Page 111 of High Society

Shortly after six, Holly gives up on trying to finish her paperwork and heads down to the garage. As usual, at this time of the evening, there are only a few cars still parked there since the doors to the building automatically lock at six p.m.

Aside from the hum of an overhead fan, the garage is otherwise quiet, but Holly feels oddly apprehensive, as if exposed. She reaches into her bag for her keys as she hurries toward her car, parked nose-out in her corner stall beside the pillar.

As she nears the driver’s door, Holly catches movement out of the corner of her eye. She jerks her head up to see a tall figure slide out from behind the pillar on the passenger side of the car.

Her breath catches, and she involuntary backpedals a step or two.

Even before she makes out the interloper’s face, Holly recognizes him by his slouched stance and the belly that presses against his black hoodie.

Graham steps out of the shadow, keeping his hands tucked in his pockets. “Evening, Holly.” His oily voice oozes insincere friendliness.

Her whole body tenses. “What are you doing here, Graham?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t seen you at Dad’s lately.”

Her breathing quickens, but she manages to keep her voice under control. “You think it’s all right to ambush me in a dark garage?”

“Ambush?” He chuckles. “I just want to talk.”

She eases her hand into her purse, until her fingers wrap around her canister of pepper spray. “You realize how inappropriate this is?”

“What is appropriate these days, Holly?” he asks. “It’s kind of hard to judge.”

Holly steps up to the driver’s door. “I’m leaving.”

“You might want to hear me out.”

She grabs the handle. “Not here I don’t.”

“Two dead, and one ‘missing.’ But come on? We both know what that really means.”

Holly’s hand freezes on the handle.

“That’s right. I know all about Elaine, JJ, and now Liisa. Wow. That’s some track record for a therapist.” He whistles. “I wonder what the media who gushed over your miraculous treatment of Simon Lowry would make of all this death and tragedy in your practice. Especially that one local reporter. Katy Armstrong, isn’t it? I hear she’s skeptical about your methods. Wonder why?”

“How did you…?”

“Or what the cops would think of all those coincidental deaths.”

“Did your dad—”

“Dad didn’t tell me shit!” Graham yanks a hand from his pocket, and Holly instinctively recoils. But it’s only a phone. “I’ve been listening.”

“Listening?”

He nods toward the car. “Your calls.”

“You bugged my phone?”

“It’s a lot easier to bug a car.”

The glasses case! “You broke into my car!”

He laughs again. “Is it a break-in if you already have the key?”

“You’re deeply damaged, Graham.”

“You want to talk damage?” He snorts. “Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done to my life?”