I knew I needed to tell her about discovering who had gotten Louisa pregnant, but I couldn’t seem to find the words. Or maybe it was just the courage. While I was fishing around for it Caroline said abruptly:
“I bought Ma some cigarettes. I remembered what you said that first night you came by, how they wouldn’t make her any worse and they might cheer her up. And I could see all I was trying to do was have power over her, keeping her from having one thing that might bring her a little pleasure.”
Her last words brought back Lotty’s advice most strongly. I took a breath and said, “Caroline, I have to tell you-I did find out who your father was.”
Her blue eyes turned very dark. “Not Joey Pankowski, right?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. There isn’t any easy way to say this, or to hear it, but it would be really wrong for me not to tell you-a most noxious way of controlling your life.”
She looked at me solemnly. “Go ahead, Vic. I-I think I’m more grown up than I used to be. I can take it.”
I took both her hands and said gently, “It was Art Jurshak. He was your-”
“Art Jurshak!” she burst out. “I don’t believe you. Ma never would have come across him in a million years! You’re making this up, aren’t you?”
I shook my head. “I wish I were. Art-he-uh-your Grandmother Djiak is his sister. He used to spend a lot of time with Connie and Louisa when they were little, and the Djiaks chose not to notice that he was abusing them. Your grandparents are both terrified of sex, and your grandfather especially is frightened of women, so they made up a vile fairy tale for themselves that it was your mother’s fault when she got pregnant. Although they did stop seeing Art, it was Louisa they punished. They’re a pretty loathsome couple, Ed and Martha Djiak.”
Her freckles stood out like polka dots against the pallor of her face. “Art Jurshak. He’s my father? I’m related to him?”
“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
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.”
“Knives? Hypodermics? Vats of chemicals?”
He laughed again. “Let us just say you would regret it forever if you did not meet my visitor. I’ll send my car for you at six.”
“You’re very kind,” I said formally, “but I prefer to drive myself And I will bring a friend with me.”
My heart was pounding when I hung up, and wild surmises flashed through my mind. He had Caroline hostage, or Lotty. I couldn’t check on Caroline, but I did phone Lotty at the clinic. When she came to the phone, surprised at my urgency, I explained where I was going.
“If you don’t hear from me by seven, call the police.” I gave her Bobby’s home and office numbers.