don’t like the guy because he was a douche to you. Remember that?”
“Yeah,” I said, letting my own irritation show. “Yeah, I remember.” And with that reminder of the Vaughn of old, some really nasty anger flooded in. Damn, thought I got rid of that.
“Hey, Lucy’s been telling me to say hi and that we need to get together,” Mayburn said.
“I agree. Tell her ‘hi’ back.” I took a breath. “And really, I haven’t forgotten about the jackassery Vaughn has sown before. But I do think he can contribute to this case.”
“Fine. Cool. Look,” Mayburn said, “on that front, my own analysis shows a probability that it’s a woman who wrote those emails. But that’s not conclusive. Still, we should ask Madeline about this, about any women she knows who she thinks could have done that.”
“But it could be a man?” I asked, thinking of Syd and Jeremy.
“Absolutely.”
Mayburn also reported that the email address, from what he could tell, was registered under a bogus name and fake identifying information. Millions of people used the site anonymously, he said. And the company’s privacy policy was notoriously strict.
I called Madeline on her cellphone and told her what we’d learned from Mayburn and Vaughn. I took a right onto State Street and headed toward my mother’s place.
“A woman?” Madeline said, surprise in her voice.
“That was just Vaughn’s opinion.” I explained Vaughn’s reasoning, and also told her about the odds, according to Mayburn, that it could be a woman.
“Mayburn said his analytics aren’t definitive. No one’s are,” I said. “But I need you to think of any women in your life who might do something like write those comments and the email.”
“No,” she said quickly. “There’s no one like that. Absolutely not. I mean, I don’t have lots of girlfriends, but I adorethe ones I have. I’m not one of those women who says she can’t stand other women.”
“I’m not, either.”
We ran through a list of any women who had worked at Madeline’s gallery, or any outside contractors who might have spent enough time there to know the ins and outs.
I reached the iron fence outside my mom’s elegant graystone at the corner of Goethe Street.
I told Madeline I was going out with Jeremy that night, and that I would see her tomorrow. But the conversation weighed on me as I neared my mom’s house. I hoped very much, for Madeline’s sake, that she was right; that whoever was threatening her, whoever had forged her artwork, was not someone she considered a friend.
26
I t felt good to be in my mother’s kitchen, tucked behind the bay window table, a soft lap blanket on my legs, sipping red wine and chatting with her.
My brother, Charlie, a frequent guest and drop-in at the house, loped into the kitchen. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said in return. I noticed that his hair was looking redder as he got older, as if he was in the autumn of his life.
“Mom, is Cassandra coming over?” Charlie looked at my mother with a bit of a smirk. Without waiting for an answer, Charlie turned to me, “Did Mom tell you she’s setting Dad up with Cassandra?”
I blinked at my brother. Then I blinked at my mom. “Wait. Did I just hear right? You’re…” I let my question fade, and then got my focus back. “You’re setting up your ex-husband with your best friend?” I heard my own incredulousness.
My mother cast a stern look at Charlie, then back at me. “Is that strange? I mean, I can’t get a handle on the appropriateness of this situation. You know, I’m usually fairly adept at etiquette....”
Charlie and I nodded in agreement. My mother was nothing if not the pillar of etiquette. And not in a haughty kind of way, but rather a she-was-made-like-that kind of way.
“The fact is…” My mother looked around, apparently trying to determine the location of her current spouse. “Sometimes I really don’t know how to act when it comes to your father.” She looked at
“Yeah,” I said, letting my own irritation show. “Yeah, I remember.” And with that reminder of the Vaughn of old, some really nasty anger flooded in. Damn, thought I got rid of that.
“Hey, Lucy’s been telling me to say hi and that we need to get together,” Mayburn said.
“I agree. Tell her ‘hi’ back.” I took a breath. “And really, I haven’t forgotten about the jackassery Vaughn has sown before. But I do think he can contribute to this case.”
“Fine. Cool. Look,” Mayburn said, “on that front, my own analysis shows a probability that it’s a woman who wrote those emails. But that’s not conclusive. Still, we should ask Madeline about this, about any women she knows who she thinks could have done that.”
“But it could be a man?” I asked, thinking of Syd and Jeremy.
“Absolutely.”
Mayburn also reported that the email address, from what he could tell, was registered under a bogus name and fake identifying information. Millions of people used the site anonymously, he said. And the company’s privacy policy was notoriously strict.
I called Madeline on her cellphone and told her what we’d learned from Mayburn and Vaughn. I took a right onto State Street and headed toward my mother’s place.
“A woman?” Madeline said, surprise in her voice.
“That was just Vaughn’s opinion.” I explained Vaughn’s reasoning, and also told her about the odds, according to Mayburn, that it could be a woman.
“Mayburn said his analytics aren’t definitive. No one’s are,” I said. “But I need you to think of any women in your life who might do something like write those comments and the email.”
“No,” she said quickly. “There’s no one like that. Absolutely not. I mean, I don’t have lots of girlfriends, but I adorethe ones I have. I’m not one of those women who says she can’t stand other women.”
“I’m not, either.”
We ran through a list of any women who had worked at Madeline’s gallery, or any outside contractors who might have spent enough time there to know the ins and outs.
I reached the iron fence outside my mom’s elegant graystone at the corner of Goethe Street.
I told Madeline I was going out with Jeremy that night, and that I would see her tomorrow. But the conversation weighed on me as I neared my mom’s house. I hoped very much, for Madeline’s sake, that she was right; that whoever was threatening her, whoever had forged her artwork, was not someone she considered a friend.
26
I t felt good to be in my mother’s kitchen, tucked behind the bay window table, a soft lap blanket on my legs, sipping red wine and chatting with her.
My brother, Charlie, a frequent guest and drop-in at the house, loped into the kitchen. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said in return. I noticed that his hair was looking redder as he got older, as if he was in the autumn of his life.
“Mom, is Cassandra coming over?” Charlie looked at my mother with a bit of a smirk. Without waiting for an answer, Charlie turned to me, “Did Mom tell you she’s setting Dad up with Cassandra?”
I blinked at my brother. Then I blinked at my mom. “Wait. Did I just hear right? You’re…” I let my question fade, and then got my focus back. “You’re setting up your ex-husband with your best friend?” I heard my own incredulousness.
My mother cast a stern look at Charlie, then back at me. “Is that strange? I mean, I can’t get a handle on the appropriateness of this situation. You know, I’m usually fairly adept at etiquette....”
Charlie and I nodded in agreement. My mother was nothing if not the pillar of etiquette. And not in a haughty kind of way, but rather a she-was-made-like-that kind of way.
“The fact is…” My mother looked around, apparently trying to determine the location of her current spouse. “Sometimes I really don’t know how to act when it comes to your father.” She looked at
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