An Appointment With Murder Read Online Free

to stop to inquire if Detective Flynn had any leads on Beth’s killer. I made a u-turn and headed for the police station.
    A small, New England town of fewer than twenty thousand souls, Bridgeport did not see a lot of crime. In fact, I knew people who never locked their cars. A murder in a town like this couldn’t help but take center stage. It was only minutes before I was pulling into a parking space directly in front of the police station. It had begun to drizzle as I made my way through the glass double doors into the building. Detective Flynn must have seen me walking towards his desk; as I approached, he cleared his throat and tugged on the sleeve of his shirt.
    “Hello, detective. I was wondering how the investigation is going.”
    He squinted briefly, as if he didn’t recognize me, then his eyebrows rose and he nodded, smiled, and motioned me to a chair.
    “We’ve taken statements from a few of Beth’s friends and family members,” he began, eschewing amenities. “The investigators have been to her house and searched her room. And we’re still processing the crime scene at the lab.” He made little eye contact as he spoke.
    “What about the calls made on Beth’s cell phone?”
    “Well, it turns out Beth must have had a pre-paid cell phone, so we weren’t able to access any phone records.” He cleared his throat. “We also have to accept the fact that this may have been a random act of violence, and that Beth didn’t know her killer.” His tone was neutral. “We’re still going through the evidence from the crime scene. There’s lots of different fingerprints to process. It could take some time.”
    “Did you talk to her fiancé? He’s not a suspect, is he?”
    “Jacob has an alibi and it’s been confirmed. So, for the time being, he’s not a person of interest.”
    “Does he have any idea who could have done this?”
    “No. But something might occur to him after the shock wears off. Best thing for you at this point is to hang tight and let us do our job. If something comes to light, you’ll be the first to know.” With that, he inclined his head slightly, a nod I took to mean understand?, and escorted me politely out of his office.
    Getting back into my car, I realized I had just enough time to make my appointment. I drove with my head in a fog, trying to remember the last time I had seen “the good doctor,” as I was inclined to refer to Dr. Webb. It had been a few months at least. Not that I was keeping track. I parked behind, and made my way inside, the two-story brick building.
    “Sarah, great to see you.” The good doctor was always well dressed and groomed to perfection. He put a hand on my shoulder, led me into his private therapy room, and closed the heavy, oak door. “It’s been what, a few months, since I’ve seen you?”
    I nodded, taking my usual position on the overstuffed couch. Settling into the chair behind his desk, he studied me intently, as if intuiting that something was very wrong. It was only then that I remembered why I had made the appointment.
    “I need some meds,” I blurted out.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I need medication. I’ve been having a lot of anxiety, and I need something to take the edge off.” I looked off to my right at a ghastly abstract painting that was not the least bit calming. I considered telling him that he should hire a new interior decorator, but thought better of it.
    “This is quite unusual, Sarah. You’ve never asked for medication before. Something must really be bothering you. Please, tell me what’s on your mind.” His carefully paced delivery was trying my patience.
    “Don’t really feel like talking about it right now.” I fidgeted with a pillow.
    “So you want me to prescribe meds for you without knowing what the underlying issue is?”
    “Yep,” I said, averting his raised eyebrow and patronizing tone. After a few seconds, I turned back to face him.
    He smiled, shook his head, and got up from his chair. He