Read Online Brass Ring by Diane Chamberlain - Free Book Online

one of her professors had written, “Miss Harte is not able to accept that, in their day-to-day interactions, people do not always keep one another’s best interests in mind. This attitude may prevent her from offering appropriate help to her clients.” Or, as one of her fellow students put it, more succinctly and to her face, “You’re a terrific person, Claire, but a lousy social worker.” Claire had shrugged off the comments the way she shrugged off anything she didn’t want to hear.
    In graduate school, she majored in rehabilitation therapy, where her positive attitude toward life was better appreciated, while Jon worked on a double master’s in social work and health administration. It was the mention of Jon’s name that finally got her the appointment with Ginger Stern.
    “Jon Harte-Mathias?” Ginger had exclaimed. Apparently the Harte-Mathias name hadn’t registered when she’d heard it attached to Claire. “From the foundation?”
    As it turned out, Ginger’s brother had gone through a rehab program funded by the foundation. She knew the story of the foundation’s birth: A young man working in a rehab center inherited millions of dollars on his twenty-fifth birthday—money that had been left in trust for him when his parents were killed in a plane crash. He spent little of the money on himself and his wife and baby, instead pouring the millions into the development of the Harte-Mathias Foundation. There were no inaccuracies in Ginger’s recitation of the story, but in the telling, she made Jon sound like some sort of folk hero. It didn’t matter. Here she was, in the parking lot of Avery Hospital, about to meet with the person who probably knew Margot St. Pierre as well as anyone could.
    Ginger was waiting for her inside the hospital. She was an energetic blonde and much younger than Claire had expected—probably younger than Margot had been by several years. Despite her youth, though, she had an air of self-confidence. Claire followed her into a small, windowless office. Ginger sat down behind a stubby desk, and Claire took the only other chair in the room—a small wooden rocker that looked as though it had been discovered in a garage sale.
    Claire rested her hands on her knees. “Now that I’m here, I’m really not certain what I’m looking for,” she said, an apology in her voice. “I just can’t seem to stop thinking about her.”
    “That’s understandable,” Ginger said with a smile. “I’d heard you went out on the bridge with her. I couldn’t believe anyone would do that.”
    “It was one of those things you do without thinking.”
    Ginger looked at her with curiosity. “You know that what happened is not your fault, don’t you?”
    Claire sighed. “On some level, I know that’s true. I just wish I could have gotten her to wait a few more seconds. The police were so close.”
    “You tried. That’s more than ninety-nine percent of the population would have done. And Margot”—she shook her head—”Margot had a mind of her own.” Ginger let out a sigh and moved to the edge of her seat as if she were about to stand up. “Would you like to see her room?” she asked.
    Claire nodded. She left her coat on the rocker and followed Ginger out of the office. They walked down a long, dim hallway, the walls painted a pale, dingy green. She remembered something she’d learned in college, something about psychiatric institutions using color to alter the moods of the patients. She wondered what this green was supposed to do. Certainly not lift anyone out of depression. Claire felt herself sinking lower with each step.
    “Margot had been ill for a very long time,” Ginger said as they walked. “Ever since losing her brother on the bridge. Her mother cared for her after that, but when her mother died, her father had her committed. He simply couldn’t handle her. He visited her once in a while, but he died a year ago.” She opened one of the doors that lined the hallway and