Insatiable Appetites

43

Stone got a call from Carla Fontana. “How’s it going?” he asked. “Have you been made executive editor yet?”

“Not yet, but the word ‘Pulitzer’ is being whispered in the hallways around here.”

“Have you heard from Strategic Services yet about the voice identifications?”

“They’ve nailed about half of those on the list, including the four who denied it before the story was published. When the techs have finished, we’ll be doing a follow-up piece on the voice comparisons.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Listen, I called because I haven’t been able to find Bruce Willard. Have you heard anything from him?”

“Yes, he’s in Philadelphia, visiting Evan Hills’s father.”

“Elton Hills? The recluse?”

“Bruce went there for the funeral, and he apparently hit it off with the old man. He’s spending a few days at his house, cataloging the contents, several generations’ worth. Have you left him any messages?”

“No, I just called a couple of times and got voice mail.”

“Well, either leave him a message or wait until next week when he’s back home.”

“Okay.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“No, I was just concerned, after what happened to Evan.”

“He’s fine, don’t worry. Now that your story is out, it’s too late for them to need to keep him quiet.”

“Yeah, you said that before, but I was worried anyway. I’m coming to the city this weekend to see my mother — it’s been too long. You want to have dinner?”

“Sure. Where does your mother live?”

“In Brooklyn Heights.”

“You want to ask her to dinner with us?”

“Actually, I had a different kind of dinner in mind. Anyway, she’s always working.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a translator, from French and Italian to English and vice versa.”

Stone had a thought. “Is she any good at it?”

“She’s highly sought after among publishers, but she’ll only work on stuff she finds interesting.”

“I might have something interesting for her.”

“I’ll give you her number. Got a pencil?”

“Shoot.” Stone wrote down the number. “What’s her name?”

“Anna de Carlo Fontana is her working name. Tell her I sent you.”

“Was she born in Italy?”

“Sicily. Her parents brought her to America when she was fourteen. In fact, she was the reason they emigrated. She was very bright, and they wanted her to have a good education and more opportunity. What do you need translated?”

“Just some old documents. It’s a legal matter, and I can’t discuss it.”

“Okay, I’ll be in Friday morning. I’ve got some meetings at the Times that could take all day.”

“Can we make a weekend of it?”

“I like the way you think. Bye-bye.” She hung up.

Stone dialed the Brooklyn number.

The phone was answered immediately. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Fontana?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Stone Barrington. I’m an attorney in the city.”

“How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you. Your daughter, Carla, suggested I call you about doing some translation.”

“Very nice of her to send work to her mother. What do you need translated?”

“It’s an old journal, written in what I’m told is a Sicilian dialect.”

“Whose journal?”

“A friend of mine who passed away recently.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Was he very old?”

“He died at ninety-four.”

“Eduardo Bianchi?”

“That was a very good guess.”

“Not really. I knew him when I was younger. I saw his obituary in the Times.”

“Would you like to come to my office and have a look at the journal?”

“Yes, I would. Coming from Eduardo, I expect it must be very interesting.”

“I expect it will be. I would be grateful if you would keep this conversation in the strictest confidence.”

“If you like. When?”

“As soon as you like.”

“This afternoon? I’m delivering a manuscript to a publisher in the city.”

“That would be fine.” He gave her the address.

“Around three o’clock?”

“Very good. I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

“Same here.” She hung up.