Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 10 Read Online Free PDF

together. We ate at the island
countertop in the kitchen, perched on barstools, while Don talked with a
certain gloomy humor about the changes in publishing. “While I was in
Barcelona, my corporate masters announced to the Journal that writers
are just content providers. Then they sent out a protocol on how to type
manuscripts, demoting the content providers to clerk-typists.”
    A few minutes before ten he pushed his chair away from
the counter. “There should be some coverage of the Birnbaum conference on the
ten o’clock news. I’d like to watch, although the cameras probably concentrated
on the action out front.”
    He helped Morrell scrape the plates into the garbage,
then went to the back porch for another cigarette. While Morrell loaded the
dishwasher, wiped down the counters, and wrapped leftovers in airtight
containers, I went into the living room to turn on Channel 13, Global
Entertainment’s Chicago station. The evening anchor, Dennis Logan, was just
finishing his summary of the upcoming news.
    “Events turned stormy at times at the conference on
Jews in America being held today at the Hotel Pleiades, but the real surprise
came at the end of the afternoon from someone who wasn’t even on the program.
Beth Blacksin will have the whole story later in our broadcast.”
    I curled up in the corner of Morrell’s couch. I
started to nod off, but when the phone rang, I woke up to see two young women
on-screen raving about a drug for yeast infections. Morrell, who’d come into
the room behind me, muted the set and answered the phone.
    “For you, sweet. Max.” He stretched the receiver out
to me.
    “Victoria, I’m sorry to phone so late.” Max’s tone was
apologetic. “We have a crisis here that I’m hoping you can solve.
Ninshubur—that blue stuffed dog Calia takes everywhere—do you have it by any
chance?”
    I could hear Calia howling in the background, Michael
shouting something, Agnes’s voice raised to yell something else. I rubbed my
eyes, trying to remember far enough back in the day to Calia’s dog. I had
stuffed Calia’s day pack into my case, then forgotten about it in the
harassment of getting her to Max. I put the phone down and looked around. I finally
asked Morrell if he knew where my briefcase was.
    “Yes, V I,” he said in a voice of long-suffering. “You
dropped it on the couch when you came in. I put it in my study.”
    I set the receiver on the couch and went down the hall
to his study. My briefcase was the only thing on his desk, except for his copy
of the Koran, with a long green string marking his place. Ninshubur was buried
in the bottom, with some raisins, Calia’s day pack, and the tale of the
princess and her faithful hound. I picked up the study extension and apologized
to Max, promising to run right over with the animal.
    “No, no, don’t disturb yourself. It’s only a few
blocks and I’ll be glad to get out of this upheaval.”
    When I returned to the living room, Don said the
suspense was mounting: we were on the second commercial break with the promise
of fireworks to come. Max rang the bell just as Dennis Logan began speaking
again.
    When I let Max into the little entryway, I saw he had
Carl Tisov with him. I handed the toy dog to Max, but he and Carl lingered long
enough that Morrell came over to invite them in for a drink.
    “Something strong, like absinthe,” Carl said. “I had
always wished for a large family, but after this evening’s waterworks, I think
I didn’t miss so much. How can one small diaphragm generate more sound than an
entire brass section?”
    “It’s the jet lag,” Max said. “It always hits small
ones hard.”
    Don called out to us to hush. “They’re finally getting
to the conference.”
    Max and Carl moved into the living room and stood
behind the couch. Don turned up the volume as Beth Blacksin’s pixieish face
filled the screen.
    “When the Southern Baptists announced their plan to
send a hundred thousand missionaries to