dk.coldfire-第18部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


large…pane　French　windows　but　no　other　apparent　custom　features；　a　lush　green　lawn；　but　small　with　azaleas　and　impatiens　and　a　pair　of　willowy　queen　palms　that　cast　lacy　shadows　on　the　walls　in　the　temperate　morning　sun。　
　She　drove　by　slowly；　giving　the　house　a　thorough　looking　over。　No　car　stood　in　the　driveway。　The　drapes　were　drawn　at　the　windows。　She　had　no　way　of　knowing　if　Ironheart　was　homeshort　of　going　up　to　his　front　door　and　ringing　the　bell。　Eventually；　she　would　do　just　that。　
　But　not　yet。　
　At　the　end　of　the　block；　she　turned　around　and　drove　past　the　house　again。　The　place　was　attractive；　pleasant；　but　so　ordinary。　It　was　hard　to　believe　that　an　exceptional　man；　with　astonishing　secrets；　lived　behind　those　walls。　
　Viola　Moreno's　townhouse　in　Irvine　was　in　one　of　those　park…like　munities　the　Irvine　pany　had　built　in　the　sixties　and　seventies；　where　the　plum…thorn　hedges　had　entered　woody　maturity　and　the　red…gum　eucalyptuses　and　Indian　laurels　towered　high　enough　to　spread　a　wealth　of　shade　on　even　the　brightest　and　most　cloudless　of　summer　days。　It　was　furnished　with　an　eye　to　fort　rather　than　style：　an　overstuffed　sofa　modious　armchairs；　and　plump　footstools；　everything　in　earth　tones；　with　traditional　landscape　paintings　meant　to　soothe　rather　than　challenge　the　eye　and　mind。　Stacks　of　magazines　and　shelves　of　books　were　everywhere　at　hand。　Holly　felt　at　home　the　moment　she　crossed　the　threshold。　
　Viola　was　as　weling　and　easy　to　like　as　her　home。　She　was　about　fifty；　Mexican…American；　with　flawless　skin　the　shade　of　lightly　tarnished　copper　and　eyes　that　were　merry　in　spite　of　being　as　liquid…black　as　squid　ink。　Though　she　was　on　the　short　side　and　had　broadened　a　little　with　age；　it　was　easy　to　see　that　her　looks　would　once　have　turned　men's　heads　hard　enough　to　crack　vertebrae；　she　was　still　a　lovely　woman。　She　took　Holly's　hand　at　the　door；　then　linked　arms　with　her　to　lead　her　through　the　small　house　and　out　to　the　patio；　as　if　they　were　old　friends　and　had　not　just　spoken　for　the　first　time　on　the　phone　the　previous　day。　
　On　the　patio；　which　overlooked　a　mon　greensward；　a　pitcher　of　icy　lemonade　and　two　glasses　stood　on　a　glass…topped　table。　The　rattan　chairs　were　padded　with　thick　yellow　cushions。　
　〃I　spend　a　lot　of　my　summer　out　here；〃　Viola　said　as　they　settled　into　chairs。　The　day　was　not　too　hot；　the　air　dry　and　clean。　〃It's　a　beautiful　little　corner　of　the　world；　isn't　it？〃　The　broad　but　shallow　green　vale　separated　this　row　of　townhouses　from　the　next；　shaded　by　tall　trees　and　decorated　with　a　couple　of　circular　of　red　and　purple　impatiens。　Two　squirrels　scampered　down　a　gentle　slop　and　across　a　meandering　walkway。　
　〃Quite　beautiful；〃　Holly　agreed　as　Viola　poured　lemonade　into　their　glasses。　
　〃My　husband　and　I　bought　it　when　the　trees　were　just　sticks　and　the　Hydroseeded　greenbelt　was　still　patchy。　But　we　could　visualize　what　it　would　be　like　one　day；　and　we　were　patient　people；　even　when　we　were　young。〃　She　sighed。　〃Sometimes　I　have　bad　moments；　I　get　bitter　about　his　dying　so　young　and　never　having　a　chance　to　see　what　this　all　grew　up　into。　But　mostly　I　just　enjoy　it；　knowing　Joe　is　somewhere　better　than　this　world　and　that　somehow　he　takes　pleasure　in　my　enjoyment。〃　
　〃I'm　sorry；〃　Holly　said；　〃I　didn't　know　you'd　been　widowed。〃　
　〃Of　course　you　didn't；　dear。　How　could　you　know？　Anyway；　it　was　a　long　time　ago；　back　in　1969；　when　I　was　just　thirty　and　he　was　thirty…two　My　husband　was　a　career　Marine；　proud　of　it；　and　so　was　I。　
　So　am　I；　still；　though　he　died　in　Vietnam。〃　
　Holly　was　startled　to　realize　that　many　of　the　early　victims　of　that　conflict　would　now　have　been　past　middle…age。　The　wives　they　left　behind　had　now　lived　far　more　years　without　them　than　with　them。　How　long　until　Vietnam　seemed　as　ancient　as　the　crusades　of　Richard　the　Lionheart　or　the　Peloponnesian　Wars？　〃Such　a　waste；〃　Viola　said　with　an　edge　to　her　voice。　But　the　edge　was　gone　an　instant　later　when　she　said；　〃So　long　ago。　。　。〃　
　The　life　Holly　had　imagined　for　this　woman…a　calm　and　peaceful　journey　of　small　pleasures；　warm　and　cozy；　with　perhaps　more　than　its　share　of　laughter…was　clearly　less　than　half　the　story。　
　The　firm　and　loving　tone　that　Viola　used　when　she　referred　to　Joe　as　〃my　husband〃　made　it　clear　that　no　amount　of　time　elapsed　could　fade　his　memory　in　her　mind；　and　that　there　had　been　no　other　man　since　him。　
　Her　life　had　been　profoundly　changed　and　constricted　by　his　death。　
　Although　she　was　obviously　an　optimistic　soul　and　outgoing　by　nature；　there　was　a　shadow　of　tragedy　on　her　heart。　
　One　basic　lesson　that　every　good　journalist　learned　early　in　his　career　was　that　people　were　seldom　only　what　they　seemed　to　be…and　never　less　plex　than　the　mystery　of　life　itself　Viola　sipped　her　lemonade。　〃Too　sweet。　I　always　add　too　much　sugar。　
　Sorry。〃　She　put　her　glass　down。　〃Now　tell　me　about　this　brother　you're　searching　for。　You　have　me　quite　intrigued。〃　
　〃As　I　told　you　when　I　called　from　Portland；　I　was　an　adopted　child。　The　people　who　took　me　in　were　wonderful　parents；　I　have　no　less　love　for　them　than　I　would　for　my　real　parents；　but。　。　。　well。　
　。　。〃　
　〃Naturally；　you　have　a　desire　to　know　your　real　parents。〃　
　〃It's　as　if。　。　。　there's　an　emptiness　in　me；　a　dark　place　in　my　heart；〃　Holly　said；　trying　not　to　trowel　it　on　too　thick。　
　She　was　not　surprised　by　the　ease　with　which　she　lied；　but　by　how　well　she　did　it。　Deception　was　a　handy　tool　with　which　to　elicit　information　from　a　source　who　might　otherwise　be　reluctant　to　talk。　
　Journalists　as　highly　praised　as　Joe　McGinniss；　Joseph　Wambaugh；　Bob　Woodward；　and　Carl　Bernstein　had　at　one　time　or　another　argued　the　necessity　of　dishonesty　in　dealing　with　interviewees；　all　in　the　service　of　getting　at　the　truth。　
　But　Holly　had　never　been　this　skillful　at　it。　At　least　she　had　the　good　grace　to　be　dismayed　and　embarrassed　by　her　lies…two　feelings　that　she　hid　well　from　Viola　Moreno。　
　〃Though　the　adoption　agency's　records　were　barely　adequate；　I've　learned　that　my　real　parents；　my　biological　parents；　died　twenty…five　years　ago；　when　I　was　only　eight。〃　Actually；　it　was　Jim　Ironheart's　parents　who　had　died　twenty…five　years　ago；　when　he　was　ten；　a　fact　she　had　turned　up　in　stories　about　his　lottery　win。　〃So　I'll　never　have　a　chance　to　know　them。〃　
　〃What　a　terrible　thing。　Now　it's　my　turn　to　be　sorry　for　you；〃　Viola　said　with　a　note　of　genuine　sympathy　in　her　soft　voice。　
　Holly　felt　like　a　heel。　By　concocting　this　false　personal　tragedy；　she　seemed　to　be　mocking　Viola's　very　real　loss。　She　went　on　anyway：　〃But　it's　not　as　bleak　as　it　might've　been；　because　I've　discovered　I　have　a　brother　as　I　told　you　on　the　phone。〃　
　Leaning　forward　with　her　arms　on　the　table；　Viola　was　eager　to　hear　the　details　and　learn　how　she　could　help。　〃And　there's　something　I　can　do　to　help　you　find　your　brother？〃　〃Not　exactly。　You　see；　I've　already　found　him。〃　
　〃How　wonderful！〃　〃But。　。　。　I'm　afraid　to　approach　him。〃　
　〃Afraid？　But　why？〃　Holly　looked　out　at　the　greensward　and　swallowed　hard　a　couple　of　times；　as　if　choking　on　emotion　and　struggling　to　maintain　control　of　herself。　
　She　was　good。　Academy　Award　stuff。　She　loathed　herself　for　it。　
　When　she　spoke；　she　managed　to　get　a　subtle　and　convincing　tremor　in　her　voice：　〃As　far　as　I　know；　he's　the　only　blood　relative　I　have　in　the　world；　and　my　only　link　to　the　mother　and　father　I'll　never　know。　
　He's　my　brother；　Mrs。　Moreno；　and　I　love　him。　Even　though　I've　never　met　him；　I　love　him。　But　what　if　I　approach　him；　open　my　heart　to　him。　
　。　。　and　he　wishes　I'd　never　shown　up；　doesn't　like　me　or　something？〃　〃Good　heavens；　of　course　he'll　like　you！　Why　wouldn't　he　like　a　nice　young　woman　like　you？　Why　wouldn't　he　be　delighted　to　have　someone　as　sweet　as　you　for　a　sister？〃　I'm　going　to　rot　in　hell　for　this；　Holly　thought　miserably。　
　She　said；　〃Well；　it　may　sound　silly　to　you；　but　I'm　worried　about　it。　
　I've　never　made　good　first　impressions　with　people…〃　〃You've　made　an　excellent　one　with　me；　dear。〃　
　Grind　my　face　under　your　heel；　why　don't　you？　Holly　thought。　
　She　said；　〃I　want　to　be　careful。　I　want　to　know　as　much　as　possible　about　him　before　I　knock　on　his　door。　I　want　to　know　what　he　likes；　what　he　doesn't　like；　how　he　feels　about。　。　。　oh；　about　all　sorts　of　things。　God；　Mrs。　Moreno；　I　don't　want　to　blow　this。〃　
　Viola　nodded。　〃I　assume　you've　e　to　me　because　I　know　your　brother；　probably　had　him　years　ago　in　one　of　my　classes？〃　〃You　do　teach　history　at　a　junior　high　school　here　in　Irvine…〃　〃That's　right。　I've　worked　there　since　before　Joe　died。〃　
　〃Well；　my　brother　wasn't　one　of　your　students。　He　was　an　English　instructor　in　the　same　school。　I　traced　him　there；　and　learned　you'd　taught　in　the　room　next　to　his　for　ten　years；　you　knew　him　well。〃　
　Viola's　face　brightened　into　a　smile。　〃You　mean　Jim　Ironheart！〃　〃That's　right。　My　brother。〃　
　〃This　is　lovely；　wonderful；　this　is　perfect！〃　Viola　enthused。　
　The　woman's　reaction　was　so　excessive　that　Holly　blinked　in　surprise　and　didn't　know　quite　what　to　say　next。　
　〃He's　a　good　man；〃　Viola　said　with　genuine　affection。　〃I'd　have　liked　nothing　better　than　to've　had　a　son　like　him。　He　es　around　now　and　then　for　dinner；　not　as　often　as　he　used　to；　and　I　cook　for　him；　mother　him　I　can't　tell　you　how　much　pleasure　that　gives　me。〃　A　wistful　expression　had　settled　on　her；　and　she　was　silent　a　moment。　〃Anyway。　。　
　。　you　couldn't　have　asked　for　a　better　brother；　dear。　
　He's　one　of　the　nicest　people　I've　ever　known；　a　dedicated　teacher；　so　gentle　and　kind　and　patient。〃　
　Holly　thought　of　Norman　Rink；　the　psychopath　who　had　killed　a　clerk　and　two　customers　in　that　Atlanta　convenience　store　last　May；　and　who　had　been　killed　in　turn　by　gentle；　kind　Jim　Ironheart。　Eight　rounds　from　a　shotgun　at　point…blank　range。　Four　rounds　fired　into　the　corpse　after　Rink　was　obviously　dead。　Viola　Moreno　might　know　the　man　well；　but　she　clearly　had　no　concept　of　the　rage　that　he　could　tap　when　he　needed　it。　
　〃I've　known　good　teachers　in　my　time；　but　none　as　concerned　about　his　students　as　Jim　Ironheart　was。　He　sincerely　cared　about　them；　as　if　they　were　his　own　kids。〃　She　leaned　back　in　her　chair　and　shook　her　head　remem