City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(19)

“You look better.”

She gave a start. “Now you’re going to tell me you like fat chicks.”

“Now I’m going to tell you you’re not fat.”

“Tell that to MTV. The screen adds fifteen pounds, I was always starving to not look like a porker. I got extra help. You know what I mean.”

“Meth?”

“Not that evil,” she said. “Prescription stimulants. Plenty of Dr. Robertses out there. So what do you want to know about her?”

“First off, I’m going to tell you why I want to know. She was murdered yesterday.”

A couple more blinks. “And that’s important to you because…”

“I sometimes consult to the cops.”

“When’s sometimes?”

“When they ask.”

“Shrink on the scene,” she said. “That could be a show. So what, it was psycho, the way she…the way it happened?”

“At this point, not much is known. Sorry, can’t get into details.”

“Don’t want details. Don’t want anything crazy in my life. Don’t even know why I asked. Probably because I feel expected to make conversation.”

“Makes sense.”

“Does it?” An edge had come into her voice. She stared straight ahead. “That’s the kind of thing people say when they don’t mean it. As in shrink people. I’ve known a bunch. No one helped me. I had to help myself.”

“Then I especially appreciate your seeing me.”

“Because you’re a shrink? Why wouldn’t I see you? That would be prejudiced…Alan?”

“Alex.”

“One thing I’m not is prejudiced, Alex. I’ve learned to judge each situation.” Half smile. “You might turn out to be a jerk but at least I’ll find out for myself.”

I laughed.

She said, “Did you ever see my act?”

“On video.”

“Meaning not till last night. Or this morning.”

“Actually, years ago,” I said. “The day I met you at Robin’s she played me a tape.”

“You wanted to find out who’s this nerdy chick and how could she make it on stage.”

“No, just curious. It’s a character flaw.”

She began to chuckle. Checked herself. “So what’d you think? Of my act.”

“High-energy.”

“That’s about all I was, Alex. Loud like a fart after chili. Couldn’t play an instrument, couldn’t write, used to have a good voice but then I ruined it from screaming, got polyps, needed surgery, it never healed a hundred percent. The ENT said he’d fixed me, everyone else thought I sounded the same. My ears told me different. Things weren’t going so great anyway so I quit. Didn’t want to be a phony. Like her.”

“Cordi Gannett.”

“Cordi,” she said. “That’s about as real as the Nostrum bullshit my manager pushed on me. What was her real name? Carol?”

“As far as I know, Cordelia.”

She looked disappointed. “That sounds…antique.”

I said, “Maybe. Cordelia was one of King Lear’s daughters.”

“King Lear…Shakespeare, right? Maybe I was assigned that,” she said. “Back in high school. Was she a hero or a villain?”

“More like a tragic figure,” I said. “Her father’s favorite but he ended up banishing her because she wouldn’t profess her love for him.”

“He sounds like a jerk,” said Mary Blank. “Cordelia.” She mouthed the name silently. “Well, this Cordelia was a bullshit artist. She showed up backstage after one of my gigs, hanging all over my drummer. He goes off to…” She pantomimed snorting. “Leaves her with me, she’s all smiley. Big smile, way too big. She starts telling me she’s a doctor of psychology, specializes in human relations or whatever. Some b.s. along those lines. I’m thinking why are you telling me? But I was brought up to be a polite girl in Ames, Iowa, so I say something like, ‘Really?’ and that gets her into it. Like I’ve cued her to pour out more bullshit. At that point, I blocked her out by imagining a tone in my head. B-flat. Used to do that all the time, people talking at me, I’m B-flatting them out. Even when I was sober. And her voice made it easier.”

“How so?”

“Singy-songy,” she said. “Syrupy.”

“Coming on too strong.”

“Fake. Singsong. Chanty, like a cult bitch. Trying to come on like she really cared about me even though we just met. Then she starts touching me. This weird little pat here.”

Tamping a spot atop her hand.

“Then here.” Her shoulder. “Then here.” Her knee. “Like she’s some sort of faith healer with the magic touch. Then she leans in real close like she wants to kiss me and says, ‘Mare, if there’s ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to call. At any time. Ever.’ I probably nodded because like I said, in Iowa you’re polite. Big mistake. She chants more bullshit, then puts her business card in my hand. Like she’s laying a gift on me.”

Another chuckle formed low in her throat. This time she let it out.

“What I should’ve done is say get the fuck out of my dressing room. What I did say was something like, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Then Zak—my idiot drummer—comes back and says, ‘Okay, let’s party.’ And she says, ‘Baby doll, we’re discussing matters of importance.’ Then I say, “That’s okay, got to pee, go party.’ I went into the john and stayed there and thank God when I came out the two of them were gone and I could clear the B-flat from my head.”