Ian hesitated. “Are you sure about this, Tessa? You might - well, hear some things that aren’t particularly pleasant. Especially in light of what Annie just told us about your grandmother’s erratic behavior.”

“I need to know, Ian,” she pointed out, feeling eerily calm at the prospect of hearing that her grandmother had suffered from the same kind of mental illness that Gillian had. “I need to know if this sort of thing runs in the family, if I’m at risk for developing it, or passing it on to our children. And this doctor may be the only person who has that information.”

Ian opened his mouth as though to argue the matter further, but Tessa figured he gave up on the idea upon seeing the stubborn, determined look on her face. Instead, he merely nodded and turned back onto the main street, finding the modest building that housed the doctor’s office easily.

The small waiting room was empty when they walked inside, and the receptionist looked up from her computer screen in surprise.

“Oh. I didn’t think we had any appointments until after lunch,” she mused. “I must have missed something. Let me check.”

“We don’t have an appointment,” Ian told her. “We were actually hoping to speak with Doctor Phelps for a few minutes if he’s in today.”

The receptionist, a young, rather awkward girl of about twenty, gaped up at Ian, and Tessa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her gorgeous fiancé had that effect on women wherever he went, it seemed, whether it was in a big city like London or San Francisco, or a small, rural town in Minnesota.

“Uh, yeah, he’s - he’s in,” the girl stammered, surging to her feet so fast she knocked a stack of files off her desk. “Let me, uh, see if he has time free. That is, he should, since he’s not seeing patients today. Um, what - what was this about anyway? If you need an exam, it’s really Doctor Janssen you should see, Doctor Phelps doesn’t see patients much anymore.”

“We just want to talk to him for a few minutes,” explained Ian gently. “My fianceé’s family used to live here in Oak Grove, and we wondered if Doctor Phelps might have some information about them. Could you tell him, please, that Gillian Pedersen’s daughter would like to speak with him?”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Um, just a minute.”

The skinny, gawky receptionist stumbled off down the hallway, almost tripping over her own feet.

In spite of her jangling nerves and ever-growing sense of dread, Tessa managed to grin at Ian knowingly.

“Another female you’ve managed to charm, Mr. Gregson,” she teased. “I’m guessing she’ll be raving about the hunk who walked into the office to her friends later this evening. You’ve probably made her day, if not her week.”

Ian glared at her. “I certainly wasn’t trying to charm her,” he corrected. “As for making someone’s day, you certainly made mine earlier this morning, love. Have I told you how much I enjoy your version of a wake-up call?”

Tessa’s cheeks flushed a bit as she recalled the early morning blow job she’d indeed woken him with, as well as the way he’d very eagerly returned the favor. “It’s always a mutual pleasure,” she murmured. “And I -”

She was interrupted by the return of the young, clumsy receptionist who burst back into the waiting room announcing, “Doctor Phelps said to bring you right back. It’s the second office on the left.”

Tessa glanced up at Ian, badly needing his reassurance at this point, and leaned against him gratefully as he slid an arm around her waist. He guided her down the short hallway to Doctor Phelps’s office, and ushered her inside the opened door.

Doctor Phelps was of medium height, with thinning gray hair, and looked to be in his mid-to-late seventies. The eyes behind his bifocals were clear and sharp, and the look on his face as he greeted Tessa was one of both recognition and regret.

“Even if Chloe hadn’t told me who you were a moment ago, I would have known immediately that you were Gillian’s daughter,” he told her earnestly, clasping her hand in a surprisingly firm grip given his age and slight frame.

“Thank you for seeing us without an appointment, Doctor Phelps,” Tessa replied, smiling at him gratefully. “This was something of a last minute visit here to town, and a neighbor suggested we stop in to see if you could tell me anything about my mother. And, well, my grandmother as well, I suppose.”

Doctor Phelps nodded, and motioned for her and Ian to take seats in front of his old, leather-topped desk. “Of course. I’ll tell you what I can, though it’s been a good thirty years at least since the last time I saw your mother. Is - is she well?”

Tessa gave a brief shake of her head. “My mother passed away almost ten years ago. An - an accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, my dear,” Doctor Phelps told her regretfully. “You must have still been a teenager when you lost her.”

“Yes.” Tessa glanced down at her lap uncertainly, then up at Ian. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I haven’t introduced you. Doctor Phelps, this is my fiancé, Ian Gregson.”

The doctor’s eyes widened as he and Ian shook hands. “Of the Gregson hotels, perhaps?”

Ian nodded. “One and the same. Tessa and I were at the Minneapolis property on business and decided to make the drive out here somewhat on the spur of the moment as she said. I just recently discovered that this was where her mother was born and raised, and we were hoping to talk to someone who might have known Gillian when she was younger. Or perhaps find out if she had other family in town.”

Doctor Phelps regarded them both curiously. “This wasn’t information that Gillian ever shared with you, Tessa?”

“No.” Tessa shook her head. “My mother never discussed her childhood, but I always had the impression that she was terribly unhappy growing up. And, well, there were things she said to make me suspect that she might have been abused or mistreated. And after reading her books, I know that for a fact now.”

At the doctor’s puzzled expression, Tessa explained that her mother had been a writer by profession, but that the books had been lost or left behind over the years until Ian had found copies of them from used book dealers just last year.

“They, well, the way they were written - they were very personal, very detailed,” continued Tessa. “I always assumed they were somewhat autobiographical in nature, but didn’t want to believe that some of the things that happened were based on true events.” She clasped and unclasped her hands in agitation. “But after seeing the house where she lived, and talking to one of her neighbors, I’m afraid that every single horror she wrote about was all too real.”