Brush Back

I peered at the screen. The Boom-Boom story is going out on our six o’clock local news. Any comment? M.R.

Murray Ryerson. Murray had been a great investigative journalist until Global Entertainment bought the Herald-Star, slashed the number of reporters by two-thirds, and left him doing odd jobs on their cable news network.

I washed my hands and called him. “What Boom-Boom story?”

“Ah, V.I., you’re restoring my faith. Can she have been sitting on this all these years and not shared it with her closest comrade in the fight for truth and justice? No, I thought, but then I remembered the time you left me at a party to cover a homicide and didn’t bother to call. I remembered when you were outing the Xerxes Chemical CEO for malicious misconduct and didn’t call, and I thought, the Girl Detective is two-timing you again, Ryerson, but I’ll give her the benefit—”

“Murray, do you have a point, or has TV made you think everyone around you is a captive audience?”

“I was just trying to lighten your mood,” he complained. “Did Boom-Boom kill A

“What?” Fury was rising in me. I struggled to keep it at bay, to make sense of what Murray was saying. “Is this some creepy made-for-TV movie that Global is confusing with reality?”

“You really didn’t know?” Murray said. “It’s about to be all over the airwaves. And the Internet.”

“Global is putting that out, with no digging, no verification?”

“Of course they’re not,” Murray said. “They’re asking me to do some fact-checking. Which is why I’ve called you for a comment. In the meantime, though, people have been tweeting about it all day. It went viral this afternoon, so Global has to look as though we’re ahead of the story. Boom-Boom may have been dead a lot of years, but his name is still news in this town. What can you tell me?”

“That your involvement in this cesspool means you will never get another break from me again. Ever.” I hung up.

Max and Lotty arrived as I was bent over my laptop, following Global’s Twitter feed. I hugged them both, mechanically, explaining what was happening. Jake wasn’t home yet; he’d sent a text that his rehearsal was ru

I left the fish lying in their salt bed to turn on the TV for Global’s breaking news. Boom-Boom was the top story. They led with him at the Blues net, stick up after scoring a game-wi

The camera switched back to Beth Blacksin at the news desk. “Speaking through her lawyer, Ms. Guzzo says she came on a diary that her daughter kept in the months before her death. In it, A

Blacksin held up a piece of paper, meaningless, since we weren’t seeing the actual diary. “Stella Guzzo is making a case that Boom-Boom Warshawski murdered A

They flashed my father’s picture on the screen in his dress uniform, my mother at his side. Blacksin further identified Tony as father of Chicago private eye V. I. Warshawski.

A rage so huge it blinded me filled my head. I was at the safe in my bedroom closet, getting the gun out, checking the clip, without knowing how I got there.

“Victoria. No!” Lotty appeared behind me.

“She’s attacked my mother for the last time.” The hoarse voice wasn’t mine.

Lotty slapped me. “You will not act like this, Victoria!”

I gasped, glared at her, but put the gun down. I’d been clenching the clip so tightly it had sliced my palm. Blood welled around the cut.

“Vic, have you seen—they are telling horrible lies about Uncle Boom-Boom.”

It was Bernie, pushing her way past Lotty to get to me. “I was out with the girls from the hockey club and they had a television on. This is terrible. I called my papa, and he says he can get a leave of absence from the Canadiens, we’ll do what— Ah, you’ve got a gun. This is good, Papa told me you wouldn’t take it lying down!”

“She is not going to shoot anyone,” Lotty said, her face set in hard lines.

“But—Dr. Lotty—have you heard what they’re saying? That Uncle Boom-Boom murdered some girl all those years ago because of reasons so ridiculous no one could believe them?”

“Yes, I’m almost beside myself with fury,” I said. “But that clouds the mind, and—and I think I need to sit down.”

Lotty put an arm around me, leading me from the bedroom into the living room, into the big armchair. She brought a damp cloth from the kitchen, bathed the blood from my palm, but held on to my hand when she was done.

“Victoria, you love your cousin, you love your parents, these lies against them are hard to stomach, but believe me, when you have lost everyone, the people left to you are more precious. I can’t lose you and that’s what will happen if you give way to that kind of fury. I—please, my dear one, don’t let me see that in your face again.”

“Right.” I tried to smile, but my face felt as though it were made out of putty, not able to form a shape. “My mother would hate it, too.”

Bernie hovered a little way from us, frowning. “But you must stop those lies!”

“Yep, I agree. But I’m not up to figuring out how to do it tonight. We’ll make a plan in the morning.”

“What’s up? What’s wrong with you, V.I.?” Jake had come in, holding a bottle of Orvieto. I’d forgotten asking him to pick up wine to go with the fish.

“Only a brief brainstorm. I’m over it.” I’d succumbed to the rage of Stella, the rage that led her to bludgeon her daughter to death. The rage that filled her head day after day. No wonder she hadn’t bought time off for good behavior.

Max gave Jake a short précis of the news.

Jake nodded. “She is Medea, isn’t she? You think it’s a myth, and then you meet it in real life. Euripides knew something about human nature.”

“Medea gets off scot-free at the end,” I said, “she rides off in Apollo’s chariot. I guess that’s what Stella’s trying to do.”

“In Cherubini’s version, she’s burned up in the temple with the children she murdered,” Jake said. “I like that one better.”

“Fine,” Bernie said. “Turn it into a game, don’t do anything to help. I thought you loved Uncle Boom-Boom.”

I forced myself out of the chair. “Bernie, racing around town firing my gun wouldn’t solve any problems, just get me killed or arrested. I wouldn’t even know whom to shoot.”

“That terrible old woman, that Medea!”

“No, darling. She may be demented or delusional, which isn’t a reason to shoot her. Or someone else may be manipulating her for reasons none of us can even begin to guess at. We don’t know if this diary is real or if someone planted it in her house to stir up Stella’s passions.”

Bernie glared, her lower lip thrust out. “What will you do?”

“Try to get a few facts. But not until morning, when my head is clearer. Come help me set the table while I try to cook this branzino the way I had it in Venice.”

CROWD NOISE

While we ate, my landline kept ringing. Max answered. Every television station in North America wanted to talk to me about Boom-Boom. Max told callers it was a mistake that would be absurd if it wasn’t so vile and that all questions should be directed to my own attorney. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Max had Freeman Carter’s name and number in his Rolodex—he’s the kind of person who knows everyone and puts people together.