She Wore Mourning by P.D. Workman (best desktop ebook reader .txt) 📕

“Oh, do you?”

“He came to Vermont because of the billboard signs law. He had a compulsion to count billboards, and it was disrupting his life, so he moved to Vermont where there were no billboards to count.”

Snowdon cocked his head to the side a little, considering this. Then he sat down at his desk.

“That’s what Spencer told you?” he asked.

Zachary nodded. “And I know that he got rid of Isabella’s mismatched stuff so that he wouldn’t have to look at it, even though she would only eat from one plate. He didn’t say that he didn’t know it was the only plate she would eat from, but I think that’s what he wanted me to believe.”

“You don’t sound like you believe it,” Snowdon suggested.

“No. I don’t think he could have helped noticing that his wife only ever ate off one plate. One that was chipped and didn’t match anything. It would have been like a big, red, flashing light for him, wouldn’t it? Of course he knew it was the only plate she would use.”

Snowdon shrugged, not sharing his opinion or his knowledge one way or the other.

“I also think…” Zachary ventured into guesswork, “that he got rid of her cat because he didn’t want it shedding and tracking dirt around the house.”

“Really?” Snowdon seemed surprised at this revelation. “Did he tell you that?”

“No. I have a suspicion that if we called their friends, the Raymonds, we would find out that he gave them the cat. I assume they swore never to tell Isabella about it. They ended up moving out of town; maybe that’s why he picked them. The cat was missing for eight years. Then when they moved back into town, the cat suddenly showed up again. I don’t think that was a coincidence.”

Snowdon nodded, sucking in his cheeks. He didn’t give his opinion one way or the other. Zachary took a deep breath.

“So we come to Declan,” Zachary said. “A kid takes a lot more time and energy to keep up with than a cat.”

“That’s true,” Snowdon agreed. “But parents develop a stronger bond. A different kind of bond, with their children. As much as the cat ladies would like us to think it, loving a cat isn’t the same as loving your offspring.”

“And you can’t just give a child to your friends and ask them to keep quiet about it.”

“No,” Snowdon offered a little smile at this. “I would agree with that.”

Zachary couldn’t sit still in his chair any longer. He got up and started to pace back and forth across the room. A beep sounded from Snowdon’s desk phone. He hit a button in reply. ‘I know I’m running late. I should only be a few more minutes.’

He raised his eyes to Zachary. “We do need to move things along, here.”

Zachary paced back across the office. “What would make someone with issues like Spencer, with the same kind of coping mechanisms as him, decide that murdering his child was the only thing to do? That’s the part I don’t understand. If he needed more help, he could have asked for more help. A housekeeper. For his wife to do more. A nanny. They had the money.”

“You’ve taken quite a leap. I’m not aware of any evidence that Spencer did anything to hurt Declan. The child wandered out of his yard and drowned. It’s tragic, but there’s no reason to suspect foul play. Is there?”

“He had cough medicine in his bloodstream. His mother refused to give him cough medicine. Or to let anyone else give it to him. He didn’t take it himself. He didn’t find it when he wandered from the yard. He wasn’t given it by a stranger who took him from his yard. The only explanation I can find is that Spencer gave it to him. Spencer decided to do what he always did. Get rid of a compulsion by getting rid of the trigger.”

Snowdon tilted his chair back. He rubbed his chin, thinking about it. He didn’t look at Zachary as he let out a long breath of air.

“There are many different kinds of obsessions and compulsions. Some people have hand-washing compulsions. Or an obsession with everything being straight and square. Or in groups of four. For other people, it’s collecting things. Hoarding china figurines, or cats, or pop can tabs. That’s another kind of obsession.”

“Right,” Zachary agreed. “Spencer and Isabella were both OCD, but they had different kinds of obsessions. Spencer was neat and tidy, and Isabella was a collector. It was hard for them to live together, butting up against each other’s obsessions.”

“But there are also obsessions that are rarely discussed. It’s one thing to go to your doctor or support group and say that you washed your hands forty times yesterday, that you’re stuck in a rut, and that you need some kind of intervention. Our society is pretty understanding about that kind of compulsion. They may even see it as a virtue. I’ve heard people say that they wish they were OCD so that their houses would be clean.”

“Uh-huh…?”

“No one ever wants to be the crazy cat lady. We still recognize and talk about hoarding. It’s still something that you can get help for if you decide it’s time.”

“Both Spencer and Isabella were going to a support group for a while. Spencer was coming to therapy with you.”

“But there is a whole world of obsessions that our society is not as understanding or accepting of.”

Zachary cast his mind over what he had learned in the case, and what he had observed about Spencer, trying to find something that didn’t fit. Zachary’s own compulsions were less acceptable. People didn’t think of stalking when they thought of OCD. They didn’t think about his constant agonies over relationships as part of a mental illness. That didn’t seem to fit into the puzzle. Not Spencer’s puzzle.

Dr. Snowdon got up and went over to his bookshelves. He pulled a thick volume down and returned to his