Part 39 (1/2)
Her eyes showed she didn't like that.
”You were telling me what your sister the shrink told you,” she said.
”You really want to know?”
”Yeah,” Susan said thoughtfully. ”I suppose I do.”
”She said that I should remember that what I did was an act of self-preservation, rather than an act of willful violence. And that self-preservation is one of the basic subconscious urges, right up there with s.e.xual desire, over which man has very little control.”
I just made that up. I must be getting to be a pretty good liar. Or, more kindly, actor. When Amy came to me in her Sigmund Freud role after I shot the late Mr. Warren K. Fletcher in the back of his head, I told her to b.u.t.t out.
And Susie seems to be swallowing it whole.
”And, of course, in that case, the act of homicide had an undeniably desirable social by-product.”
”And what does that mean?”
”When he tried to run me over he had a naked housewife tied up with lamp cord under a tarpaulin in the back of his truck.”
”Come on!” Susan said, almost scornfully.
Matt held up his right hand, pinky and thumb touching, the others extended. ”Boy Scout's honor,” he said. ”And there was no moral question in that woman's mind whether or not I should have shot him. He had been telling her all the interesting things he was going to do to her just as soon as they got out of town.”
”In other words, so far as you're concerned, it's morally permissible to take human life under certain circ.u.mstances-for a greater good?”
Matt bit off the answer that started to form on his lips, and instead said, ”Have another cracker, Susan.”
”We're changing the subject, are we? What happened, did you run out of sardonic witticisms?”
Yeah, for some reason I sensed that it was time to change the subject. I have no idea how, but I knew that line of conversation was dangerous.
”I guess so. You can go home to Mommy and Daddy, Susan. I don't like the conversation anymore.”
Her face colored, and for a moment Matt thought she was about to push herself out of her chair and march out of the room.
But she didn't.
”Sorry, I-I just never had a chance to ask . . .”
” 'How does it feel to kill somebody?' ” Matt furnished, not very pleasantly.
She nodded.
”I'm sorry, Matt.”
Why don't you ask your pal Chenowith? Wouldn't you say that blowing up eleven innocent people would make him more of an expert?
Jesus, she didn't! She has never talked to Chenowith about what he did! How do I know that? I don't know how how I know, but I know. I know, but I know.
”What was it? Feminine curiosity?” Matt asked.
”I said I was sorry.”
”Like I said, have another cracker,” Matt said, and made her another one.
She took it, put it in her mouth and added wine, and chewed. And smiled.
”That is good.”
”I'm surprised your father doesn't do it. He takes his food seriously.”
”What you really said was 'Go home, Susan,' ” she said.
”I can't believe I said something like that,” Matt said. ”Not when we still have half a bottle of wine and two pounds of cheese.”
She smiled.
”I'm sorry I said that,” Matt said. ”I apologize. I really don't want you to go home.”
”I'm going to have to. I have to go to work tomorrow. And so do you.”
”Have another cracker,” he said, and made her another one.
She took it.
”I learned something about you tonight I didn't know,” she said. ”That may have had something to do with my uncontrolled curiosity.”
”Like what?”
Susan looked into his eyes. ”I never connected you with Penny before,” she said.
”I don't recall mentioning Penny,” Matt said. ”Oh, that's right. You're another product of Bennington, aren't you?”
”We were friends,” Susan said.
”How did you come to connect me with Penny?”
”This is awkward,” Susan said.
”Go ahead. If we're going to spend the rest of our lives together, we should have no secrets from each other.”
She smiled at him again.
”Oddly enough, I seem to like you better when you're playing the fool,” she said.
”Thank you very much,” Matt said.
”When I went to get my car from the garage? And my mother came to the garage?”