Free Devil's Waltz by Jonathan Kellerman

Chip like her.”
    “Even though she’s an ass-kisser.”
    “Even though. Incidentally, he feels that way about the entire hospital. Doesn’t like getting special treatment.”
    “In what way?”
    “No specific complaints, and he made a point of saying he likes
you.
He’s just got a general concern that something could be missed because of who his father is. More than anything, he looks weary. They both do.”
    “Aren’t we all,” she said. “So what’s your initial take on mama?”
    “She wasn’t what I expected — neither of them was. They seem more health-food restaurant than country club. And they’re also different from each other. She’s very… I guess the best word for it is
basic
. Unsophisticated. Especially for a honcho’s daughter-in-law. I can see Chip growing up rich, but he’s not exactly corporate son.”
    “The earring?”
    “The earring, his choice of profession, his general demeanor. He talked about getting conformity shoved at him throughout childhood and rebelling. Maybe marrying Cindy was part of it. There’s a twelve-year difference between them. Was she his student?”
    “Could be, I don’t know. Is that relevant in terms of Munchausen?”
    “Not really. I’m just getting my feet wet. In terms of a Munchausen profile, it’s too early to tell much about her. She does toss some jargon into her speech and she’s highly identified with Cassie — feels the two of them have an almost telepathic link. The physical resemblance between them is strong — Cassie’s like a miniature of her. That could enhance the identification, I suppose.”
    “Meaning if Cindy hates herself she could be projecting it on to Cassie?”
    “It’s possible,” I said. “But I’m a long way off from interpretation. Did Chad also resemble her?”
    “I saw him dead, Alex.” She covered her face, rubbed her eyes, looked up. “All I remember was that he was a pretty little boy. Gray, like one of those cherub statues you put in a garden. Tell the truth, I tried
not
to look at him.”
    She picked up a demitasse cup, looked ready to throw it.
    “God, what a nightmare. Carrying him down to the morgue. The staff elevator was jammed. I was just standing around, holding this
bundle
. Waiting. People passing right by me, gabbing — I wanted to scream. Finally I walked over to the public elevators, rode down with a bunch of other people. Patients, parents. Trying not to look at
them
. So they wouldn’t know what I was carrying.”
    We sat for a while. Then she said, “Espresso,” leaned over toward the little black machine and turned it on. A red light glowed. “Loaded and ready to go. Let’s caffeine our troubles away. Oh, let me give you those references.”
    She took a piece of paper from the desk and handed it to me. List of ten articles.
    “Thanks.”
    “Notice anything else,” she said, “about Cindy?”
    “No
belle indifférence
or dramatic attention seeking, so far. On the contrary, she seemed very low-key. Chip did mention that the aunt who raised her was a nurse, so we’ve got a possible early exposure to health-related issues, on top of her being a respiratory tech. But that’s really pretty thin, by itself. Her child-rearing skills seem good — exemplary, even.”
    “What about the relationship with her husband? Pick up any stress there?”
    “No. Have you?”
    She shook her head. Smiled. “But I thought you guys had tricks.”
    “Didn’t bring my bag this morning. Actually, they seem to get along pretty well.”
    “One big happy family,” she said. “Have you ever seen a case like this before?”
    “Never,” I said. “Munchausens avoid psychologists and psychiatrists like the plague because we’re proof no one’s taking their diseases seriously. The closest I’ve come are doctor-hoppers — parents convinced something’s wrong with their kids, running from specialist to specialist even though no one can find any real symptoms. When I was in practice I used to get