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Authors: Sara Paretsky
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extreme. I poured myself a glass of Ruffino and put on water for her coffee.
We ate by candlelight in the dining room while Lotty unburdened herself. By the time we had finished the salad, she felt more relaxed and asked me what I was working on.
I told her about Rosa and the Dominicans and Albert’s phoning me to tell me the whole thing was off.
The candlelight was reflected in her black eyes as she narrowed them at me. “And what are you trying to prove by continuing?”
“It was Albert who phoned. Rosa may not agree,” I said defensively.
“Yes. Your aunt dislikes you. She’s decided—for whatever reason—to discontinue the effort to protect herself. So what are you doing? Proving that you are tougher, or smarter, or just plain better than she is?”
I thought it over. Lotty is sometimes about as pleasant as a can opener, but she braces me. I know myself better when I talk to Lotty.
“You know, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about Rosa. It’s not as though she’s an obsession; she doesn’t control my head that much. But I feel very protective of my mother. Rosa hurt her and that makes me angry. If I can show Rosa she was wrong to stop the investigation, that I can solve this problem despite failure by the FBI and the SEC, I’ll have proof that she was wrong about everything. And she’ll have to believe it.” I laughed and finished my glass of wine. “She won’t, of course. My rational self knows that. But my feeling self thinks otherwise.”
Lotty nodded. “Perfectly logical. Does your rational self have any way of solving this problem?”
“There are lots of things the FBI can do that I can’t because they have so much manpower. But one thing I could look into is who actually did the forgeries. Let Derek concentrate on who planted them and which ex-Dominicans are living in luxury.
“I don’t know any forgers. But it occurred to me that a forger is really a species of engraver. And I wondered about your uncle Stefan.”
Lotty had been watching me with an expression of shrewd amusement. Now her face changed suddenly. Her mouth set and her black eyes narrowed. “Is this an inspired guess? Or have you spent your spare time investigating me?”
I looked at her in bewilderment.
“You wondered why you never met my uncle Stefan? Although he is my only relative living in Chicago?”
“No,” I said doggedly. “I never thought about it for a minute. You’ve never met my aunt Rosa. Even if she weren’t a virago, you’d probably never have met her—friends seldom have much in common with relatives.”
She continued to stare searchingly at me. I felt very hurt but could think of nothing to say that would bridge the gulf of Lotty’s suspicious silence. The last time I had felt this way was the night I realized the man I had married and thought I loved was as foreign to me as Yasir Arafat. Could a friendship evaporate in the same mist as a marriage?
My throat felt tight, but I forced myself to talk. “Lotty. You’ve known me for close to twenty years and I’ve never done anything behind your back. If you think I’ve started now
.“ That sentence wasn’t going in the right direction. “There’s something you don’t want me to know about your uncle. You don’t have to tell me. Carry it to the grave with you. But don’t act as though everything you know about me suddenly has no foundation.” A light bulb went on over my head. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me your uncle really is a forger?”
The set look held in Lotty’s face for a few seconds, then cracked into a wry smile. “You are right, Vic. About my uncle. And about you and me. I’m truly sorry, my dear. I won’t try to make excuses—there are none. But Stefan.
When the war ended, I found there was left of my family only my brother and the distant cousins who had taken us in during the war. Hugo—my brother—and I spent what time and money we had searching for relatives. And we found Papa’s brother Stefan. When
We ate by candlelight in the dining room while Lotty unburdened herself. By the time we had finished the salad, she felt more relaxed and asked me what I was working on.
I told her about Rosa and the Dominicans and Albert’s phoning me to tell me the whole thing was off.
The candlelight was reflected in her black eyes as she narrowed them at me. “And what are you trying to prove by continuing?”
“It was Albert who phoned. Rosa may not agree,” I said defensively.
“Yes. Your aunt dislikes you. She’s decided—for whatever reason—to discontinue the effort to protect herself. So what are you doing? Proving that you are tougher, or smarter, or just plain better than she is?”
I thought it over. Lotty is sometimes about as pleasant as a can opener, but she braces me. I know myself better when I talk to Lotty.
“You know, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about Rosa. It’s not as though she’s an obsession; she doesn’t control my head that much. But I feel very protective of my mother. Rosa hurt her and that makes me angry. If I can show Rosa she was wrong to stop the investigation, that I can solve this problem despite failure by the FBI and the SEC, I’ll have proof that she was wrong about everything. And she’ll have to believe it.” I laughed and finished my glass of wine. “She won’t, of course. My rational self knows that. But my feeling self thinks otherwise.”
Lotty nodded. “Perfectly logical. Does your rational self have any way of solving this problem?”
“There are lots of things the FBI can do that I can’t because they have so much manpower. But one thing I could look into is who actually did the forgeries. Let Derek concentrate on who planted them and which ex-Dominicans are living in luxury.
“I don’t know any forgers. But it occurred to me that a forger is really a species of engraver. And I wondered about your uncle Stefan.”
Lotty had been watching me with an expression of shrewd amusement. Now her face changed suddenly. Her mouth set and her black eyes narrowed. “Is this an inspired guess? Or have you spent your spare time investigating me?”
I looked at her in bewilderment.
“You wondered why you never met my uncle Stefan? Although he is my only relative living in Chicago?”
“No,” I said doggedly. “I never thought about it for a minute. You’ve never met my aunt Rosa. Even if she weren’t a virago, you’d probably never have met her—friends seldom have much in common with relatives.”
She continued to stare searchingly at me. I felt very hurt but could think of nothing to say that would bridge the gulf of Lotty’s suspicious silence. The last time I had felt this way was the night I realized the man I had married and thought I loved was as foreign to me as Yasir Arafat. Could a friendship evaporate in the same mist as a marriage?
My throat felt tight, but I forced myself to talk. “Lotty. You’ve known me for close to twenty years and I’ve never done anything behind your back. If you think I’ve started now
.“ That sentence wasn’t going in the right direction. “There’s something you don’t want me to know about your uncle. You don’t have to tell me. Carry it to the grave with you. But don’t act as though everything you know about me suddenly has no foundation.” A light bulb went on over my head. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me your uncle really is a forger?”
The set look held in Lotty’s face for a few seconds, then cracked into a wry smile. “You are right, Vic. About my uncle. And about you and me. I’m truly sorry, my dear. I won’t try to make excuses—there are none. But Stefan.
When the war ended, I found there was left of my family only my brother and the distant cousins who had taken us in during the war. Hugo—my brother—and I spent what time and money we had searching for relatives. And we found Papa’s brother Stefan. When
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