Still Lake - Anne Stuart [88]
“No!” Grace shrieked. “You can’t let him in the house, Sophie. You can’t trust him. Where’s Marty? He’ll kill her too, I know he will. And me. He’ll have to silence me before I tell everyone the truth. Of course, no one will believe me. Even my own daughter thinks I’m a crazy old loon.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Mama,” Sophie said. “I just think you’re a little upset, and you need to calm down. No one wants to kill me, no one wants to kill anyone.”
“I can prove it to you,” Grace said, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I have notes, pages and pages of notes, that will prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’ve got them hidden in my room. Let me just get them for you….”
“Prove what?” Doc asked, his voice calm and soothing as he stood behind the screen door on the porch. Sophie hadn’t even heard the car return, she’d been so caught up in worrying about Grace’s delusional state. He would have barely had time to drop Rima off before coming back here. Thank God, Sophie thought.
“Grace is worried that—” she began, but Grace interrupted her before she could finish the sentence.
“I was afraid that the shepherd’s pie had poison in it,” Grace said. “I think there are spirits in this place, wanting to do us harm. Make the spirits go away, Doc. They frighten me.” Grace’s brief spell of paranoid lucidity had vanished, and she looked like a terrified, pathetic child.
“I’ll take care of it, Grace,” he said gently. “I brought something to help you sleep, and I’ll stay with you so that no one can hurt you. Would you like that?”
Apparently Grace had forgotten all about her previous fantasies. “Would you, Doc? Would you promise to sit with me all night, never leave my side? That’s the only way I’ll feel safe.”
“Grace, you can’t—” Sophie protested, but Doc silenced her.
“Of course, Grace. Rima has already gone to bed, and she knows that sometimes I’m called out all night long. She won’t worry. I’ll stay right here with you, I promise.”
Grace smiled happily, back to the sunny childhood that had become her habitual home. She wandered toward her bedroom, humming beneath her breath.
“You shouldn’t have to do this, Doc,” Sophie protested in a low voice. “I can sit with her….”
“Nonsense. I brought a sedative with me, and once I give her a shot she’ll be out like a light. I have a good book, and I can sleep anywhere, even standing up if I have to. The remnants of my training as an intern.”
“It’s not fair—”
“Enough of this, young lady. It isn’t fair that you’ve been saddled with a disturbed mother. What happened to set her off this time? She seemed peaceful enough when I left.”
Sophie shook her head. “I don’t know. She just started babbling about murder. She said you were going to kill us all.”
“Did she?” Doc sounded more amused than alarmed. “And how did she know this?”
“Apparently the flowers were talking to her,” Sophie said. She felt close to tears.
“That’s one of the sad things about senile dementia. They never seem to be happy delusions. If flowers started talking, wouldn’t you think they’d have happy things to say instead of talking about death and murder?”
“I wouldn’t know.” She took a deep, shuddering breath.
“I think you need a nice cup of tea and a good night’s sleep.”
Sophie shook her head. “I can’t. But I’ll be happy to make you some.”
“You don’t need to take care of me, Sophie. I’m here to help you out. Let me go sit with my patient, and you do whatever it is you need to do to unwind. Take a hot bath, read a book. And don’t worry about us—we’ll be fine. If Marty comes home and you’re not up, I’ll tell her you were tired and went to bed early.”
“All right,” she said, not willing to argue anymore. She could no more sleep than she could swim across Still Lake. She was restless, anxious, deeply troubled. She needed to get out of this house, away from everyone for a little while. She needed space to think and just to breathe.
She knew what Doc’s reaction to that would be. Just as hysterically paranoid as her mother’s, though he seemed convinced that John