Hush Little Girl by Lisa Regan (first e reader .txt) 📗

to replace them. Why had they been so important to Emily in the first place? Lorelei hadn’t allowed television or electronics, but both girls had plenty of toys, books, and arts and crafts supplies. They obviously had not wanted for much. Josie made a mental note to mention it to the psychologist when he or she came to do their consult. To Emily, she said, “I can try to find them, Emily, but there is a very good chance I won’t be able to do so. This is a big hospital, and they have a lot of trash. Right now, we’re trying to find the person who hurt your mom and sister.”

Josie sensed that Emily wanted to argue, but fatigue was taking over. Her eyelids drooped and snapped back open as she tried to stay awake. “Okay,” she said, resigned. “But can you stay in that chair and make sure nobody takes any of my other stuff?”

“Emily, I would love to, but I have a lot of work—”

“Can’t you do it on your computer? Like that lady? Just until they take me to foster care?”

Josie looked at her watch. It was after one in the morning. The only work she’d be doing at this hour would be from her computer, chasing the leads she’d told the team about. She could have Noah bring her laptop to her. Josie smoothed the hair away from Emily’s forehead. Her skin was feverish. “Okay, I’ll stay for tonight.”

Thirteen

Josie sat beside Emily’s bed with her laptop open in front of her. One of the nurses had turned off the harsh overhead light, but it only succeeded in dimming the room slightly. Neither the light nor the noise of the Emergency Room on a Friday night just outside kept Emily awake. Curled on her side, her little stuffed dog clutched in her arms, she snored lightly. She hadn’t moved since Josie tucked her in nearly two hours earlier. Josie was supposed to be scouring databases and other internet resources for information on Lorelei and her life, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Emily.

“She’s an old soul, isn’t she?”

Dr. Nashat’s voice startled Josie. He stood in the doorway, smiling.

“Yes,” Josie agreed. “You’re still here?”

“Until seven a.m.,” he said. “The psychologist is here.”

Josie looked back at Emily. “Surely, you don’t want to wake her now?”

He shook his head. “No. Maybe you could talk to her while she’s here, especially since Emily seems to have bonded to you. I’ll ask her to come back later in the morning—at a more reasonable hour—for a formal consult. The social worker is coming back then, too.”

Josie stood, left her laptop on the chair, and followed Dr. Nashat into the hall. She pulled up short when she saw Dr. Paige Rosetti standing outside. Her long wavy blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her thin frame was draped in a long tan linen dress accented by a white bolero sweater. Over one shoulder hung a messenger bag. Josie had gone to high school with Paige’s daughter and had had to enlist her help during a case the year before. They’d had a connection. In a moment of weakness, Josie had shared some of her deepest fears with Paige. In spite of the embarrassment she felt over that moment, Josie genuinely liked the woman. Noah and Gretchen had been after her for months to go to therapy to work through some of her unresolved childhood issues. Paige’s name had come up more than once.

“Detective Quinn,” said Paige with a warm smile. “How nice to see you. I wish it was under different circumstances.”

“So do I,” said Josie.

“I’m sorry I’m so late. I was at Geisinger on another matter that needed my attention. It took far longer than I anticipated. Dr. Nashat said he didn’t want to wake the patient, but if you have a minute, I could take some initial notes and come back in a few hours, after the sun is up.”

“Sure.”

Paige looked around, as if for a place for them to sit. “Would you like to go to the staff lounge?”

“I don’t want to leave Emily that long. Here.” Josie found the linen bin that Marcie had used earlier and pulled it over. “You can put your laptop here.”

Paige laughed. While she removed her laptop from her bag and booted it up, they exchanged pleasantries. Josie asked about Paige’s daughter and Paige asked about Josie’s grandmother. Then it was time to get down to business. Josie described the case, the day, the circumstances of locating Emily and her unusual behavior throughout. Paige’s expression didn’t change as she listened, tapping away on her laptop the entire time. When Josie finished, she stopped typing and looked up, her brow furrowed. “Let’s start with her mother. You said Lorelei Mitchell?”

“Yes,” Josie said. “Did you know her?”

Paige folded her arms over her chest. “We went to the University of Pennsylvania together. Grad school. We were studying for our PhDs. She’s quite a bit younger than I am, but I took a break between getting my master’s degree and my PhD. That’s how we ended up in the program together.”

Josie felt a spike of excitement. “Were you friends?”

“I wouldn’t call us friends, but I knew who she was. She went on to specialize in adolescent and child psychology, but she was primarily focused on areas that included oppositional defiant disorder, OCD, ADHD, that sort of thing. She was very interested in cognitive behavioral therapy.”

“For non-psychologists, if you would,” Josie said.

Paige laughed. “CBT is a form of therapy that focuses on changing behaviors that are based on cognitive distortions.”

“Dumb it down a little more,” Josie said.

Now Paige gave a full-throated laugh, head tossed back, mouth wide open. “Most therapy is based on sort of unpacking your past, right? Exploring your childhood or things that have happened to you in the past that shape you emotionally and cognitively.”

“I get it,” Josie said.

“CBT is different. It assumes that your behaviors are based on distorted thinking or