It was indeed an old-fashioned ladies’ lounge, with the toilets and sinks discreetly behind a second, interior door. “Come here, honey, and sit down.” Laura patted the sofa, an overstuffed red velvet monstrosity that looked as if it had been taken from a whorehouse. Clare recognized it immediately as the soul mate to her own office’s sagging love seat-the one piece of furniture that couldn’t be auctioned off. Debba sat down shakily, still weeping. Officer Flynn perched on the edge next to her, somewhere between guarding and comforting her.

“Don’t feel so bad,” the nurse said. “I’ve been arrested plenty of times. They’ll have the bail bondsman over at the station half an hour after you get there and you’ll be home in time to make supper.”

Clare took a closer look at the tiny redhead. “Wait a minute-haven’t I seen you before? Weren’t you part of the environmental action group protesting the Adirondack Spa development last summer?”

“That was me! Laura Rayfield.” She held out her hand and grinned as Clare shook it. Clare pulled her a little away from the sofa.

“So what happened?” Clare asked.

The nurse sighed. “I think Dr. Rouse overreacted to Deb’s antivaccination crusade. He’s been under tremendous stress lately, and everything seems to set him off. Thank God he didn’t grab his gun when she came charging in here.”

“You have a gun? At the clinic?”

“Al has a gun. In his desk.” She made a face. “It makes him feel safer. We’ve had a few break-ins, addicts looking for Oxy, stuff like that. Me, I think you’re more likely to shoot yourself than an intruder.”

“Have you talked to him? About his stress?”

“I told him the best thing to do would be to schedule a couple of evening meetings where he could ease anybody’s fears about vaccinations, but does he listen to me? Not hardly. He’s always practiced by the ‘Me doctor, you patient’ model, and now he’s got women coming in and questioning him about their kids’ immunizations, and about flu shots, and this, that, and the other thing.”