Former physician disappeared on Mount Rainier, four years on the revelation stunned everybody

Through the peephole, she saw Harrison still on her doorstep, his expression rearranged into one of gentle concern. She considered not answering, but something told her that would only make him more persistent. She opened the door partway.

Charlotte, I’m sorry to bother you again, Harrison said. His voice soft and solicitous. I was about to leave when I realized how abrupt I must have seemed.

This news about Robert’s backpack has shaken me too. I was wondering, would you like to get coffee? Sometimes it helps to talk with someone who knew him well, who understands what a special man he was. Every instinct screamed caution, but Charlotte also recognized an opportunity.

If Harrison was involved in whatever had troubled Robert, perhaps she could learn something. I suppose a cup of coffee would be nice, she said carefully. Wonderful, how about Corner Coffee on Main? I remember Robert mentioning it was your favorite spot.

That would be fine, I’ll meet you there in 15 minutes. I’ll drive us, Harrison offered quickly. No sense taking two cars? No, I’ll drive myself, Charlotte said firmly.

I have errands to run afterward. Something flickered in Harrison’s eyes, but he nodded. Of course, I’ll see you there.

Charlotte closed the door and immediately pulled out her phone, texting her sister Ellen. Meeting Dr. Harrison at Corner Coffee on Main. If you don’t hear from me in two hours, call police.

She paused, then added, not joking. Ellen’s response was immediate. What’s going on? Are you okay? We’ll explain later, just please keep an eye on the time.

The drive to Corner Coffee took only ten minutes, but Charlotte used every one to steady her nerves. She parked where her car was visible from the window and chose a table in the busy main area, not the cozy back corner Harrison suggested. You remembered, Charlotte said as Harrison returned with their drinks, a vanilla latte for her, black coffee for him.

Robert talked about you constantly, Harrison said, settling into his chair. Vanilla lattes, hiking at sunrise, your grandson’s little league games, he was devoted to you. The words should have been comforting, but something in Harrison’s tone made them feel like a probe, testing her defenses.

Charlotte took a sip of her latte and waited. This must be so difficult, Harrison continued, the not knowing for four years, and now this discovery. Have you had time to process it all? I’m managing, Charlotte said carefully.

Harrison leaned forward, his expression sympathetic. Going through Robert’s things must be emotional. All those memories stored away.

Did you find much in storage? Sometimes people keep things they never mention to their spouses. Work documents, for instance. There it was, Charlotte kept her face neutral.

Mostly medical journals and patient thank you cards. Robert saved every drawing a child ever gave him. How like him, Harrison smiled, but his fingers had started a rhythmic tap against the table.

No work files? He was always so meticulous about documentation, I’d imagine he kept copies of important paperwork. Just the usual, Charlotte said vaguely. Why do you ask? No reason, it’s just that when the police called this morning, they asked if Robert had taken any patient files home.

HIPAA violations, you understand. I assured them Robert would never do such a thing, but I wanted to make sure, for his reputation’s sake. Charlotte noticed the slight sheen of perspiration on Harrison’s forehead, despite the coffee shop’s cool temperature.

The police asked about patient files? Standard questions, I’m sure. Harrison’s drumming fingers picked up pace. They also asked about his state of mind those final weeks.

I told them what I observed, of course. Did you happen to find any personal writings, journals? Sometimes people contemplating major life changes. Write things down.

Robert wasn’t much of a journal keeper, Charlotte said, watching Harrison’s jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. No? How about appointment books? He always carried that leather planner. Harrison’s attempt at casual interest was failing.

His voice had developed an edge. Charlotte made a decision. Actually, I did find his day planner.

Harrison’s fingers stopped drumming. Yes, it was interesting looking at his final week, all those appointments wrapping up his practice. She paused, watching Harrison’s face carefully.

There was an entry on October 15th that confused me. October 15th? Harrison’s voice was steady, but his knuckles had whitened where he gripped his coffee cup. He’d written, meeting with Harrison, trail parking lot 7 AM.

But he told me he was hiking alone that morning. The transformation in Harrison’s face was instant and complete. The mask of concern shattered, replaced by something Charlotte had never seen before.

Calculation mixed with barely controlled panic. All that, Harrison said, his laugh forced and hollow. Poor Robert, he was so confused that morning.

Actually, he called me around 6.30, sounding agitated. He was worried about his mental state, said retirement was hitting him harder than expected. I tried to talk him out of hiking, suggested we meet to discuss his concerns, but he insisted he needed time alone on the mountain.

Charlotte stared at him, this man she’d known for 15 years, watching him construct lies as easily as breathing. Robert called you? Yes, very early. Patricia can confirm.

The phone woke us both. He sounded unwell, talking about pressure, about things he couldn’t handle. I offered to meet him to help, but he became almost paranoid, said he needed to think.

Harrison leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential tone. Charlotte, I didn’t want to burden you with this, but Robert had been showing signs of depression for weeks. The retirement transition was devastating for him.

Depression? Charlotte heard her own voice, sharp with disbelief. Robert was excited about retirement. He had plans, trips mapped out.

Sometimes people hide their true feelings, even from those closest to them, Harrison interrupted smoothly. As a physician, he would have known how to mask the symptoms. That confusion about our meeting, writing it down when it was just a phone call, that’s typical of someone under severe stress.

But Charlotte knew better. She’d seen that day planner entry. Robert’s handwriting was firm, precise, exactly as it always was.

No confusion, no trembling letters of a man in distress. And Robert had never lied to her, not once in 40 years. If he’d spoken to Harrison that morning, he would have mentioned it.

I should go, Charlotte said, standing abruptly. Harrison stood, too, too quickly, his coffee cup rattling against the saucer. Charlotte, wait, if you found anything else, any documents that might be misinterpreted, I hope you’ll let me know.

For Robert’s sake, his reputation dash. Robert’s reputation doesn’t need protecting, Charlotte said coldly. Excuse me.

She walked out steadily, but she could feel Harrison’s eyes boring into her back. In her peripheral vision, she caught sight of his reflection in the window, standing frozen by their table, his coffee cup trembling visibly in his hand. The man who had delivered Robert’s eulogy, who had praised his integrity and dedication, who had promised to help her through her grief, that man was gone.

In his place stood someone Charlotte didn’t recognize, someone whose carefully constructed story about Robert’s mental state was so obviously false, it made her stomach turn. Robert hadn’t been depressed. He hadn’t been confused.

He’d had an appointment with Harrison that morning, and Harrison was desperate to hide why. Charlotte’s hand shook as she pushed through the restroom door. The normalcy of the coffee shop, the hiss of the espresso machine, the chatter of customers, felt surreal against the hammering of her heart.

She locked herself in the farthest stall and pulled out her phone, dialing 911 with trembling fingers. 911, what’s your emergency? Charlotte kept her voice to a whisper. I’m at Corner Coffee on Main Street.

I’m with someone who I believe may be dangerous. Please send someone. Ma’am, are you in immediate danger? I don’t know, maybe.

His name is Doctor James Harrison. He’s asking questions about my deceased husband, and he’s acting erratically. I’m scared…