The Death of a Much Travelled Woman by Barbara Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

out in the corridor. “I thought Mrs. Horsey-Smythe was married.”
    “I’m sure she’s just researching her next lesbian novel,” I said comfortingly.
    The next morning at breakfast we happened to stand behind Darcy Joanne again. She was asking for scrambled tofu and herb tea. “Well then, what about yogurt? What about all those Ukrainians who live to be 105 and only eat yogurt?”
    Sighing, she took her plate of fried eggs and said, “Really incredible what happened yesterday, don’t you think? I’m thinking of bringing out Olga’s poems. They’d probably sell really well now.”
    “That’s morbid,” said Dee.
    “That’s publishing,” Darcy replied. “You don’t have to think about that stuff up in Canada. We do.”
    “Doesn’t it seem odd that it happened in front of Lulu’s stand?” I asked.
    “Yeah,” said Darcy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Lulu had engineered it for publicity. She’s in real financial trouble—that’s the rumor. I don’t know how she could afford to come here.”
    “But I thought Trash Out was a huge success.”
    “It had novelty value,” Darcy said. “But that’s worn off. People are saying that it sounds the same every month. And nobody but feminists are interested in the dirt on other feminists. But Lulu put a lot of money into it. I guess her loans are probably coming due. Cash-flow problems—that’s the polite term for imminent bankruptcy.” And Darcy drifted off to join her Californian friends.
    “Yeah, I know she has me in mind for her cover,” said Simone, almost in resignation. We’d caught up with her in the courtyard outside the exhibit hall. “But what can you do? Better Lulu trashing me out than Ishmael Reed. At least Lulu doesn’t pretend to be the voice of injured black manhood.”
    “But what can she dig up on you?” Dee asked. I wanted to warn her that this was a potential murderer we were dealing with, but Dee rushed on, “I love your work. And your life has seemed so straightforward. I mean, at least in that article I read in Time magazine. You went to college, graduate school, and then published a novel.”
    Simone smiled. “Nobody’s life is that straightforward. Everybody does little deals, makes little trade-offs, has skeletons in the closet. Mine are no worse than anybody else’s, but I have them. For instance, I’m a lesbian, but I’m not out to a lot of people, and I don’t write about lesbian characters. That’s how I want it at the moment; that’s how I can do my best work at the moment. But Lulu’s bound to make that the focus. I’m angry, but I’m prepared.”
    Simone’s face was a calm mask. I couldn’t really tell what she was feeling and thinking.
    “It’s terrible about Olga, isn’t it?” I said.
    But Simone just nodded.
    “Either Simone’s a liar or we’ve got the wrong suspect. And she didn’t look upset about Olga at all.”
    Dee and I were back at her stand, surrounded by hordes of Russians. If anything, Olga’s death had increased the attendance at the book fair, and there was an especially large crowd around TRESH OOT.
    “Maybe we should give up,” said Dee. “The Soviets probably killed Olga. And if they didn’t they’ll have to figure out who did.”
    “Rubbish,” I said. “What does the KGB know about feminism? They have no idea it’s a greater threat to world stability than capitalism. No, there must be a connection somewhere—to the idea that Simone is somehow involved and the rumor that Lulu’s losing money on Trash Out .”
    Fifteen minutes later I had broken into Lulu’s room at the Vladivostok People’s Hotel. I realized how little I knew about her as I leafed through a box of back issues of Trash Out and rooted in a suitcase full of scarves and black underwear. There must be a clue here somewhere, but I was damned if I knew what it was or where to find it.
    I heard footsteps in the corridor and hastily crawled under the bed. While I held my breath, the footsteps