The Fundamentals of Murder (Davey Goldman Series Book 2)
Page 30
I grinned. Not only had I got Regan to tell how he solved the case, I’d rousted him out of his depression. That last got confirmed right after I let everyone out.
I’d left his office door open. As I went to close it I peeked in and caught him red-handed, putting Lonesome Dove back in its proper place on the shelf.
Epilogue
So — all’s well that ends well. And I guess it all ended as well as it could.
The Pennistons headed back to Wichita. A day later than planned, but knowing that their daughter’s murderer — the real one — was behind bars and that they’d played a part in putting her there. Even if they did sort of screw it up.
Jerry and Ida Mae were heading back for Oklahoma, the object being for Jerry to go into prison ministry there.
“It’s the perfect place for me, Davey,” he told me when he called to say goodbye. “And Ida Mae’s all for it. I just never had people so happy to get to know the Lord as I did there in that jail here in New York. I think that’s why Jesus come to me in jail in the first place — to let me know where I belong. Oh, I’d be proud to stay and work on the Bishop to get him straight on the Bible…” He chuckled. “…but that’d be a big job and I think the Lord’s got other work for me.”
And Regan, the depression — his shortest on record — having ended, was back at his computer, putting the finishing touches on his latest, totally indecipherable masterpiece of obfuscation.
Leaving only me in the dumps. And I couldn’t seem to shake it, even after a good night’s rest. I moped around the house all day Thursday, ignoring and being ignored by Regan and Ernie. My face and neck were healing but not me. What the hell was wrong? I never get depressed.
I’m not much for psychiatry, but when your girlfriend is one, what have you got to lose? I called her Thursday night right after dinner.
Sally was testy at first. “Well, as I live and breathe! The magical disappearing detective! What hole did you just crawl out of?” I remembered that I’d promised to call her the day after the Knicks’ game.
“Point well taken,” I answered humbly, surprising her.
“Hey! Have I got a bad connection here? Whatever happened to David Goldman, the renowned sleuth? The man who says macho means never having to say you’re sorry?”
It was good to hear her voice, but she wasn’t doing much for my mood. “Go ahead, Sally, have your fun. But I need to talk. Like soon.”
A pregnant pause. When Sally broke it, she was all seriousness. “Sounds like you mean talk to a shrink, not to a girlfriend.” I didn’t answer.
“Okay,” she said briskly. “Of course. When?”
“How about now?”
“Fine. You know where I live.”
Thirty minutes later, I was at her door. Sally opened up and gave me a big smile. Getting no smile in return, she changed expressions, gave me a peck and invited me in.
She put me on her couch in both senses of that expression. Only, instead of lying down, I sat, she beside me.
I talked, she listened. She gave me her eye at first but gradually sank back till her head was resting on the back of the couch, her eyes closed.
When I finished, she sat forward and took my hand. Her beautiful blue eyes held mine.
“Davey, sweetheart, listen to me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. Shh. Hold it, Davey. Just listen for a minute, will you? Let’s say the force you used was excessive — and you haven’t convinced me that it was; this babe sounds like a very dangerous person — but say it was. You were in a life-or-death struggle. Your adrenalin was pumping for all it was worth — more than in a normal fight, because your oxygen supply had been curtailed. When that happens, the adrenal glands have to work that much harder to compensate. And then, suddenly, it was over.”
She grinned briefly. “Now I’m not going to sit here and tell you no thoughts of revenge were in your mind. But — and this is key, Davey — that wasn’t what caused you to sock the lady that extra sock. That was fear, my dearest; fear, pure and simple. Except that fear is never pure and seldom simple. You were, in a word, terrified. Scared out of your wits. You’d thought you were about to die. Fear like that you don’t turn off like a faucet.”
Sally interrupted her speech for a little interpersonal involvement. She got up, deliberately and demurely sat on my lap, put her arms around me and gave me a very soulful kiss, as only she can. I concluded I was forgiven for my latest offense. When we came up for air she resumed her therapy, murmuring in my ear.
“I love you for what you are, sweetheart. You’re all man, but you’re also a vulnerable human being. You were scared and now you’re feeling guilty, but it’s going to be okay.”
When I left — some time later — the depression was gone. I still wouldn’t call myself a big fan of psychiatry, but I’m no longer quite so skeptical. My recommendation is, if you want to see a shrink, go ahead. And if you can work it, get one with honey-blond hair, a lot of affection and plenty of skill in interpersonal relations.
If you enjoyed The Fundamentals of Murder check out Endeavour Press’s other books here: Endeavour Press - the UK’s leading independent publisher of digital books.
For weekly updates on our free and discounted eBooks sign up to our newsletter.
Follow us on Twitter and Goodreads.