I chuckled and we continued to walk in silence for a minute or two, enjoying the sounds of the birds and the rustling of the leaves. Then Mac shook his head. “I’m still baffled as to why I never saw all of this before.”
“If it makes you feel better, there was a practical reason why it couldn’t be seen from the highway.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“Well, I mentioned that the original doctor of this facility envisioned a place where air and light circulation would be key aspects of a patient’s treatment. Part of that philosophy included the daily practice of bringing the patients outside to the lawns where they would have a planned activity of some kind. Either a game or an exercise program, or even dancing. And gardening.”
“So let me guess,” Mac said. “With all those people cavorting outside, the doctor didn’t want some nosy passersby gawking at them.”
“Exactly. He knew it would be detrimental to their progress if they realized they were being watched.”
Mac nodded. “He was probably right.”
“So the doctor—his name was Dr. Jones, by the way, and he was a contemporary of the great Dr. Kilbride, who first championed these theories back east. Anyway, our Dr. Jones instructed the architects and contractors to build the hospital behind that hill.”
“Makes sense,” he admitted. “And it’s compassionate as well.”
Mac reached for my hand and as we continued our walk, I shared some more of what I’d learned in my research.
“Dr. Jones thought the best way to heal insanity, as they called it back then, was to provide a beautiful, quiet, comfortable, and safe environment.”
“It sounds almost holistic, but I’m not sure if that concept existed back in the 1870s.”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” I said.
“I’ve done some research myself since I occasionally deal with these issues in my books. The doctor sounds like he was a very kind and thoughtful man, but whether or not these architectural niceties could actually ‘cure’ someone? Seems like a reach, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so, but it was a long time ago. Doctors today know so much more about all the different levels and types of mental illness, like bipolar disorder or dissociative identity disorder, the different forms of psychosis, severe depression. And with all the types of medications and treatments available these days, it seems that if you can actually name the specific disorder, you can begin to treat it. In theory.”
“I agree.”
“But back when Dr. Jones was running things, he believed very strongly that the architecture of the place would help cure the disease. He was adamant that his builders follow his specifications, right down to the desired width of the hallways and the height of the ceilings.”
“Sort of early feng shui,” Mac said.
I laughed. “That’s a really good way to look at it.”
“It’s pretty fascinating stuff.”
“Yeah, it is. I’m just happy to know that the doctor took a more humane approach rather than some of the awful methods we’ve heard so much about.”
“You mean, where they would lock someone up in the attic or throw them into a pit?”
I took a deep breath. “Something like that.”
He stopped walking and wrapped his arms around me. “Sorry. I tend to get cynical sometimes, in case you never noticed.”
I gazed up at him. “I’ll bet you’ve seen a lot of inhumanity during your military years.”
“Yeah, and you don’t forget it.”
“Of course you don’t.”
He rubbed his hands up and down my back. “Thanks for coming up here with me. I want to soak up the atmosphere for another few minutes, and then we can go.”
Holding me, he swayed gently. I wondered if he was a million miles away, but then he gazed down at me and smiled. Hoping to lighten the mood, I said, “I know that look in your eyes. You’re going to use all of this in your next book.”
He sighed. “I’ve become transparent.”
“Only to me,” I said easily.
He beamed at me. “In my book, though, the good doctor will turn out to be a mad scientist.”
I nodded solemnly. “You’ve got to go with your strengths.”
“Always,” he said with a short laugh. Staring at the buildings, he added, “Now that I’ve seen the outside, I’m anxious to get a look inside.”
I glanced around. Only half-kidding, I said, “We could always sneak in.”
His grin was mischievous. “Don’t tempt me. But let’s take a closer look.” He grabbed my hand and we ran over to the central building. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he peered through the first-floor windows.
Stepping back, he grumbled, “They’re covered in some kind of blue paper.”
“It’s because the windows are all brand-new. The sticky paper protects the glass while they’re being transported.”
“Well, that’s a drag.” He looked around, then knocked lightly on the windowpane. “I could probably break in without doing too much damage.”
“You’re going to get us into trouble, aren’t you?”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “Sometimes it’s worth it. For research purposes only, of course.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right.”
“Besides, we won’t get in any trouble. I know the police chief.”
“So do I.” The chief was never happy when I got into trouble. “He gets cranky.”
Mac laughed. “He’s lightened up a little since he met your sister.”
I smiled. “True.” My sister Chloe was a good influence on our occasionally grumpy chief of police. “That reminds me, she’s coming up here next week and staying for a while. Her show is going on hiatus for a month.”
“Cool. Is she going to help you with Jane’s hotel project?”
“I doubt I’ll be able to keep her away.” Chloe was the star of a hit DIY show on the Home Builders Network. She had lived and worked in Hollywood for the past ten years, but on a visit home to Lighthouse Cove a few months ago, she met and fell in love with our very own police chief, Eric Jensen. And Mac was right; the chief really had mellowed since then.
We walked toward the hedges, then stopped and gazed at the buildings again. “You should definitely call and move your tour to tomorrow,” I said. “Otherwise . . .” I stopped. From the corner of my eye, I caught a blur of movement. Chills rushed across my shoulders and I clutched Mac’s arm. “Did you see that?”