“He gave you some chromosomes, babe, but you’re not related to him, not by any manner of means. You’re your own person, you know, not his. Not the Djiaks’, either. You’ve got guts, you’ve got integrity, and, above all, you have valor. None of that has any relationship to Art Jurshak.”
“I—Art Jurshak—” She gave a little bark of hysterical laughter. “All these years I thought your father had got Ma pregnant. I thought that was why your mother did so much for us. I thought I was really your sister. Now I see I don’t have anyone at all.”
She got up and ran for the door. I ran after her and caught her arm, but she wrenched herself free and jerked the door open.
“Caroline!” I tore down the stairs after her. “This doesn’t change that. You will always be my sister, Caroline!”
I stood on the sidewalk in my shirt sleeves, watching helplessly as she drove recklessly down the street toward Belmont.
42
Humboldt’s Gift
I think the last time I felt this bad was the day after my mother’s funeral, when her death suddenly became real to me. I tried calling Caroline, both at her house and at SCRAP. Both Louisa and a secretary agreed to take messages, but wherever Caroline was she didn’t want to talk to me. A thousand times or so I thought of calling McGonnigal, asking the police to keep an eye out for her—but what could they do about one distraught citizen?
Around four I borrowed Peppy from Mr. Contreras and drove her over to the lake. I wasn’t up to running, although she certainly was, but I needed her silent love and the expanse of sky and water to soothe my spirit. It wasn’t out of the question that Humboldt, a sore loser if ever there was one, had some kind of backup to Dresberg, so I kept a hand on the Smith & Wesson in my jacket pocket.
I threw sticks left-handed for the dog. She didn’t think much of the distance they went, but fetched them anyway to show she was a good sport. When she’d worked off some of her excess energy, we sat looking at the water while I kept my right hand on the gun.
In some remote part of my mind I knew I should think of a way to take the initiative with Humboldt, so that I didn’t have to walk around with one hand in my pocket for the rest of my life. I could go to Ron Kappelman and force the issue with him, see how much he’d been feeding Jurshak about my investigation. Maybe he’d even know how to reach Humboldt.
The whole prospect of action seemed so impossible that just thinking about it made my eyelids feel leaden, my brain fogged over. Even the idea of getting up and walking to the car would take more effort than I could manage. I might have sat staring at the waves until spring if Peppy hadn’t gotten fed up and started pushing me with her nose.
“You don’t get it, do you?” I said to her. “Golden retrievers don’t feel guilty about their neighbors’ puppies. They don’t feel obligated to look after them till death.”
She agreed happily, tongue lolling. Whatever I said was fine as long as action accompanied it. We walked back to the car—or I walked and Peppy danced in a spiral around me to make sure I didn’t stray or go back into catatonia.
When we got home Mr. Contreras came bustling out with Lotty’s clean sheets and towels. I thanked him as best I could, but told him I wanted to be alone.
“I’d like to keep the dog awhile too. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure, doll, sure. Whatever you say. She misses your runs, that’s for certain, so she’d probably be glad to stay with you, make sure you haven’t forgotten her.”
Back in my own place, I tried Caroline again, but she was still either gone or refusing to talk to me. Disheartened, I sat at the piano and picked my way through “Ch’io scordi di te.” It had been Gabriella’s favorite aria and it suited my mood of melancholy self-pity to play it through, then work at singing it. I felt tears of bathetic sorrow pricking my eyelids and went back to the middle, where the soprano line is most melodic.
When the phone rang I jumped up eagerly, sure it was Caroline willing finally to talk to me.
“Miss Warshawski?” It was the quavering voice of Humboldt’s butler.
“Yes, Anton?” My voice was calm but an adrenaline surge cleared my lethargy like sunlight on fog.
“Mr. Humboldt would like to speak with you. Please hold.” The voice held frosty disapproval. Perhaps he thought Humboldt wanted to make me his mistress and he feared I was too low class for the tone of the Roanoke.
A minute or so went by. I tried to get Peppy to come to the phone and act as my secretary but she wasn’t interested. Finally Humboldt’s rich baritone vibrated the earpiece.
“Ms. Warshawski. I would be most grateful if you would pay me a visit this evening. I have someone with me whom you would be sorry not to meet.”
“Let’s see,” I said. “Dresberg and Jurshak are in the hospital. Troy is under arrest. Ron Kappelman isn’t of much interest to me anymore. Who you got left?”
He gave his hearty chuckle to show that Monday’s contretemps was just an unhappy memory. “You’re always so direct, Ms. Warshawski. I assure you there will be no gunplay if you will pay me the courtesy of a visit.”