"Lisa Goldstein - Rites of Spring" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldstein Lisa)

She promises not to interfere, and then the first thing she says is interfering. "Yeah," I sa
"What did-"
"The test is positive." Even over the phone lines I can feel her straining to ask a questio
haven't decided what to do yet."
"Did you think about what I said?"
"No."
"If you're going to have a child-"
"I thought you said you weren't going to interfere."
"Well, I just thought that you could take less dangerous work for a while. At least until t
child is born."
"I've told you before. This is what I want to do."
"I know that. I'm not saying you should stop being a de-tective. But maybe you could tak
different cases-''
I sigh loudly. My mother has never held a job in her life, and yet she thinks she knows
everything about everything. If she meets a jeweler she'll talk with great authority about
gem-stones. If she meets a car mechanic she'll go on about what the best makes of cars are.
can't correct her misconcep-tions; she feels absolutely no embarrassment when she finds ou
she's wrong.
Now she wants to tell me how to run a detective agency. "There are no safe cases," I sa
"You can never tell how a case will turn out."
"Well, then, maybe you can stop-"
"No."
"I've talked it over with your father-we can afford-"
I hang up. Next thing she'll suggest I move back in with her and my father, into the old
bedroom they've kept for me all these years.
Angry now, I pull Dora Green's file. I start to dial her number and then change my mind
going to go visit her. If Mickey's been hiding something then who's to say she hasn't been? W
do I really know about her anyway?
I put on my coat and two scarves and leave the office, slamming the door behind me. M
stomach has started to feel queasy again.
There are huge plants on Ms. Green's lawn, pushing up against her outside wall. Someh
they have managed to put
forth a few leaves, though the trees on the sidewalk are bare. I ring her doorbell,
wondering what it is about this woman and flowers.
Her house is light and warm, with wooden beams and hard-wood floors, and, of course
pots of plants placed to catch the sun. Red and green and blue weavings cover the backs of
white couches and hang from the walls. She leads me to one of the couches and sits across
from me.
Once again I notice how calm she is, how composed. There is a stateliness to her that I
don't associate with the parents of missing children. "Have you found my daughter?" she as
"No, not yet. But I have found-well, I wonder how much you know about Mickey."
"Mickey?"
"Yes, your cousin. He didn't seem very concerned about Carolyn at the restaurant. I wo
if he's holding something back."
"Mickey." She sits back on the couch and smoothes down the edge of the weaving. "I've
been thinking the same thing myself. I think that's one of the reasons I asked you to lunch, so
could meet him and form your own impressions. I don't think he's telling me everything he
knows."
"Do you have his address?"
 "Yes, of course." She recites his address from memory. It's in a very mixed part of town