“I do.” A small smile curled Childress’ fleshy lips. “That’s Dr. Lydia Corriger. Savannah’s psychologist.”
Mort pushed his chair into the corner and leaned back. He watched Lydia enter and greet Childress with a brief handshake.
“Any change?” she asked.
Mort thought she looked bone-on-bone exhausted. And more concerned about her patient than any doctor had been about Edie.
“None, I’m afraid,” Childress said. “May I introduce someone?” He turned to Mort before Lydia could answer. “Forgive me, Detective. I’ve forgotten your name.”
Mort watched Lydia’s tired eyes widen. He was impressed with how quickly she regained her composure.
“It’s Mort Grant.” He stood. “And Dr. Corriger and I have met.”
“You know each other?” Childress sounded intrigued at the notion. “Well, perhaps the world is as small as reported.”
Mort kept his eyes on Lydia. The pulsing vein in her neck revealed more than the passive look on her face. She kept her smile small and tight.
He reached into his parka for his car keys. “I’ll be on my way, Professor. Again, I’m sorry for your troubles.” He shook Childress’ hand. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch.” Mort turned to Lydia. She still hadn’t said a word.
“And I’ll see you at noon.” His tone was as stern as the look in his eyes. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Mort carried a large paper bag into Lydia’s office at the stroke of twelve. Her office door was closed. Before he could sit down it opened and a middle aged man walked out, drying his eyes and thanking Lydia, who stood behind him. Mort waited for her patient to leave.
“I brought lunch.” He held up the sack. “I don’t want to waste time driving to some restaurant.” He looked around the room. “Where do you want to do this?”
Lydia closed the door to her office. “Out here is fine, Detective.” She picked up a book and glanced at her watch.
“You’ll have to read that later, Doc.” Mort pushed several magazines to the side of a coffee table and unloaded the bag. “An hour’s what you promised me and an hour’s what I’ll take.” He looked up at her and saw her jaw tighten. He nodded toward a chair. “Pull up a seat. I got a tuna and a ham and swiss. Name your poison.”
She watched him arrange lunch before pulling a side chair closer to the table. She tucked her book beside her and reached for one of the bottles of water he brought. Lydia held the water on her lap. Knees together tight. Back straight. Shoulders square. Mort could feel her tension four feet away.
“Tell you what, these are cut. Let’s take half of each and avoid any decision.” Mort laid the sandwiches out. “And for God’s sake call me Mort.” He grabbed half a tuna and took a large bite, watching Lydia as he chewed.
“You’re not hungry?” he asked.
She smoothed a small hand across her corduroy trousers. “I thought we were going to talk about my helping on the Buchner case. You said you’d been thinking about it.”
He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I have. But I have a few questions before I decide.”
“Such as?” Lydia twisted the cap off her water bottle and took a sip.
“Such as why, when I’m interviewing a subject in a homicide investigation, do you show up?”
Lydia shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Detec…Mort.”
He watched her hand tighten around the bottle and softened his voice. “Lydia, Childress told me you were his fiance’s shrink. You’re not violating any doctor-patient privilege.” He put his sandwich back on the table and leaned forward. “I saw the rope marks on her throat. Is that what this is about? Is Savannah’s suicide attempt the reason you want to help solve Buchner’s murder?”
Lydia’s breathing eased a bit. “What are you implying?”
Mort shook his head. “Don’t play games with me, Lydia. We can’t work together if you do.” He saw something that looked like optimism flash in her weary eyes. He scooted his chair closer to the table and leaned in. “Did Savannah tell you in session that she killed Walter Buchner? Is that what this is all about?”
Lydia leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “No, Mort. Savannah did not tell me in session that she killed Walter Buchner.” She held his stare for several heartbeats.
He sighed and leaned back into his chair. “But you think maybe she did.”
Lydia reached for a sandwich and sat back. She took a bite of ham and swiss. “Delicious, thank you. It’s my favorite sandwich.”
“Yeah?” He took another bite of his own. “Well, don’t start thinking I’m like you, some kind of mind reader observing God-knows-what little detail. I can’t get clue one off you.” Mort was relieved to see her give him a brief but genuine smile. Maybe a more oblique approach was what he needed. He nodded to the book beside her.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
Lydia hesitated before reaching for it. “The Bluest Eye”. She handed it across the table to him. “It’s a cautionary tale about the pointlessness of longing for what we can never have.”
Mort looked at the cover. “Toni Morrison, huh?” He smiled and handed the book back. “She’s one of Edie’s favorites. Always trying to get me to read her.” He shook his head and smiled. “I’d try. But her writing is major league and I’m a farm team kind of guy.”
Lydia ran a gentle hand across the cover of the book. “But if you bring yourself to her you’ll read the most beautiful words ever written.” She looked at the author’s photograph and smiled again. “Obviously Toni got something out of school that I didn’t.”
Mort leaned back. “This is nice.”
“What?” she asked.
“Having lunch and talking. I like you much better when you’re relaxed.”
Lydia’s face clouded over. She pulled her back straight, looked to the door and down to her watch.
“Ease up.” Mort reached for a bag of potato chips and pulled it open. “If you’re worried that I’m about to make a pass you can get off that horse.” He popped a few chips in his mouth. “First of all, I’m a one-woman man. Edie Grant’s dead. That doesn’t mean I’m one iota less in love with her than I was on the day we married. Secondly, I’m old enough to be your father. Well, almost. Edie and I have a daughter almost your age.” He took another chip. “I was just saying that if we’re going to work together on this Buchner thing, I like it better like this than when you’re so uptight I can hear you squeak.”
Lydia threw her shoulders back and inhaled sharply. Mort thought he saw a tickle of a grin on the right corner of her mouth.
“Squeak?” she asked. “You can hear me squeak?”
“All the way over here.” He tossed a bag of chips onto her lap. “Thought it was my cheap shoes at first. But it’s you.”
Lydia laughed. Mort got the impression she hadn’t done that in years.
“That’s better,” he said. “Maybe I’ll trot out my old jokes and give you the giggles more often.” He waited a few seconds before asking his next question. “You and Savannah ever talk about Childress?”
“I can’t talk about anything therapy related, Mort. You know that.” Lydia took a long drink of water and followed it with a bite of sandwich. “But,” she smiled again. “I can tell you I met Childress for the first time yesterday. I was surprised when he introduced himself as Savannah’s fiance.”
“Fair enough.” He was happy to see her fear subsiding. “What’s your read on him?”
“Childress?” she asked.
“Yeah. What’s your great power of observation tell you about Lover Boy?”
Lydia smiled and Mort watched her eyes dance in spite of their obvious weariness. He thought she could be beautiful if she loosened up. Maybe use a little make-up and do something with her hair besides pulling it back in one of those scrunched-up thingamabobs.
“I think he’s pompous, rude, arrogant, and condescending. In a nutshell, scared witless and all wrapped up in his defenses. The kind of man who’ll fight for power and hang onto it like a she-bear protecting her cub because he knows no one will ever willingly give him any.” She popped a potato chip in her mouth. “And he’s unhealthy. Fleshy and greasy. He’s spent a lifetime using fine wine and buttery French food as a substitute for the warmth of human companionship.”
Mort wondered what Lydia used as her substitute. “Wow. That’s a lot from just the one meeting.”
