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“Indeed. Would you like some scotch?”
I twist my lips, “No. I don’t like scotch.” Total lie, of course. But my kind of Scotch is tall and strong and has a five o’clock shadow that I love on my clit.
“What can I do for you, my dear?”
“I have questions about your former coworker, Doctor Horak.”
He frowns. “Many of us had questions about him.”
“Do you know anything about his work with women and babies?”
The man glances down, watches his gnarled hands as he smoothes them over the cat’s fur. “Ulrich, he told me once, many years ago, that he made his fortune off of helping someone have babies.”
Something inside of me stills. Heavy, uncomfortable silence settles into the space between us.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Neither am I.”
“My mother wrote in her diary that her doctor betrayed her. The last day I ever saw her, she said she hated me, hated giving birth to me. That I destroyed her life.”
He watches me, his ancient eyes sharp on me as I continue, “It took some digging to figure out who her doctor was. But he’s dead and I want answers.”
“I see.” He leans forward. “Come closer, my child. Let me see you.”
Instead, I lean farther back. “That’s of no importance.”
“It could be. What color is your hair?”
“Black.”
“Your wig is a lovely shade, my dear, but what color is your real hair?”
I chew my lip for a second. Terribly torn. “Blonde. I was born white blonde.”
“And your parents are darkly complected?”
“They were. They’re both dead. Why does that matter?”
“Something happened years ago. Something amiss that destroyed many families. Blonde children being born, out of turn.”
He pauses and closes his eyes for a moment. "The myth was that eight children had been born within two years with striking stories. Stories of unplanned pregnancy. No similarity to parents or siblings. All had been born to patients of Horak.”
I’m stunned so badly I wobble and sit down on the ottoman to keep from sinking to the floor.
“It’s nothing more than a myth as far as I know.”
I can’t force my throat to work, to swallow down the horrible taste in my mouth. I’m frozen as my blood moves weakly through veins made of ice.
The doorbell startles us both.
He glances toward the front of the house. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. That’s my lady coming over for a late-night visit. You’ll have to leave by the back. I wouldn’t want her to think I had another caller.”
Numbly, I rise off the ottoman and follow him toward the rear of the house.
“Good luck, miss. I hope you find the answers you seek. But a word of caution. Be careful who you ask. Horak’s death was not an accident.”
“It would be best if you tell no one of my visit.”