The Missing Year by Belinda Frisch Page A

ties Blake’s death, his secure medical file, and Lila’s suicide attempt to Ruth?”
    “Good luck solving the riddle, Doc, but Ruth Wheeler, in my experience, is off-limits.”
    “I think it’s time to change that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
     
    Ross slipped his laptop into his bag and scribbled out a note: “Be back in the morning,” for when Guy inevitably came looking. He hurried down the hall and had thought he made a clean getaway when he reached the front door.
    “Dr. Reeves,” Chelsea called after him. “Dr. Reeves, wait. I have a message for you.”
    Ross let his hand off the door handle and returned to the reception desk. “What is it?” he said, the tile floor radiating ice cold through his bare feet.
    “A woman by the name Camille McKenzie called while you were out. She left a number and says it’s important you call her back.”
    Ross set his shoes on the counter, tucked the message into the breast pocket of his scrub shirt, and picked them back up. “Anything else?” He alternated his gaze between the stairs and Guy’s office door.
    “No. That’s it.”
    “If Dr. Oliver asks, tell him I had to go back to the motel to change.”
    Ross hurried to the car and drove as fast as he could, barefoot, to the motel.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Ross opened the door and sneezed when the pine air freshener went off. Housekeeping must have put it back when they cleaned his room, which, from the conflicting bleach and pine smells, couldn’t have been long ago. The bed had been made, towels folded, and a stack of “while you were out” papers sat piled next to his laptop. Four messages from Camille had him wondering what was so important.
    He would call her back, but first things first.
    Ross set his laptop on the desk and powered it on. He entered a search string and sighed with relief when only one Ruth Wheeler showed up in the town of Edinburgh. He dialed the number, holding the cordless phone between his ear and shoulder as he hung his soaking wet laundry over the shower curtain rod. The clothes smelled of dirt and lake water. He rinsed off his hands, about to hang up when the machine finally answered. He waited for the beep before speaking.
    “This message is for Ruth Wheeler. My name is Dr. Ross Reeves from the Lakeside Psychiatric Center—”
    “Hello?” A stern female voice interrupted him.
    “Ms. Wheeler?”
    “Mrs. Wheeler,” the woman corrected.
    Ross had in his mind that Ruth Wheeler would be soft-spoken, matronly and perhaps even sad, but the woman on the other end of the line, in two short sentences, sounded callous and overwhelmingly annoyed. “Mrs. Wheeler, my name is Dr. Ross Reeves—”
    “From Lakeside, you said.”
    “Yes, well, I’m working with your daughter-in-law, Lila, and I wonder if I could talk to you about what happened with your son, Blake.”
    “I’m aware of who Blake is, Dr. Reeves. What I’m not aware of is what bearing he has on Lila at this point and why you’re wasting my time.”
    “Please, I think Lila’s having such a difficult time because of something that may or may not have happened before—”
    “My son’s murder?”
    “I’m sorry for your loss Mrs. Wheeler, but I need information if I’m going to help Lila.”
    “Dr. Reeves, does Dr. Oliver know you’re making this call?”
    Ross took a deep breath. “Well, no.”
    “Then you may want to speak to him before I do. I’m tired of every attempt at getting through to Lila ending in a call to me, so I’ll do you a courtesy and make things easier on you. I’m not concerned with Lila’s difficult time , nor am I interested in conjecturing what effect losing Blake has had on her.” A small dog barked in the background. “Come here, Princess.” Ruth patted her hand against something soft, the sound echoing. “What I am interested in is Lila recovering enough to explain the decision she made about my son.”
    “Decision?”
    “Lila shut me out of Blake’s life. She had my only child removed