came up here last night. My brother said if I was really afraid of being found, I should pay cash, because cops and other people can track you down through your credit card. Is that true, or is that just on TV?”
“It’s true.”
“Jeez, it’s like someone’s always watching you. But that’s what I did—paid cash like my brother said. I’m staying in the same room that Stevie and I stayed in.”
“Do you plan to stay here for a while?”
“Unless you think that’s a bad idea?”
He couldn’t think of a better one. And he was doubly glad he’d taken the precaution of leaving his geo-tracked car at the hotel. He reassured her that it might be the best place for her under the circumstances.
“When I’m here, I feel like Stevie is with me.” She dabbed at her eyes, making a sad mess of her mascara.
Gurney moved on to a question that had been troubling him from the beginning. “I’ve been wondering, Angela, did it seem odd to you that Stevie was willing to travel all the way to Wolf Lake Lodge, just to see a hypnotist?”
She sniffled. “Kind of.”
“There must be places closer to Floral Park that offer hypnosis sessions.”
“I guess.”
“Did you ever ask him what he thought was so special about Dr. Hammond?”
She hesitated. “I think maybe he was recommended.”
“By who?”
Angela’s eyes widened. She seemed to be searching for a way out of a room she’d entered by mistake. “I don’t know.”
Gurney proceeded gently. He softened his voice. “It’s a scary situation for you, isn’t it?”
She nodded silently, biting her lip.
“I’m sure Stevie wanted to keep you out of danger.”
She continued nodding.