Jonathan Kellerman - Heartbreak Hotel

I lead a double life.

Some of my time is spent using the doctorate I earned: evaluating the mental health of injured, neglected, or traumatized children, making recommendations about parental custody, providing short-term treatment. My own childhood was often nightmarish and I like to think Im making a difference. I keep my fees reasonable and bills get paid.

Then theres the other stuff, initiated by my best friend, an LAPD homicide lieutenant. Once in a while my name leaks into a news story. Mostly I keep out of public view. I doubt any of the families I see are aware of the murders I work on. Theyve never commented on it and I think they would if they knew.

When my invoices finally make their way through the LAPD bureaucracy, I may get paid at an hourly rate far below my office fee. Sometimes those bills are ignored or rejected outright. If my friend finds out, he makes noise. His success clearing homicides is first-rate. Getting me paid for my time, not so much.

Business-wise, the other stuff doesnt make much sense. I dont care.

I enjoy seeing bad people pay.

What began on a Monday morning in early June seemed to have nothing to do with either half of my life.

Go know.

The answering service operator was a new hire named James, with a shaky voice and a way of turning statements into questions that implied self-esteem issues. Either he hadnt been trained in handling non-emergency calls or he was a poor student.

Dr. Delaware? Ive got someone on the line, a Ms. Mars?

Dont know her.

Thats her name? Mars? Like the candy bar?

Is it urgent?

Um... I dont know, Dr. Delaware? She does sound kind of... weak?

Put her on.

You bet, Dr. Delaware? Have a great day?

A faint voice as dry as leaf dust said, Good morning, Doctor. This is Thalia Mars.

What can I do for you, Ms. Mars?

My guess is you dont do house calls but Ill supplement your fee if you see me at my home.

Im a child psychologist.

Oh, I know that, Dr. Delaware. Im well aware of the wonderful work you did at Western Pediatric Medical Center. Im a great fan of the hospital. Ask Dr. Eagle.

Ruben Eagle worked with Western Peds poorest patients as head of outpatient services and was routinely ignored by hospital fundraisers because the day-to-day maladies of the uninsured couldnt compete for headlines with heart surgery, kidney transplants, and whiz-bang cellular research.

Had he sent this woman to me as a way of stroking one of the few donors he had? It wasnt like Ruben to politick without asking me first.

Dr. Eagle referred you to me?

Oh, no, Doctor. I referred myself.

Ms. Mars, Im not clear about what you want

How could you be? Id explain over the phone but that would take up too much of your valuable time. Once we get together, my check will include whatever charge you decide is appropriate for this call.

Its not a matter of billing, Ms. Mars. If you could give me a basic explanation about what you need

Of course. Your work suggests youre an analytic and compassionate man and I could use both. Im not a nut, Dr. Delaware, and you wont need to travel far. Im at the Aventura Hotel on Sunset, a short drive from you.

Youre visiting L.A.?

I live at the Aventura. Thats a bit of a tale, in itself. Would an initial retainer of, say, five thousand dollars set your mind at ease? Id offer to wire it directly to you but that would require asking for your banking information and youd suspect some sort of financial scam.

Five thousand is far too much and theres no need for a retainer.

Dont you take retainers when you work for the courts?

Sounds as if youve researched me, Ms. Mars.

I try to be thorough, Doctor, but I promise you theres nothing ominous at play. The hotels a semi-public place and the front desk knows me well. Is there any way you could meet me today, say at three P.M.? Youd avoid rush-hour traffic.

What if I told you I had a prior appointment?

Then Id request another time, Doctor. And if that failed, Id beseech you. She laughed. There is an issue of time. I dont have much of it.

Youre ill

Never felt better, said Thalia Mars. However, on my next birthday I will be one hundred.

I see.

If you dont believe me, when we get together Ill show you my last active drivers license. Flunked the test when I turned ninety-five and have depended, since, on the kindness of others and their internal combustion engines.

My turn to laugh.

So were on for three, Dr. Delaware?

All right.

Fabulous, youre analytic, compassionate, and flexible. The front desk will direct you.

As soon as the line cleared, I phoned the Aventura.

Miss Mars is here. Would you care to be put through?

No, thanks.

My next call was Ruben. At a conference in Memphis. The Internet had nothing to say about Thalia Mars. No surprise, I supposed. Shed lived most of her long life before techno-geeks decided privacy was irrelevant.

I spent the rest of the morning writing reports, broke at one P.M., slapped together a couple of turkey sandwiches and brewed iced tea, brought a tray out to the garden. Pausing by the pond, I tossed pellets to the koi, continued to Robins studio.

Two projects occupied her workbench, a gorgeous two-hundred-year-old Italian mandolin restored for the Metropolitan Museum of Art and an electric contraption that resembled a giant garden slug.

The grub-like thing was part cello, part guitar, and dubbed the Alienator by the aging British rocker whod commissioned it. Forced to learn classical violin as a kid, the invariably drunk Clive Xeno wanted to try his hand at bowing heavy metal. Per his insistence, the instrument was finished in metal-flake auto paint the color of pond sludge. An enamel-tile portrait of Jascha Heifetz protruded below the bridge, showing the maestro looking skeptical.

Robin, hair kerchiefed, wearing a black tee and overalls, was holding the monstrosity up to the skylight and shaking her head.

I said, The customers always right.

Whoever coined that never met Clive. Ah, lunch. Youre a mind reader.

Blanche, our little blond French bulldog, rose from her basket, waddled over, and rubbed her head on my ankle. I put the sandwiches on a table and fetched her a stick of jerky from the treat bag.

Robin gave the slug another look. Five hundred hours of my life and I end up with this.

Think of it as an avant-garde masterpiece.

Isnt avant-garde French for weird? Washing her hands, she kissed me, tossed a drop cloth over both instruments, untied her hair, and let loose a cascade of auburn ringlets. This is after I convinced him to tone it down.

No more penis-shaped headstock.

That and Heifetz doing something gross. Hows your day going?

Finished some reports and heading out in a couple.

Milo beckoned?

Im going to see a woman who claims to be nearly a hundred and wants to talk.

Claims to be? Like shes only ninety-eight and is being pretentious?

I laughed. No reason to doubt her.

She introduced herself that way? Im almost a hundred.

She worked it into the conversation.

Why not? she said. Last that long, youd want to strut your stuff. My great-aunt Martina lived until ninety-eight and advertised it in every conversation. Canned green beans, anyone? Been eating them for ninety-eight years and Im still breathing.

She picked up a sandwich, nibbled, put it down. Delicious, youre the perfect man... so why would a hundred-year-old chick call