Read Online Pink Balloons and Other Deadly Things (Mystery Series - Book One) by Nancy Tesler - Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy Tesler
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“What happened this time?”
“Same old stuff.” She began twirling the spiral on my desk with her free hand. “He was screaming at me, calling me names. He’d like to keep me locked up in a cage.”
Much of the work Joe Golden and I had been doing with Vickie had to do with getting her to deal with her feelings of anger toward her father.
“Did you do what we talked about?”
“You mean about just walking away?”
“And the visualization exercise.”
She giggled. “Yeah. You should’ve seen the expression on his face when I said, ’I’m leaving. I don’t allow anyone to abuse me anymore.’ And then I walked out of the house and got in my car and went over and over the exercise in my head.”
“Good for you.” I didn’t like Vickie’s father. I’d met him a couple of times when he’d brought her to the office before she had her car. He’s a domineering man who thinks money can buy him anything, including his daughter’s love and respect. I suspected Vickie’s promiscuity was related to her endless search for a father substitute. “I was worried you might’ve been feeling depressed over—-you know, the breakup.”
“Oh, no. I fixed that too. We’re getting back together.”
I was tempted to go on about the folly of staying in a bad relationship but caught myself. Instead, once she was completely relaxed and in a meditative state, I gave her positive affirmations about taking charge of her life and making things happen instead of passively letting them happen to her.
I should follow my own advice, I thought wryly. We mental health professionals are so good at teaching other people how to handle their problems; not always roaring successes in dealing with our own.
By the end of the hour, Vickie’s muscles registered 0.4 and 0.6 respectively, indicating a completely relaxed physical state, but her excitement at the prospect of being back with her lover was clearly keeping her emotions at a high pitch. I hadn’t been at all successful at lowering her EDR or in raising her peripheral temperature to a balanced ninety-two degrees. Then I remembered what it felt like—-being young and in love, and despite my certainty that this particular relationship was a dead end for Vickie, I couldn’t help feeling just a tiny pang of envy.
THE LAST PERSON in the world I wanted to see was waiting outside my office building when I came out after work.
I’d been looking forward to going directly home and soaking in a bathtub filled with stress-reducing crystals, when I saw Brodsky's lanky frame holding up a telephone pole. I kept my eyes lowered, pretending to search through my bag for my keys. Wishing he would vanish, I hurried toward the lot where I’d parked Meg's car. He caught up with me as I got to the gas station on the corner.
“Sorry about this,” he murmured, falling into step beside me.
“About what, Detective? I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Just a few more questions. Thought you’d prefer not to come down to the precinct.”
I didn’t miss the implication. My knees went weak, and I stumbled.
He caught my arm and steadied me. “Let’s take a walk.”
I shook free, shrugged my assent, not slackening my pace. The heat wave had broken, and the temperature had returned to normal, somewhere in the seventies. I headed for the pier and breathed in the clear crisp air.
He waited until I stopped at the water’s edge. “How long would you estimate you spent watching Ms. Vogel?”
I hesitated. “Maybe—-maybe twenty minutes to half an hour.”
“Can you pinpoint the exact time?”
“Somewhere between three-thirty and four, I should think. Is that important?”
“Could be. If you can prove it. Depends on when the M.E. fixes the time of death.”
“Sue Tompkins saw me.”
“She doesn’t remember exactly what time she walked the dog. Did anyone else call Ms. Vogel beside your husband while you were there?”
“No.”
“Their conversation was friendly?”
I gazed
“Same old stuff.” She began twirling the spiral on my desk with her free hand. “He was screaming at me, calling me names. He’d like to keep me locked up in a cage.”
Much of the work Joe Golden and I had been doing with Vickie had to do with getting her to deal with her feelings of anger toward her father.
“Did you do what we talked about?”
“You mean about just walking away?”
“And the visualization exercise.”
She giggled. “Yeah. You should’ve seen the expression on his face when I said, ’I’m leaving. I don’t allow anyone to abuse me anymore.’ And then I walked out of the house and got in my car and went over and over the exercise in my head.”
“Good for you.” I didn’t like Vickie’s father. I’d met him a couple of times when he’d brought her to the office before she had her car. He’s a domineering man who thinks money can buy him anything, including his daughter’s love and respect. I suspected Vickie’s promiscuity was related to her endless search for a father substitute. “I was worried you might’ve been feeling depressed over—-you know, the breakup.”
“Oh, no. I fixed that too. We’re getting back together.”
I was tempted to go on about the folly of staying in a bad relationship but caught myself. Instead, once she was completely relaxed and in a meditative state, I gave her positive affirmations about taking charge of her life and making things happen instead of passively letting them happen to her.
I should follow my own advice, I thought wryly. We mental health professionals are so good at teaching other people how to handle their problems; not always roaring successes in dealing with our own.
By the end of the hour, Vickie’s muscles registered 0.4 and 0.6 respectively, indicating a completely relaxed physical state, but her excitement at the prospect of being back with her lover was clearly keeping her emotions at a high pitch. I hadn’t been at all successful at lowering her EDR or in raising her peripheral temperature to a balanced ninety-two degrees. Then I remembered what it felt like—-being young and in love, and despite my certainty that this particular relationship was a dead end for Vickie, I couldn’t help feeling just a tiny pang of envy.
THE LAST PERSON in the world I wanted to see was waiting outside my office building when I came out after work.
I’d been looking forward to going directly home and soaking in a bathtub filled with stress-reducing crystals, when I saw Brodsky's lanky frame holding up a telephone pole. I kept my eyes lowered, pretending to search through my bag for my keys. Wishing he would vanish, I hurried toward the lot where I’d parked Meg's car. He caught up with me as I got to the gas station on the corner.
“Sorry about this,” he murmured, falling into step beside me.
“About what, Detective? I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Just a few more questions. Thought you’d prefer not to come down to the precinct.”
I didn’t miss the implication. My knees went weak, and I stumbled.
He caught my arm and steadied me. “Let’s take a walk.”
I shook free, shrugged my assent, not slackening my pace. The heat wave had broken, and the temperature had returned to normal, somewhere in the seventies. I headed for the pier and breathed in the clear crisp air.
He waited until I stopped at the water’s edge. “How long would you estimate you spent watching Ms. Vogel?”
I hesitated. “Maybe—-maybe twenty minutes to half an hour.”
“Can you pinpoint the exact time?”
“Somewhere between three-thirty and four, I should think. Is that important?”
“Could be. If you can prove it. Depends on when the M.E. fixes the time of death.”
“Sue Tompkins saw me.”
“She doesn’t remember exactly what time she walked the dog. Did anyone else call Ms. Vogel beside your husband while you were there?”
“No.”
“Their conversation was friendly?”
I gazed
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