City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(80)

I said, “We won’t be using any inkblots.”

“Well, that’s good.” Nervous laugh. “Okay, little old me. I was born near Louisville on a horse farm. You’re probably going to learn this anyway, so I’ll come right out with it. My parents are wealthy and the money goes back generations. Hopefully, that won’t damage my case.”

“Why would it?”

“You know how it is, nowadays. The whole privilege thing? And this is going to sound obnoxiously privileged but I can’t see why anyone should be discriminated against, lucky or unlucky. Which is what it comes down to, right? The luck of the draw.”

She laughed softly. “Pick your parents carefully, I guess I did okay in that department. So yes, I had an über-privileged life and a great one in ways that have nothing to do with privilege. My parents have been married thirty-nine years and they still love each other madly. For some reason, that’s one gene I didn’t inherit. I’m thirty-six and have two failed marriages.”

“Like your ex,” I said.

“So you did see him. Is that what he told you? Figures he’d downplay. No, Doctor, Con’s been married three times and he’s only three years older than I am.”

I wrote. She looked on approvingly.

Got him!

I said, “Kentucky.”

“Beautiful country, bluegrass, rolling hills, absolutely gorgeous,” she said. “I went to Catholic schools, including college. Bellarmine University, a really great place.”

An edge had come into her voice. Trying to convince me.

“Con, on the other hand, went to Prrrinceton. And if that wasn’t enough, Hah-vahd.” Flourishing a hand. “A fact he never stopped reminding me of. When we had conflict.”

I said, “Pulling rank.”

“Not in so many words, that would be way too direct for Con.”

“He hinted at it?”

“Not exactly—okay, I’ll set the scene. We’d be tiffing about something and I’d be trying to make my point and he’d just sit there and not respond and when I’d lose my cool and say, ‘Answer me,’ he’d give this smug smile, get up and go into his office, and return with two coffee mugs. One from Bellarmine, one from Princeton. Sometimes, he’d bring three—Princeton and Harvard. Either way, he’d just plop everything down in front of me and look through me. Letting me know he was way smarter, there was no point going on. Like I was a waste of time. He likes to use riddles and all sorts of head games. He studies symbolism!”

Deep breath. “Until I got wise to his ploys, it pissed me off, which was exactly what he wanted.”

She shook her head. “Ninny that I was, I’d get defensive and holler at him. ‘What the hell does that prove, Mr. Ivy League? I’m the one who supports this family financially and in deed. I do everything!’ And he’d just sit there, ping the mugs with a fingernail, then get up and take them back to his office and lock himself in for hours.”

From the way she’d bounded the stairs, she was an athletic woman but ire had robbed her of breath and now she was panting.

I said, “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks. I guess I just went off the rails, huh? But I can’t help it, Doctor. You asked about me and I want to be truthful. He’s the reason we’re in this situation. He probably came across as a real nice guy. Unpretentious, aw shucks, agreeable. That’s his act. Pretend to be Joe Average then use Prrrrinceton on me when he needed it. Making sure no one else sees him for the Ivy League twit he is—oh crap, there I go again.”

“No problem,” I said. “I’m here to learn.”

“Are you? I sure hope so.” She leaned forward. “I’m not going to insult your intelligence by saying it’s all him, I know it takes two to tango. But honestly, Dr. Delaware, I truly do believe it’s mostly him.”

She sat back. “Though sometimes I do feel I’m getting paid back.”

“For what?”

“What I did to Judy. We were in grad school. Indiana U., nutritional sciences, she was a year ahead of me and we became friends.”

She folded her lips inward. Slowly released them. “So how did I pay her back? By wrecking her marriage. Sometimes I rationalize it by thinking I did her a favor but at the time I wasn’t thinking of her in the least, just of myself. I was going through a rough patch, not that it’s any excuse.”

“What kind of rough patch?”

“My first marriage had crashed and burned because Cliff—my college sweetheart, he was a law student at Indiana—Cliff cheated on me shamelessly and just about drained me of self-esteem. But that’s no excuse for doing the same thing to Judy. I was a home-wrecking bitch and sometimes I can’t help think God’s paying me back.”

More panting. “Not that I’m religious. I wish I could be, that would be comforting.”

She cried a bit, accepted the tissue I offered with a rueful nod. “Thank you, sir. If you don’t mind, I could use some water. Or a Diet Coke, anything with bubbles, whatever.”

I went to the kitchen and brought back a can of Pellegrino.

She said, “Little Italian bubbles. I drank this for the first time in Rome, a trip with my parents. Everything tastes better there.”