Judgment

51

Martie Connolly came in, with Lucy jingling her tags. Lucy’s tail started wagging metronomically when she saw Juliana. Martie unleashed the dog and hung up the leash on a peg. Then she noticed Juliana’s suitcase.

“You’re leaving,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s time,” Juliana said. “Thank you so much for letting me crash here.”

The dog trotted over to her bed and picked up dog-toy Donald Trump. She had destroyed much of the yellow hair. Now she began industriously gnawing on the face.

“Well, I’m sad you’re leaving. But if this means things are better for you at home, I’m happy for you.”

“We still have a lot to figure out, but Duncan and I finally talked. And with everything going on, I really need to be with my family.”

Juliana found herself looking at a painting on the wall, a fine oil portrait of a grim-looking bearded man that had to be a hundred and fifty years old. “Is that Samuel Colt?”

“The Peacemaker himself. I wonder how he’d feel knowing that his money now pays for dirty martinis for a liberal gun-control supporter in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.”

“He’d have every right to be pissed off, don’t you think?”

Martie’s eyes crinkled. She looked away. “It’s none of my business, of course, and I’m not foolish enough to get involved. But with this, this business between you and Duncan — let me remind you of something. We’re all flawed. Don’t forget that. We’ve all done things we regret, and nobody is perfect.”

“I sure know that.”

Juliana hesitated, but then she reminded herself that she and Martha were always candid with each other. She wasn’t going to stop now.

“Listen,” she said, and she told her about what Hersh had said. How he at first wanted her to stop, to push no further. And what he had discovered. She told her about Noah Miller’s e-mail reporting a “problem” with the lawyer in the UK. And how a few days later that lawyer was dead.

Martie looked stricken. Her normally sparkling blue eyes had gone dark. “What does Philip think you should do?”

“He had an idea, but I have to tell you, it’s pretty bleak.”

“He can be a gloomy Gus.” She reached down and picked up Lucy, put her in her lap. Lucy’s pert ears twitched as she wriggled against Martie. “But he has his reasons. So what’s the idea?”

Juliana told her.

Martie listened, her face composed and neutral. Then she spoke, gently at first. “My dear, please don’t be brave. My mother used to say that ‘bravery’ is how clever people get simple people to do their bidding. Right now you’re on a trolley car bound for parts unknown.” Looking directly into Juliana’s eyes, she said heatedly, “Get off that trolley. Get off as soon as you can.”