Free Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 08 by Tunnel Vision Page B

thought I couldn’t endure another moment in the room, Manfred
got up to respond. After thanking Fabian and Deirdre for the beautiful
evening—and why not? he hadn’t been sitting near them—he surprised me by
repeating what he’d said to me earlier in the living room.
    “The
practice of law has changed too much since I began its study a half century
ago. People seem to take more pleasure in money than in justice. If I’ve taught
any of you here to care for justice, then I leave my professional life content.
We’ve heard a lot of high-minded poetry quoted tonight. I’d just like to remind
you of the words of another Elizabethan, Francis Quarles. He wrote them almost
four hundred years ago, but they’re not so out-of-date that we can’t profit by
them:
    “Use
law and physic only in cases of necessity; they that use them otherwise abuse
themselves into weak bodies and light purses; they are good remedies, bad
recreations, but ruinous habits.’”
    He
resumed his seat to stunned silence. I got up quickly and went over to him.
    “People
have praised you more memorably than I can tonight. I just want you to know
that every time I hear you speak you say something important. Thanks for doing
it again tonight.”
    “Good
luck, Victoria. I’ll have plenty of time to see friends now. Stop by for a cup
of coffee some afternoon if you’re ever beating up thugs on the South Side.”
    He
grasped my hand briefly. Other old students had swarmed over. I fled the house
without saying good-bye to my host and hostess. As I turned the Trans Am in a
tight U to head back north I could see the rest of the guests begin to leave.
    It
wasn’t until I was at McCormick Place, some three or four miles north of
Kenwood, that I remembered my coat. I grunted aloud in annoyance. If I didn’t
go back now I’d have to call and arrange a time to fetch it. And I’d either
have to be social with Deirdre, or decide to let her know just what I thought
of her antics tonight. Neither choice was appetizing. I whipped over to the
left-hand lane, exited at Twenty-third Street, and returned south.
    Light
still poked around the shutters in the front windows. I tried the door but it
had been locked. I rang the bell, tapping my foot impatiently as a minute or
more ticked by. I rang again.
    One
of the bartenders finally came to the door. “The party’s over, miss—everyone’s
gone.”
    “Sorry.
I forgot my coat. One of the kids took it upstairs—I’ll just run up and get it
and be on my way.”
    He
looked me up and down. Apparently my frank, honest face persuaded him I was
neither burglar nor murderer. He opened the door wide and waved me toward the
stairs. Halfway up I realized I had no idea where to go when I got to the top.
I called down to ask him, but he’d already disappeared into the back of the
house.
    Antique
wall sconces lit the stairs and the upper hall, giving a rich glow to the gray
flocked paper. Thick carpeting masked my footfalls.
    At
the top I hesitated, not wanting to open doors at random and wake sleeping
children. Voices were coming from a room at the end of the long hall. Its door
was open a crack, letting out a bar of light along with the sound. By the time
I was halfway down the hall the sound had clearly resolved itself into Fabian’s
voice.
    “How
dare you?” he was yelling. “Humiliating me in front of my guests like that. I
told you weeks ago what I wanted and you agreed to coach him. You assured me he
was letter perfect. How long have you been plotting to show me up?
    When
did you realize this would be an ideal way to embarrass me?”
    I
paused outside the door. Emily was answering him, muttering something
unintelligible.
    “Were
you a party to this?” Fabian demanded, apparently of Deirdre, because she said,
“No, I wasn’t a party to it. I asked Emily this afternoon if she was sure
Joshua could perform and she told me he could.”
    I had
been about to push open the door, but the sheer shock of the