Chapter One Preview
Too Rich & Too Thin
TOO RICH AND TOO THIN, Not an Autobiography
Jackpot. Finally, the prize. Two patients found with spikes driven through their hearts.
This was it. The crossover I’ve begged for, prayed for, the reason I haven’t stepped on a sidewalk crack in ten months. Every minute of every day since my husband’s body was dragged from the bottom of Lake Austin—whiskey in his veins, a Hilton receipt and another woman’s jewelry in his pocket—I’ve lingered behind the curtain of real life. A ghost, scouring the crowd for a monster.
In my fist I clutched a list of David’s psychiatry patients. He’d been edgy about someone on that list the afternoon before his death. Even frightened. Neither the alcohol found in his bloodstream nor the unfamiliar rings in his pocket matched up with the man I knew and loved.
Of course, this is just the point the police tried to make: that I didn’t know my husband as well as I thought I did. According to their report, David died in a drunk-driving accident on a road far from the hospital where I claimed he was working. What wasn’t in the report, but was accepted as fact by everyone but me, was that David was hurrying home from a tryst with his mistress.
The police–along with everyone I know–think I’m crazy. They think I’m obsessed, clinging to the fantasy that David and I had a good marriage. If you knew all the screw-ups on my love/sex dance card, you might think I was crazy too. Or line up with my sister the Baptist and say that after what I did, I deserve what’s happened.
I fingered the diamonds in the left front pocket of my jeans. David’s billfold, still damp, had plopped first out of the coroner’s brown envelope onto the yellow Formica counter. Then two quarters, a five-carat engagement solitaire, a dime, three pennies, and a diamond-studded wedding band. My husband’s final personal effects.
Now about the couple with the spikes….
And then what happened…
|Too Rich and Too Thin: NOT an Autobiography
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