Jonathan Kellerman - The Conspiracy Club

Jeremy removed the cup. Weighty. Inside was a note. Fine blue rag paper, folded once. Familiar writing in black fountain pen ink:

To a young scholar and gentleman,

With gratitude, admiration, and earnest hopes that you’ll consider this humble proposition: One soul passes, another enters. Life is fleeting, brutish, ecstatic, mundane.

Let us punctuate our brief sojourn with fine food, warming libations, and the sparkling camaraderie of souls in synchrony. Fondly,

The Central Conspiracy Club.

Okay, he’d been close.

“You’ll like them,” said Angela.

“You’re sure it’s what you want?”

“It’s exactly what I want.”

Sunday, one in the afternoon. Rampaging blizzards were rumored to be racing down from Canada, but the air, ever perverse, had warmed.

They were lunching at a place near the harbor. Fried seafood and coleslaw and beer. Nice view of the lake. Just far enough to obscure the oily film on the water. From their table, the water was God’s own mirror.

The publicity surrounding Augusto Graves’s crimes, his relationship to Central City- and to Ted Dirgrove- had thrown the hospital’s front office into a tailspin. Dirgrove had taken an extended leave of absence. The charming young women at Development sat idly. The inept security guards contended with reporters.

Jeremy exploited the turmoil by demanding and receiving two months’ paid vacation, dates of his choosing. He planned to leave soon. Once all the police business was cleared away. Once his patients were sufficiently taken care of.

He’d also insisted on ten paid days off for Angela, with no downside to her residency rating. He would have tried for more, but she said, “I really do need to be here.”

The schedule.

Which was fine. He’d have some time to himself, maybe travel. Learn. The first ten days- the best days- would be spent with Angela, away from emergencies and memories and the pain of others.

In his heart, he felt it would take them to another level.

Angela was thrilled at the prospect. Today, she’d surprised him with a plan: they’d fly out to California, rent a car- a convertible- drive up the coast, just drive. Anywhere the sun was out.

Then the tentative add-on: Maybe we can spend the last couple of days with my family? I want them to meet you.

“They’ll adore you.”

“You’re pretty sure of that.”

“Hundred and fifty percent sure. Because I adore you, and I’m their princess-who-can-do-no-wrong.”

“You have that kind of power.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Scary,” said Jeremy.

“Very.” She smiled. Light bounced off the lake and filtered through the waves of her hair.

Beautiful girl. Here.

“Can you handle all that power, tough guy?”

“Yeah.”

They were sitting across from one another. Too far. Jeremy got up, moved his chair next to hers. She bussed his cheek. He stroked the back of her neck, and she said, “This is so good.”

They sat that way, looking out at the water. Holding hands, thinking separate thoughts.

And some that coincided.

Jonathan Kellerman is one of the world's most popular authors. He has brought his expertise as a child psychologist to numerous bestselling tales of suspense (which have been translated into two dozen languages), including thirteen previous Alex Delaware novels; The Butcher's Theater, a story of serial killing in Jerusalem; and Billy Straight, featuring Hollywood homicide detective Petra Connor. His new novel, Flesh and Blood, will be published in hardcover in fall 2001. He is also the author of numerous essays, short stories, and scientific articles, two children's books, and three volumes of psychology, including Savage Spawn: Reflections on Violent Children. He and his wife, the novelist Faye Kellerman, have four children.