27Vicky’s eager voice was faster. “See, my dad was murdered somewhere out in the Polish boonies. My mom was in Berlin when it happened. She was eight and a half months pregnant with me. She drove to Poland to bring my dad’s body home.”
I burst into the room.
Vicky was still talking. “My dad’s killers shot Mom, too.”
“Thankfully,” I interjected, “the wound wasn’t fatal.”
Silence greeted my words.
The tall backs of two chairs were in my line of sight.
Vicky twisted in the right-hand chair and showed me her face.
She grinned. “Hi, Mom. I’m talking to Mel.”
I caught the profile of a dark-haired man in his forties on her left.
The sleeve of a gray suit appeared. A hand extended from it.
“I’m Pat’s brother. Pleased to meet you, Vicky’s mom.”
“Hi, Mel.” I moved closer and took his hand
