Irina spoke hesitantly. By her tone I understood that our youngest daughter’s distress had something to do with me and that Irina was being cautious in bringing the subject up to me as if—absurdly, and unfairly—she feared my reaction. It is very annoying to me when members of my own family approach me with caution. It is utterly baffling. “What? What is Julia upset about?” “A novel she read by someone who calls himself ‘Jack of Diamonds’—I think that’s the name. She says she thinks that this writer is someone who knows you, a mystery-writer friend of yours, and she thinks that the writer, whoever he is, used something that had happened to her in his novel.” “Wait, Irina. I don’t follow this. What are you saying?” It was the eve of the hearing. Sunday night, and less than twelve hours until nine o’clock Monday morning in the Hecate Municipal Courthouse.
