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Instead of having the grace to just fucking die, Lorelei somehow managed to live. And instead of quietly accepting Leander’s departure from her life, she went DEFCON 1 crazy and decided to publish a fucking case study on Leander.
While good old HIPAA didn’t allow her to name names without explicit permission, there was no doubt it was him. The article detailed his horrific childhood, his violent adulthood. She then proceeded to delve into his fascination with Poe, linking the writer’s alleged madness with Leander’s.
If anyone ever found out Leander was the person behind her patient, “William Wilson,” he’d be ruined personally and professionally. She stuck him with a laundry list of diagnoses and predicted a dismal future for him without help. While professionalism dictated she couldn’t spell it out in black and white, she all but insinuated Leander would kill himself if his disorders remained untreated. The best hope for him was a long-term stint in another psych ward while being heavily medicated. For life.
The bitch even used his own words against him. Expounding on a book he apparently annotated for her, she cited example after example of how deranged he was. It was literary analysis, for fuck’s sake, but she used his opinions on Poe’s work to shore up her claim he was one of the most disturbed people she or her mentor had ever treated in their respective careers.
Seething, I slammed my laptop shut and threw it to the side of the couch. My first thought was to call Leander. My second thought was to slap the first thought right out of my head. There was no way I could tell him about this. IfIwas livid, I could only imagine how furious he’d be. He had enough on his plate right now without having to worry about this bitch dragging what was left of his name through the mud.
Snatching my keys off the counter, I marched into the elevator and stabbed the DOWN button.
On my way to the car, Ididcall Leander, but it certainly wasn’t to tell him what I was up to. “I’m afraid I have to stay in the city one more night, my love.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Of course. I have to take care of something that came up at work last minute.” Somehow I managed to say it with an actual smile instead of a snarl.
“Alright… Will you be home in time for the meeting with the estate lawyer tomorrow?”
I scanned the calendar in my head and did a quick calculation of time and distance. “I should be.”
He exhaled. “Good. This meeting is a month ahead of schedule, which means it can’t be good. It’s got to be about the renovation. I told you Oswald would find out.”
“I know I’m asking a lot, but pleasetrynot to worry about it. I have it all in hand.”
Papers rustled in the background and it sounded like he shifted the phone to his other shoulder. “Mon coeur, did you have a chance to look at the trust for Martha yet?”
“Remind me again what I’m supposed to be looking for?”
“Why, all of a sudden, the damages from Nora Kelly have been paid in full? There’s no way she could afford to settle it on her own.”
I swore silently. Why did he have to take such a goddamn interest in Martha? If he wasn’t personally keeping an eye on her account, he would have never noticed the giant lump sum of money that was deposited from her measly estate. Thankfully, Russ’s family was still fighting for their claim in probate court, so I had some more time to come up with a believable reason. “It’s on my list of things to do. I swear.”
“You sound awfully rushed.”
“I am. I’m sorry. I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow, I promise.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll call you tonight. I love you.” I hung up and and shoved my phone in my pocket.
Now that that was taken care of, it was time for another little face-to-face with Lorelei.
* * *
Lorelei’s apartment was cute,clean, and modern. Simple, comfortable furnishings made it feel rather homey, despite the obvious lack of decor. There were a few pictures scattered around either featuring a happy little family when Lorelei was a child, or the obligatory milestone pictures featuring only her and her mother.
The books on suicide and suicidology crammed onto the bottom row of her bookcase reminded me why her father wasn’t in any of the later pictures — he was dead. The official story was he shot himself. Rumblings in the Chicago underworld said the Irish got to him and put an end to the federal case he brought against their leader, Patrick Connelly. Daniel Clayton’s death was a cautionary tale in law school and in real life — don’t fuck with the Irish. Either way, his death obviously fucked up his dear daughter more than she wanted to admit.
Rifling through her dresser drawers, I located a pearl-handled pistol. Based on the investigator’s reports, it was the same one Daddy Clayton used to blow his brains out. It was strange she actually kept it. Maybe it was a touch of sentimentality mixed with common sense. After all, she was a single, attractive woman living alone. One could never be too careful — case in point, she had the likes of me prowling around.
Tucking the pistol in my waistband, I continued on with my exploration of her inner sanctum. I’d still never gotten an answer to my one and only question about Lorelei. What was it about her that Leander found so fascinating? She was the polar opposite of him. I mean, sometimes opposites attract, and sometimes they’re like oil and water. Try as I might, I could not picture a world where she would ever make Leander happy in the longterm. God knew I pissed him off enough and we were more alike than they were.
I was still pondering the peculiarities of their brief relationship when the front door opened.
Lorelei, oblivious to my presence in the dark, kicked the door shut behind her and slid the chain into place. She dropped her gigantic tote on the floor with a sigh and chucked her keys on an end table.
I let her get halfway across the living room before I flicked on the light next to the chair I’d been occupying for the past three hours.
