She cut herself off. Literally, with a hand over her mouth. When her fingers dropped, her lips formed a crooked, icy smile. “That was a figure of speech. I certainly didn’t leave my children last night, drive over to some disgusting motel I had no idea existed in the first place, and shoot my husband. I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”
Milo nodded.
“You agree?” said Felice Corvin. “Don’t tell me you’re not considering it. Isn’t the spouse the first person you look at? Am I one of your friggin suspects? Fine, do your thing, I have nothing to hide.”
She charged to her feet, stomped to the entry hall, raised a fist. “I am so, so angry. It never stops.”
Milo said, “What doesn’t?”
The fist waved. “Crap doesn’t. The endless flood of crap and... and... and... issues. Now I have to go tell my children something that’s going to screw them up forever. How are they ever going to have faith in the future?”
She covered her face with both hands, fought tears and lost.
I guided her back to the living room. Her body stiffened when I touched her elbow but she returned with me and sat in the same place.
I fetched tissues from the powder room. She dabbed her eyes dry, sat with her hands in her lap, a chastened child.
Milo said, “Ma’am.”
Felice Corvin said, “I apologize, Dr. Delaware. I’m not one of those people — afraid of therapists. I believe in therapy, used to be a teacher, wanted so many kids to get help who never did. Then I had my own and — I’m sorry. I’ve been rude to you, Dr. Delaware, and I want to explain.”
“Not neces—”
“It is necessary! I need you to understand! It was nothing personal, I’m sure you’re a good psychologist. But a bunch of your colleagues did nothing for my daughter and some of them made her feel much worse. So I lost faith... I’m sorry. For being so angry and for being such a pain in the butt and now it’s really hit the fan and what the hell am I going to do?”
More tears, followed by a lopsided smile. “During challenging times one needs especially to be gracious. My mother always said that. Her mother, too. I told them I agreed. I do.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I’ve obviously failed that challenge miserably.”
Milo said, “It’s a terrible thing to go through. Again, we’re so sorry.”
“I believe you, Lieutenant. I really do.”
“There are questions we need to ask about Chet.”
“Chet,” said Felice Corvin. “Who knows anything about Chet?” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll miss him.”
Milo managed to get the basics in. Could she think of any possible link between her husband and Hal Braun?
Not to my knowledge.
Did Chet have any business dealings in Ventura, Oxnard, or Santa Barbara?
I know nothing about his business.
Had he been involved in exceptionally bitter business conflicts — denied claims that led to personal attacks?
I have no idea.
I believed her and from the looks of it, Milo did, as well.
Separate lives.
What he didn’t bring up were Chelsea’s night moves, the possibility of contact with Trevor Bitt.
We’d discussed broaching the topic, agreed it was a bad idea, no sense overwhelming the widow and alienating her completely.
We got up to leave.
Felice stood, too, reaching out and grazing my fingertips. She moaned, “Oh, Dr. Delaware, I’m... could you tell my children?”
Chapter 20
Brett and Chelsea came down the stairs led by their mother.
She said, “Sit, guys,” in a voice working far too hard to be calm. Surprisingly, neither young Corvin seemed to be alarmed by that.
Chelsea plopped down and stared into space.
Brett scratched behind his ear and mumbled, “Whu?”
Felice said, “Tuck in your shirt in front, Bretty, it’s half in, half out.”
“Huh?”
“Your shirt, honey. Tuck it in.”
Baffled, the boy complied.
“Thank you, sweetie. Okay. Here we go.” Sick smile. “Okay... okay, there’s something you need to hear and Dr. Delaware, you remember Dr. Delaware, he’s going to tell it to you.”
Brett’s mouth gaped as he squinted at me. Chelsea didn’t react.
I edged my chair close enough to look at both of them simultaneously. Brett’s eyes bounced. Chelsea’s were still but unfocused. “I’m sorry to be giving you really bad news. Your father passed away last night.”
Brett’s lips stretched, taking an eerie emotional journey from grin to something toothily grotesque and feral.
“What?” he shouted.
I said, “I’m sorry, Brett. Your dad—”
He shoved his fist toward me. “Fuckin’ bullshit!”
“I wish it was, Brett.”
“Fuckin’ bullshit! Fuckin’ fuckin’ bullshit!”
Chelsea said, “It’s not.”
Everyone looked at her.
She looked at me. “You said it. So it’s true.”
Not a trace of emotion on her pale, soft face.
Her brother lunged at her. I got between them.
“You cunt fuckin’ bullshit!” The boy let out a wordless roar. His body vibrated. Tears shot from his eyes; projectile grief. Stumbling out of the living room, he vaulted up the stairs, punching the banister, swearing, screaming.
Felice said, “My poor baby,” and went after him.
Chelsea said, “Crybaby.”
A couple of minutes later, Felice returned alone, trembling. “He needs some private time.” To me: “That’s okay, right?”
I said, “Of course.”
During her mother’s absence, Chelsea hadn’t uttered a word, her only response a head shake when I asked her if she had any questions.
Felice said, “You okay, hon?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s a terrible thing, Cheltz.”
The girl shrugged.
Din from above. Something colliding with plaster, over and over. The ceiling thrummed.
Felice said, “He’s throwing his basketball. Normally, I wouldn’t allow it.” Her mouth twisted.
Milo said, “This isn’t a normal situation.”
Felice turned to Chelsea. “Honey, if you have any questions for these gentlemen, now’s the time to ask.”
“Uh-uh.”
“You’re sure.”
“I have a question, Mom. For you.”
“Of course, darling. What?”
“Am I still going to school today?”
Felice’s head retracted. “No, Cheltz — why don’t you go upstairs, too. But please, do not go into Brett’s room, okay?”
“No way,” said the girl. “It smells.”
When she was gone, Felice said, “This is unreal.”
Milo said, “Is there anything you can tell us that might help us figure it out?”
“I wish there was, Lieutenant. At least one thing I don’t have to worry about is money. Chet had an excellent income, I’ll grant him that. But the truth is, I brought most of the funds into the marriage.”
She looked away. “My parents were professors but they invested extremely well and I’m an only child. So in case you feel like looking for life insurance policies, we don’t have any. At least I never took any out on Chet. What he chose to do, who knows? I’m sure you noticed he did his own thing. A lot of men would kill—” Sick smile. “What I’m getting at is I have nothing to hide, anything you want in terms of paperwork is yours.”