“Dana, darling.”
It was her mother. “Hello, Mother. I was just leav—”
“My friends and I listened to your broadcast last night. You were very good.”
“Thank you.”
“Although we thought you could have brightened up the news a bit.”
Dana sighed. “Brightened up the news?”
“Yes. All the things you talk about are so depressing. Can’t you find something cheerful to discuss?”
“I’ll certainly see what I can do, Mother.”
“That would be nice. By the way, I’m running just a little short of cash this month. I wonder if you could help me out again?”
Dana’s father had disappeared years ago. In time, Dana’s mother had moved to Las Vegas. It seemed that she was always short of cash. The monthly allowance Dana gave her mother never seemed to be enough.
“Do you gamble, Mother?”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Evans said indignantly. “Las Vegas is a very expensive city. By the way, when are you going to come out here? I would like to meet Kimbal. You should bring him here.”
“His name is Kemal, Mother. I can’t get away right now.”
There was a slight hesitation at the other end. “You can’t? My friends are all saying how fortunate you are to have a job where you only have to work an hour or two a day.”
Dana said, “I guess I’m just lucky.”
As anchorwoman, Dana arrived at the television studio at nine o’clock every morning and spent much of the day on international conference calls, getting the latest news from London, Paris, Italy, and other foreign locations. The rest of the day was devoted to meetings, putting all the news together, and deciding what would be broadcast and in what order when she went on the air. She did two evening broadcasts.
“It’s nice that you have such an easy job, darling.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“You’ll come and see me soon, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will.”
“I can’t wait to meet that darling little boy.”
It will be good for Kemal to meet her, too, Dana thought. He’ll have a grandmother. And when Jeff and I are married, Kemal will have a real family again.
As Dana stepped out into the corridor of her apartment building, Mrs. Wharton appeared.
“I want to thank you for taking care of Kemal the other morning, Dorothy. I really appreciate it.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Dorothy Wharton and her husband, Howard, had moved into the building a year ago. They were Canadians, a delightful middle-aged couple. Howard Wharton was an engineer who repaired monuments.
As he had explained to Dana at dinner one night, “There’s no better city in the world than Washington for my kind of work. Where else could I find opportunities like this?” And he answered his own question. “Nowhere.”
“Howard and I both love Washington,” Mrs. Wharton confided. “We’re never going to leave.”
When Dana got back to her office, the latest edition of the Washington Tribune was on her desk. The front page was filled with stories and photographs of the Winthrop family. Dana looked at the photographs for a long time, her mind racing. Five of them all dead in less than a year. Incredible.
The call was made to a private phone in the executive tower of Washington Tribune Enterprises.
“I just got the instructions.”
“Good. They’ve been waiting. What do you want them to do with the paintings?”
“Burn them.”
“All of them? They’re worth millions of dollars.”
“Everything’s gone perfectly. We can’t allow any loose ends. Burn them now.”
Dana’s secretary, Olivia Watkins, was on the intercom. “There’s a call for you on line three. He’s called twice already.”
“Who is it, Olivia?”
“Mr. Henry.”
Thomas Henry was the principal of Theodore Roosevelt Middle School.
Dana rubbed her hand against her forehead to wipe away the headache that was about to start. She picked up the telephone. “Good afternoon, Mr. Henry.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Evans. I wonder if you could stop by and see me?”
“Certainly. In an hour or two, I’m—”
“I would suggest now, if that’s possible.”
“I’ll be there.”
III
SCHOOL WAS AN UNBEARABLE ordeal for Kemal. He was smaller than the other kids in his classes, and to his deep shame, that included the girls. He was nicknamed “the runt” and “the shrimp” and “the minnow.” As far as his studies were concerned, Kemal’s only interest was in math and computers, where he invariably got the highest grades of anyone. An offshoot of the class was the chess club, and Kemal dominated it. In the past, he had enjoyed soccer, but when he had gone to try out for the school varsity team, the coach had looked at Kemal’s empty sleeve and said, “Sorry, we can’t use you.” It was not said unkindly, but it was a devastating blow.