by Lila Shaara
“Yep. Within a hundred-and-fifty-mile radius. And with satellite uplinks, a lot further.”
“Who’s going to pay for it?”
“People will have to buy their own receivers. Amos has already been in touch with a company outside Atlanta that will probably be willing to mass-produce them. The foundation will pay for the tower and transmission, at least initially. It’ll be cheap enough to generate the power itself. For now, it’s simply philanthropy. We’re hoping it’ll be easier to find other funding once the environmental implications become clear.” He smiled again. “Close your mouth, Sergei.”
“Do you think it’ll work? My God, that would really piss off anyone with stock in power companies. But doesn’t she have a foundation to run? Or will that be your job?”
“God, no. I’m writing a book on sexism in the sciences. You’d be amazed at what still goes on. Cantwell’s not going to look too good.” “I thought you’d agreed not to eviscerate them in print.”
“No. I only agreed not to accuse anyone of murder without evidence. Anyway, running the foundation will be up to Miss Baby.”
“The hairdresser?” Serge’s voice had raised an octave or two, and several fellow diners looked their way.
“She’s got a head on her shoulders, especially for finance.”
“My God.” Serge looked at his sandwich, still intact. He’d been too distracted to eat a mouthful. “Harry,” he said carefully, “you realize the danger she’s going to be in. She’s going to be bucking the most powerful financial interests in the world. Others have tried. A lot of them have been ruined. More than a few have disappeared.”
“That’s why we need as much public scrutiny as possible. I’ve got phone calls in to every major news organization in the country, and quite a few outside of it. You need to contact as many attorneys as you can, especially those with any background in patent law, environmental law, and civil liberties. We need to prepare an information packet and get it out ASAP, on the Internet, on TV, everywhere.”
“So it can’t be buried.”
“So there’s less point in trying to discredit Maggie again. Or in killing her.” For the first time, Serge could see the fear behind Harry’s smile. The weight of their conversation was trickling slowly into his understanding, like groundwater through limestone, and as the pool grew, Serge started to feel some fear himself. Harry was saying, “This is partly Dusty’s idea. Like in Lord of the Rings. Make alliances, appeal to everyone’s mutual interests. Amass an army of lawyers, journalists, bloggers, activists, politicians, scientists, teachers, whoever, against the forces of greed and waste and darkness.” He looked more than fit now. He looked dangerous.
“Jesus Christ,” Serge said.
“Something like that,” Harry agreed.
Epilogue
The sun was so hot it made you dizzy if you stayed out in it too long. She had on her floppy straw hat, which helped a little, but she knew she’d have to get into the shade soon or her skin would ache with burning. She was almost done with the planting anyway, fall mums aligned like yellow and purple soldiers in tiered planters placed on each step of the shrine. It had been rebuilt and repainted; new lights hung all around, powered by a discreet solar cell placed just behind the enormous heart, fragrant with new enamel. Miss Baby walked down the long driveway, bringing the last flat of flowers from the porch. Charlotte followed, staggering with Miss Tokay’s old metal watering can; it was full and sloshing, too heavy for her skinny arms. Tamara came after her with some tools, a child’s trowel and a miniature grass rake. The girl’s mouth was a gleaming mass of silver; when she smiled in the sunlight, it hurt your eyes to look.
She heard Harry’s car; she’d memorized the sound the way you do any glad and eagerly awaited thing. She turned; the top of the little convertible was down, and she could see him and his son, both wearing baseball caps. They waved as the car slowed to pull into the driveway. She waved back with a gloved hand, distracted by the green and blue and orange that crackled off them, and the gleaming points of light that pulsed through it all like the phosphorescence of the sea on a sandy beach. She’d told him many times now that she loved him, no longer waiting for a question. He hadn’t had a drink for months; still, he had joined AA and went to his meetings. So far, the craving hadn’t overtaken him, and according to the cards, they were safe, at least for the time being.
Harry hopped out of the car and handed her one more plant, a small rosebush in a metal pot. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked. She nodded as Dusty looked up at the shrine and said, “Whoa. It looks awesome, Maggie.”
“That’s Dr. Roth to you,” Harry said. Dusty punched him in the upper arm and Harry proceeded to punch him back. She looked at them with curiosity; what was it like to feel that loving aggression, the lovely ferocity of these men? It appeared to her as throbbing packages of energy that passed between them, teardrop-shaped and moving like leaves in wind. It was so beautiful she couldn’t speak.
She placed the rosebush on the ground by the foot of the shrine; Harry had found it at her request. She was going to plant it on Josie’s grave; roses had always been Josie’s favorite flowers, although she hadn’t had a garden just for beauty in the last years of her life. Maggie watched as a single bee found a bloom, circling and swooping down to a soft petal, resting for a moment before it burrowed into the flower’s heart. She crouched down to watch it, close up at last, not afraid of it at all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LILA SHAARA is the author of Every
Secret Thing. She lives in western
Pennsylvania with her family.
Also by Lila Shaara
Every Secret Thing
The Fortune Teller’s Daughter is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Lila Shaara
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Illustrations from the Rider-Waite Tarot Deck®, known also as the Rider Tarot and the Waite Tarot, reproduced by permission of U.S. Games Systems, Inc., Stamford, CT 06902 USA. Copyright 1971 © by U.S. Games Systems, Inc. Further reproduction prohibited. The Rider-Waite Tarot Deck® is a registered trademark of U.S. Games Systems, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Shaara, Lila.
The fortune teller’s daughter: a novel / Lila Shaara.
p. cm.
1. Law teachers—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 3. Florida—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.H26F67 2008
813’.6—dc22
2008028782
www.ballantinebooks.com
eISBN: 978-0-345-50940-6
v3.0
