She stared at me, her mouth open slightly, and then nodded. “Okay.” Then, after some thought, “Erik told me your Hungarian food is amazing.”
“It is. I’ll make some for you and Thyra. But right now, I’m thinking an omelet? Maybe with a glass of milk for some calcium?”
“Yes, okay. You’re making me hungry.” She looked like a girl again, and I felt a strong urge to mother her, the way she and Thyra had mothered me when I cried in Erik’s apartment.
“Great. I’ll go check out your fancy kitchen.” I started across the room and then said, “Oh no! What about your parents?”
Runa’s face was wry. “You haven’t met them yet, have you?” With a final pat on each of their heads, she gently pushed her dogs onto the floor. “We’ll tell them last.”
* * *
After a cheese and chive omelet, two pieces of toast, and a glass of milk, Runa looked and sounded contented. She was still on the couch; I took away her plate and came back to tuck a pretty throw around her. She thanked me sweetly and told me that I would be a great sister-in-law.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said.
The sound of a key in the lock, and Andy burst through the door. “Runa? Hey. What’s going on?” he asked, moving swiftly toward her. She lifted her face for his kiss, and he sat down beside her.
“She just had breakfast,” I said. “Would you like some?”
Andy looked at me, his face confused. “Uh—no, thanks. I ate earlier. Maybe just tell me what’s going on.”
“Runa,” I said. “Where should I go? Do you have a little office or library or something?”
She pointed at a hallway lined by built-in bookshelves. “Go down there, last room on the left. Lots of reading material in there and a computer, if you need it. I’m already signed in.”
“Okay, sure.”
I moved swiftly down the hall. I heard Andy’s voice, before I shut the door, saying, “Babe, you scared me to death!”
I hoped Andy would be as happy about his daughter as Runa seemed to be. What a stressful day for Runa, pondering what Grandma had said, then taking a pregnancy test alone and finding out the truth. And wondering why her tiny child needed to be “a warrior.”
Inside Runa’s little office was a comfy mustard-colored chair, an antique desk, a small window with a view of her block, and a wall-to-ceiling bookshelf. Like the shelf in my bedroom, it was filled half with books and half with objets d’art. I walked along the length of it, admiring statuary and family photos. Unlike Erik, she had all sorts of family history on display: four blond children at the beach; the same children lined up at a professional shoot to the full family. I had seen Erik’s parents before in one small picture in his bedroom, but Runa had their wedding photo in a silver frame, and I was struck not just by how much Mrs. Wolf looked like her daughters but by the resemblance between Erik and his father. Heredity was a funny thing . . .
There were other pictures of Runa and Thyra, Runa with her parents, Runa and Andy at some romantic-looking restaurant. Runa and Thyra cutting a grand-opening ribbon at Ulveflokk. Runa and Andy wearing T-shirts and competitor numbers at some Chicago 5K run. Runa at a familiar-looking table, posing with Amber Derrien. Amber Derrien. What in the world did she and Runa have in common?
The coincidence troubled me. It would be one thing if Runa lived in Riverwood, where everyone seemed to know everyone else. But Runa was a Chicago socialite and Amber was a schoolteacher. What would bring them together? A stab of suspicion made me realize that I was feeling anxious, and a bit paranoid.
I went to Runa’s desk and used her computer to sign in to Facebook, where I scrolled aimlessly for a while. Then I clicked into Gmail; Runa’s e-mails were open on the screen. Determined not to look at them, I typed my address into the sign-in bar. I had seen the word “Ulveflokk” many times as my eyes sought the log out button, but I didn’t read anything beyond that. For some reason, my eyes flicked back one more time and saw a word that stood out from the others: “Kodaly.”
Too curious to resist, I clicked the e-mail and saw that it was from someone named Ron Sylvester. The subject line said “Kodaly art.” He had written,
Dear Ms. Wolf,
I have been tracking down paintings by William Kodaly for several years; I am an avid collector of his work. I was able to trace an original work by him, entitled True Love, to an auction house in Chicago, and some determined questioning of art lovers led me to you. I know that must sound incredibly rude, but I tend to obsess over art that I love.
In any case, I am wondering if you had ever considered selling your painting. I would be willing to offer you twice what you paid for it, or to negotiate if need be.
Please let me know. It’s a particularly striking piece, and I’d love to have it in my growing Kodaly collection.
He ended with the obligatory “Yours truly,” etc. He had only sent it to her that morning. Feeling as guilty as a murderer, I clicked on her “sent” file and saw that she had already answered him.
Dear Mr. Sylvester,
I understand why you are looking to acquire the painting; it is beautiful, and a precious piece of my own collection. It was a gift to me from my lover, and I’m afraid I could never think of parting with it, for any price.
A shadow appeared in the hall; I looked up to find Runa in the doorway, smiling wryly at me. “Reading my e-mails, Hana?” she asked, seemingly unbothered by the idea.
“Oh my God, no! Except for one, because I saw the name Kodaly. I’m sorry. I just have Kodaly on the brain, and there it was.”
She shrugged. “Whatever. So you saw that he wanted my painting, huh? I swear, these art collectors are obsessives!”
I understood that, on a small scale. Sometimes I’d glimpse a piece in Falken’s store and be unable to stop thinking about it. On some occasions, I ended up going back to buy it. “He probably would have paid a lot.”
“I wrote back to him,” she said.
I clicked out of Gmail before she could see that I had viewed that, too. “Oh?”
“I told him no thanks. That it was a gift from Andy. That’s true, but I wouldn’t part with it anyway. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes! I’d love to.” I stood up. “I’m sorry again for reading your e-mail.”
Runa blushed a little. “I guess now we’re sort of even.”
“What?”
“Okay, confession time. When Thyra and I were at Erik’s, we did the same thing on his computer. He saves all his passwords because, well, he lives alone. So we just clicked in for fun, and there was this long e-mail from you. We didn’t even know who you were then. We felt guilty about halfway through, but it was very revealing.”
My face grew hot. I wanted to feel indignant, but what could I say? You shouldn’t read people’s e-mails? “I guess we’ll have to make a pledge: that neither one of us will snoop like that again. I know Erik would be unhappy about it.”
She nodded. “But he knows we’re nosy, so he probably halfway expects it. And his e-mail was always boring, before he met you.”
I sighed. “Anyway. Did Andy leave?”
“Yes. He’s conferencing with students today. He had to reschedule a couple to come here, but then he had to go.”
“Is—did he—?”
She smiled hugely. “He was thrilled. Really happy—I would know if he was faking. He said that he only agreed to the no children idea because he thought I didn’t want them. Apparently, he’s always wanted a family. Now he has one.”
“And what did he say—about the sick part?”
“He said it’s silly to worry about what we don’t know. That we’ll go to a doctor and find out as much as we can, and until then we’ll just withhold judgment. He’s very practical.”
“Practical is good. You two seem to balance each other nicely.”
“I know
.” She was serene now, much happier than when I had arrived. “Now come and see my painting. It’s a love story, so I have it hanging in my room.”
She led me to her bedroom, a cool space dominated by white walls and blue and lavender accents. The painting hung above her dresser; it was surprisingly large. I walked close enough that I could focus on the details, and then two things happened over which I had no control: I moaned aloud, and my hands grew cold and began to shake.
The image presented the back of a man’s head as he stood in a field, facing a woman who smiled at him as her dark hair blew in the wind like a sable cloud above her pretty face. A town was visible in the distance, with familiar sloped roofs and colorful houses—another view of Keszthely. The two lovers were alone, apart in space and time, and the wind seemed to wrap around them both and preserve this moment when they gazed at each other.
This, then, was the woman Will Kodaly loved, the woman who had stolen his heart in Keszthely—the woman he was rumored to have found again in recent days.
“Hana, are you all right?” Runa asked, touching my shoulder.
“I know that woman. He died because of her. I can feel it.”
“What?” Runa looked from me to the painting, as though it would provide the answer.
I had not yet looked away from the sad, bright gaze of Sofia Kálmar, the girl from Keszthely, the woman in the painting, and William Kodaly’s one true love.
Chapter 16
Truth and Doubt
Runa made me some tea and watched me for a while. Then she said, “So you do have the gift, just like your grandma.”
“There’s something. It’s only opened up recently, because I’ve been—experimenting. I don’t really know what I have. But it’s there.”
“That’s so interesting. I’m going to make you tell me my fortune all the time.” She was starting to seem like the Runa I’d grown used to—confident, bold, and demanding.
“I think you’ve had enough of a fortune for a while,” I said weakly, looking into my tea. “Anyway, I have to call Erik.”
“You really think this woman killed him?”
“Oh no, not her. Someone who was jealous of what they had. He killed Kodaly.”
“Well, that should be easy enough to figure out. Just find out who her boyfriend is.”
“Yes. Erik can solve this today.” I picked up my phone and dialed his number. Runa had put out a plate of granola, and she munched on this now and watched me as though I were a TV show.
“Erik Wolf,” said his voice. I was too distracted to even notice how sexy it was.
“Erik.”
“Hana? What’s wrong?”
“I’m at Runa’s. I just saw her Kodaly painting; it’s called True Love. It’s a tribute to the woman he was actually in love with—the title says that, but I can feel it too. He loved her.”
“Okay, take a deep breath. We knew there was a woman he loved, in Keszthely, right?”
“Yes, but I recognize this woman.”
“What?”
“It’s Sofia.”
There was a pause as Erik absorbed this information. “Okay . . . well, they dated a while back. So that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. They fell in love in Keszthely, but then they broke up after they dated here.”
“Erik, I know you’re all about facts and evidence, and it’s your job to be that way, but now is when you need to trust me. I had a reaction to the painting: a big reaction. It made me shake.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes. The point is, he still loved her, and they were going to get back together. Like his son said, remember? That his dad had been keeping a relationship on the down low, but he was about to propose. And that people knew about it. Someone was jealous, murderous.”
“This is what you felt? That the motive was jealousy and hatred?”
“Yes, exactly. And Sofia has a boyfriend right now, Erik! Maybe she told him that she was going to return to Will, and he wanted to make sure that wouldn’t happen. But he couldn’t implicate himself, so he gave Kodaly the wolf. Said, ‘Sofia wanted you to have this.’ Will would have taken it because it was given in the name of Sofia, but he felt suspicious, uncomfortable, and ended up putting it in his garage sale.”
“Then the jealous guy hired some random murderer and said, ‘Here’s a tracking device. Go to the place indicated and murder the man who lives in that house’?” he asked, sounding skeptical.
“I know it seems bizarre. But this was the act of a fierce and possessive lover, Erik! A man who is not right in his soul.”
“Don’t assume. A woman can be a lover, too.”
He was right. Could a woman have felt passionate dislike for Kodaly because she resented his love for Sofia?
Runa pointed at me. “When you’re done, can I have the phone?”
I looked at her face, less worried now but still full of the emotions associated with her unexpected news. “Yes, of course. Erik—Runa wants to talk to you. Not about this, about something else.”
“What?” he said.
“Hang on. Here she is.”
“Hana, I don’t have—” he started, but then Runa took the phone.
“Hallo, lillebror,” she said softly. Like me, Runa seemed to know a smattering of her language of origin; also like me, she seemed particularly devoted to her roots.
She wandered out of the kitchen, talking softly. I went to her kettle and topped off my tepid tea with some boiling water. Then I drank it slowly, pondering the possibilities.
If we were right, then Will Kodaly and Sofia were about to commit to each other publicly. Perhaps they had already become engaged. I thought of Will’s face, when I had brought him my painting of Keszthely. How soft and loving it had looked. And what had he said? “Some beautiful memories of that town—beautiful memories of beautiful people.” I had thought he was talking about the natives, and perhaps he was. Or perhaps he was talking about Sofia, walking with him in the fields, her dark hair whipping in the wind, wrapping around the two of them like a lover’s knot.
I finished my tea and rinsed out the cup at Runa’s large sink. I set the mug in the drying rack and went back down the hall to Runa’s bedroom, where the painting waited. I was prepared this time, so there was no shock when I looked at it.
Kodaly idealized love, or at least he did in this image. It was all color and motion and intensity. I could feel, with the man who gazed at her, the surprise, the sharp intake of breath, with the realization of what I felt. Is that what he had captured with his deft paintbrush? The very moment he had realized he loved her?
Runa found me standing there, staring at the small bit of Kodaly’s life that was still preserved on the canvas. “Your brother is here,” she said.
* * *
Domo had paid Runa’s doorman to let him leave the car at the front door. He marched me quickly out of the building and into his passenger seat, and then he sped away. “Erik has me pretty paranoid about this whole thing,” he said. “I can’t believe this guy came to your house! What are you, some kind of magnet for weirdos?”
He darted a concerned glance at me.
“No—I think it’s the possibility of someone being psychic that creates problems. Don’t forget this happened to Grandma, too. All because a woman was worried about detection. Now I think this stuff is happening for the same reason. Someone’s guilt and fear manifesting as violence.”
“Huh,” Domo said. “Do Mom and Grandma know about this whole thing?”
“Yeah. Runa and Thyra were my guards at the tea house, so I had to explain. “
“Runa is that gorgeous blonde who let me in?”
I nodded.
“Who’s Thyra?”
“Her identical twin. Erik’s older sisters. They’re black belts.”
“Wow. That family has some genes, right?”
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“They’re pretty impressive. I can picture them all on some Viking ship in one thousand AD.”
Domo’s hands had been in motion since we got in the car; adjusting the heater, playing with the radio dial, punching his steering wheel to the beat of an Eagles’ song.
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I think it’s just adrenaline. Erik made me a cop for the day, and I feel vigilant.”
I scowled at him. “You are not supposed to be a cop. In any way. Just to provide your Domo hotel until Erik catches this horrible man, which hopefully will be today.”
Domo’s head swiveled to look at me. As usual he looked disheveled and more handsome because of it. “Why do you think it’s today?”
I told him about the painting in Runa’s apartment, and about my reaction to it.
Domo whistled. “Man, you and Grandma are a little too spooky now. I think I’m going to keep my distance from you both and your weird juju. You know she claimed I was on the verge of getting a new job and getting married, right?”
“Yes. And Mom told me you’ve been interviewing.”
He looked defensive. “That’s just because I’m looking for a better salary. Computer knowledge is valuable.”
“Yes. So you will get a new job, and it will turn out that Grandma was right.”
Domo looked moody. “Whatever. God, the traffic is bad.”
I agreed. I didn’t like Chicago traffic; I far preferred the mellower pace of Riverwood, where polite drivers glided (for the most part) serenely around town like swans on water.
Thinking of Riverwood made me remember something; I found the number that Runa had programmed into my phone and called it. “Runa? It’s Hana. Hey, I have a question about one of the pictures in your office. It looked really familiar. You’re sitting with a woman at a large round table. Her name is Amber Derrien.”
Death of a Wandering Wolf Page 19