Blood Shot by Sara Paretsky Read Free Book Online Page A

turning out like Victoria, do you?—but I listened patiently for forty-five minutes before moving my chair back and getting to my feet.
    “It was really good to see you again, Vic. I—I’m glad you came by,” she said at the door.
    “Thanks, Connie. Take it easy. And say hi to Mike for me.”
    I walked slowly back to my car. The heel of my left shoe was rubbing on the back of my foot. I savored the pain the way you do when you’re feeling like crap. A little pain: the gods letting you expiate the damage you caused.
    How had I learned the facts of life? A little in the locker room, a little from Gabriella, a little from our basketball coach, a relaxed, sensible woman except on the court. How could Connie have made it through junior high without one of her friends tipping her off? I pictured her at fourteen, tall, gawky, timid. Maybe she hadn’t had any friends.
    It was only two o’clock. I felt as though I had spent a whole day loading bales on the levee instead of a few hours drinking coffee with the old folks at home. I felt as though I’d already earned a thousand dollars, and I didn’t even know where to start looking. I put the car into gear and headed back to the mainland.
    My socks were still damp. They filled the car with the smell of beer and sweat, but when I opened a window the cold air was too much for my bare toes. My irritation rose with my discomfort: I wanted to stop at a service station and call Caroline at SCRAP to tell her the deal was off. Whatever her mother had done a quarter century ago should decently be left to rest there. Unfortunately, I found myself making the turn to Houston Street when I should have been heading north to Lake Shore Drive and freedom.
    The block looked worse in daylight than it had at night. Cars were parked at all angles. One was abandoned in the street, black showing around the hood and windshield where a fire had burned the engine block. I left the Chevy in front of a hydrant. If the traffic patrols were as assiduous down here as the street cleaners, I could probably stay until Labor Day without getting a ticket.
    I went around to the back, where Louisa always used to leave a spare key on the ledge above the little porch. It was still there. As I let myself in a curtain twitched in the house next door. Within minutes everyone on the block would know a strange woman was going into the Djiaks’.
    I heard voices inside the house and called out to let people know I was there. When I got to Louisa’s bedroom I realized she had the television on at top volume—what I thought were visitors was only General Hospital. I knocked as hard as I could. The volume went down and her scratchy voice called out, “That you, Connie?”
    I opened the door. “Me, Louisa. How’re you doing?”
    Her thin face lighted in a smile. “Well, well, girl. Come right in. Make yourself at home. How’s it going?”
    I pulled the straight-backed chair next to the bed. “I just went down to see Connie and your folks.”
    “Did you now?” She looked at me warily. “Ma never was one of your biggest fans. What’re you up to, young Warshawski?”
    “Spreading joy and truth. Why did your mother hate Gabriella so much, Louisa?”
    She shrugged bony shoulders under her cardigan. “Gabriella never went in much for hypocrisy. She didn’t keep to herself how she felt about Ma and Pa kicking me out.”
    “Why did they?” I asked. “Were they mad at you just for getting pregnant, or did they have something special against the boy—the father?”
    She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but lay with her eyes on the television. Finally she turned back to me.
    “I could kick your ass right out the back door for poking around in this.” Her voice was calm. “But I know what happened. I know Caroline and how she always twisted you around her little finger. She called you down here, didn’t she —wants to know who her old man was. Spoiled stubborn little bitch. When I blew up at her she