Santa Fe Dead

7

SUSANNAH ARRIVED AT Eagle’s house and deposited her things in the master bedroom’s second dressing room. Eagle had long ago given Barbara’s clothes to the Salvation Army, and the room had been empty until Susannah had begun to leave a few things there.

They got into Eagle’s car. “A friend is joining us,” he said as he pointed the car down the mountain road.

“Who’s that?”

“His name is Daniel Shea.”

“The shrink you told me about?”

“Yes, but I’m not setting you up. He called this afternoon and suggested dinner, so I asked him to join us.”

“You’re just trying to get my head shrunk, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not, I swear. Dan’s a good guy, and you’ll like him.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He had a brother, Mark Shea, who was a psychiatrist here; he was murdered by Barbara’s sister.”

“Oh, yeah, your sister-in-law. I remember.”

“She had been dead for a year when Barbara and I married.”

“So, Dan replaced Mark in Santa Fe?”

“Pretty much. Dan was Mark’s heir. They were twins-not identical, fraternal-and Dan inherited Mark’s property in Santa Fe. Dan had had a practice in Denver, but he moved here, wrote a letter to all of Mark’s clients, saying that he was taking over the practice, and he retained most of Mark’s clients. If anything, he has been more successful than Mark was.”

“Are you one of his clients?”

“Me? I’m impervious to analysis; I have no neuroses. Dan knows this, but he keeps kidding me about getting therapy.”

“Okay, I’ll try to talk to him just like a real person, instead of a shrink.”

THEY ARRIVED AT Santa Café, Eagle’s favorite local restaurant, which managed to be at once cool and festive. Daniel Shea was waiting for them at the bar. He stood up and approached, his hand out.

“Hello, Ed. And this must be Susannah.” He shook her hand warmly. He was not as tall as Eagle but broader, a bear of a man.

“Why do I feel so small in this company?” Susannah asked and got a laugh.

They were seated, ordered drinks, consulted menus and ordered food.

“I must tell you,” Shea said, “I’m a fan of your work.”

“Why thank you, Dan,” Susannah said.

“I don’t go to the movies all that much, but I see everything on satellite, and I’ve watched most of your movies more than once.”

“Well, I’m settling into my character period, I think, since I’m pushing forty now. The good news is, I produce most of what I appear in, so I just cast myself in good supporting roles.”

“That’s very smart,” Shea said. “Tell me, how does one learn to produce films? It seems very complicated.”

“Well, first of all, I’ve appeared in a lot of them, and I guess it didn’t hurt to be married to a producer for some years, and I got to watch him work. He’s very good at it.”

There was a silence.

“Oh, that’s right. I should have used the past tense,” Susannah said. “He was very good at it.”

“I won’t pretend I don’t know about that,” Shea said.

“Thank God. Ed promised me he hadn’t set me up for over-dinner therapy.”

“You’re a smart woman, I think,” Shea said. “You’ll call me if you need me. A lot of people wait a lot longer than they should, but I don’t think you’re one of those.”

“That’s a pretty good observation,” Susannah said. “What else have you divined about me during our brief acquaintance?”

“You mean besides beautiful and intelligent? Let’s see: frank to the point of being blunt, disdainful of charade, good judge of character.”

“Then why did I marry the schmuck I married?”

“You’re in the company of millions; love and sex distort judgment.”

“Go on with your observations.”

“I think that’s as far as I’d like to go on short acquaintance; I don’t want to get you mixed up with the characters you’ve played.”

“Well, you’re pretty much on target,” Susannah said, “especially the beautiful and intelligent part.”

Eagle laughed. “I can vouch for your perceptions, Dan.”

Susannah sipped her drink. “There’s something wrong with this drink,” she said. “It tastes funny.”

Eagle, who was drinking the same bourbon, tasted his, then tasted hers. “They seem the same to me.”

Susannah held up a hand, as if telling him not to speak, then she picked up her napkin, held it in both hands and vomited into it.

A waiter rushed over and relieved her of the napkin and handed her another.

“Excuse me,” Susannah said, starting to get up. “I’m feeling a little odd.” She got to her feet and fainted into Daniel Shea’s waiting arms.

“I think it’s caught up with her,” Shea said, sweeping her up. “Let’s get her home.”

Eagle followed behind him and helped get her into the car. “Should we take her to the hospital?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” He handed Eagle his car keys. “There’s a medical bag in my trunk; get it for me, will you?”

Eagle retrieved the bag. When he returned Shea was sitting in the backseat with Susannah, her head in his lap. He held his fingers to her throat. “Her vitals are fine; she’s just having a bout with post-traumatic stress disorder. My guess is she’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep, though she may want to come and talk to me.”

“I’ll encourage it,” Eagle said.

“Don’t. Let it be her idea.”

“I’ll drive you home when we’ve gotten her in bed.”

“I’d better stay over, to be there if she needs me. You do have a guest room, don’t you?”

“A guesthouse; you’re welcome to it.”

“She may wake up in the night and move around. Try to settle her down. If she becomes agitated, call me, and I’ll give her something to calm her down.”

“I’m almost as surprised at her reaction as I was at her lack of reaction after the shooting,” Eagle said.

“Some people are just stoics,” Shea replied. “It takes them a longer time than most people to externalize what they’re feeling inside. It’s good that she’s finally let it out.”

Eagle drove on, hoping that this was the worst effect she would experience from the shooting.