Don't Believe a Word by Patricia MacDonald

staff is trained to seek out signs of depression or undue anxiety.’
    ‘Did they notice those signs in my mother?’ Eden asked.
    Dr Tanaka nodded. ‘Yes. And she was offered psychological counseling if she needed it. An offer she refused, repeatedly.’
    ‘Did you think she seemed depressed enough that she might be considering ending her life? And Jeremy’s?’ she asked.
    ‘I cannot tell you what she was thinking. But I can tell you this much. Your mother loved her son. Other people might have looked at Jeremy and seen only the difficulties. But your mother? No. Never. And no,’ said Dr Tanaka gravely, ‘in my opinion, she would never have harmed him. No matter what.’
    His words struck her like a blow. ‘Really? You seem very certain of that.’
    Dr Tanaka nodded. ‘I am certain of that.’
    ‘And yet, she did harm him. She killed him. How can you explain it?’ Eden asked.
    ‘Well, I cannot explain it,’ he said. ‘But I’m a scientist. It’s my experience that if I get an unexpected result, I have to go back over my data. I make sure that I have entered every detail correctly. That I have not missed something.’
    Eden frowned at him. ‘Is that what you think? That we’ve missed something?’
    ‘I can’t say.’ Dr Tanaka stood up, signaling that their meeting was at an end. Reluctantly, Eden gathered up her coat and purse and stood up as well.
    ‘Sadly, Ms Radley, this work never lets up,’ the doctor said. ‘And even though I find this situation to be baffling, I can do no more than speculate. But it does seem a question worth pursuing.’ He extended his hand to her in farewell. ‘And I wish you well with your inquiries.’
    Eden left the doctor’s office feeling ill at ease. She had come here for some answers, and all she had now was the doctor’s blessing to pursue her questions.
    She thanked the receptionist as she passed her desk, and then, as she was pushing open the office door, she turned back. She knew that the young girl she had met at her mother’s funeral had said she was a graduate student in psychology. She was close to the situation. Maybe she could offer some answers. It was worth a try. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. The receptionist looked up, smiling.
    ‘There was a girl from your office who worked closely with my mother and Jeremy. Lizzy something …’
    ‘Lizzy Jacquez,’ said the receptionist promptly.
    ‘Is she here today?’ Eden asked.
    ‘No, she’s not in today. She may be at the university.’
    ‘Do you have a number where I could reach her?’ Eden asked.
    The receptionist grimaced. ‘I’m not really allowed to give out that information,’ she said.
    ‘Never mind. Thanks.’ I’ll just ask Flynn, Eden thought, as she left the office and walked down to her car. She glanced at her phone. She just had time for a quick bite of lunch, then it would be time to go to their meeting.
    Several lengths of broken yellow police tape still fluttered from different trees at the edge of the property, and there was a ‘for rent’ sign planted in the lawn. The blue house was a small, rectangular bungalow with a garage at one end. The house was inexpensively constructed, with several narrow windows placed just below the roofline, as if to discourage anyone from looking out, or in. It looked neglected and forlorn. Piles of bulging black plastic bags were slumped in the snow at the curb, waiting to be carted off by the trash man. Nobody was going to rush to rent this humble abode, Eden thought. Still, she was surprised to see it already up for rent. It was as if Flynn couldn’t wait to get out of there. Then she chided herself for her lack of charity. She couldn’t blame Flynn for not wanting to live in this house. Not after the terrible thing that had happened there. The place probably felt haunted to him.
    She walked up to the front door and rang the bell. In a few moments, the door opened. Expecting to see Flynn, Eden was startled to see instead, Flynn’s intern, the