The Remedy Read Free Page A

dropping me off at home first?” I ask Aaron in a sickly sweet voice. “I’ve been dreaming about my bed for the entire weekend. Emily had a futon.”
    Aaron whistles in sympathy. “Sounds tough, Quinn. But I already called Marie to let her know we’re on our way.” He smiles. “And you know how much she loves late-night debriefings.”
    False. Marie absolutely hates when we come by after dark.
    I exhale, dreading our next stop. I just want to go home, tell my dad good night, and then crash in my bed. Unfortunately, none of that can happen until we register our closure and confess our sins. Our advisor, Marie, has to interview us before we’re allowed to return to our regular lives. There are procedures in place to make sure we don’t take any grief home with us, take home the sadness. It’s the old saying: misery loves company. Yeah, well, grief can be contagious.

CHAPTER TWO
    THE DOOR TO THE FIFTH-STORY walk-up apartment is always stuck, and Aaron has to ram his shoulder against it to get it open. He stumbles in, turning back to flash me a smile.
    So strong, I mouth, making him laugh. I follow him inside, and then close and lock the door. I pause to look around. I haven’t been to Marie’s house in at least a month, but it’s just as cramped as I remember. Exactly the same. Wall-to-wall antique furniture, ornate chairs and thin-legged tables. Layers of incense hang in the air; red tapestries are tacked over the window, casting the room in soft light from the lamps. The place is shabby chic—much like its tenant.
    “You’re late,” a raspy voice calls from the kitchen. I catch sight of Marie’s bare shoulder and thin long braids as she opens and closes kitchen cabinets in search of something.
    “Quinlan was being nice again by giving them extra time,” Aaron calls. He drops onto the worn velvet sofa and kicks off his shoes. I scowl at him for ratting me out so quickly, and remove my sneakers before Marie can yell at me for disrespecting her apartment. “She’s too kindhearted,” Aaron adds. “Tell Quinn she’s too kindhearted.” He rolls his head toward the kitchen, and Marie pokes out from behind the cabinet door.
    “Stop being so nice,” Marie scolds, and then goes back to what she was doing.
    “See.” Aaron holds up his finger to me in warning before working his arms out of the sleeves of his blazer. He carefully folds the fabric over the back of the couch.
    I roll my eyes. “I was doing my job,” I clarify, sitting on the painted chair near the door. “Check with the Pinnacles—I’m sure I’ll get a glowing review.”
    “Don’t worry,” Marie says, coming out of the kitchen, carrying a tray. “We always check.” She smiles at me and then sets the tray on the coffee table. There’s a small teapot; the smell of mint wafts up from the cups. My stomach turns. That’s not regular tea—not here. It’s a medicinal cocktail that will compel me to tell the truth once I drink it. Luckily, I have nothing to hide.
    Marie hands Aaron a cup. “Guess I’m first,” he murmurs, and gulps his drink quickly. He sucks in a breath to cool down his mouth. “Nasty,” he says with a shiver, and sets the cup on the table.
    “I’ll get the paperwork,” Marie announces. She walks toward the home office, her anklets jangling above her bare feet, her long braids clicking as they swish across her back. Marie Devoroux is in her late thirties with dark brown skin, piercing black eyes, and an effortless beauty that allows strangers to trust her. She’s been my advisor since the beginning. I can still remember being a little girl on her lap, telling her about Barbara Richards—a nine-year-old who cracked her skull while riding her bike. I sipped peppermint tea and told Marie how sad it made me when Barbie’s mother cried. I had a hard time adjusting to the grief in the beginning.
    Marie’s a bit less patient now, especially with me. She and my father have been at odds over a case neither will talk