I rolled my eyes. “You know, people keep telling me that—no matter what questions I ask. I’d rather know something unpleasant for certain than wonder after the truth for the rest of my life. Please, Tatie.”

She rose and set her glass on the bar, empty except for the halfmelted ice cubes stacked on the bottom. Then she moved to a bookcase laden with old volumes and accented with family photographs. She pulled one of the pictures down, and handed it towards me. I obliged her offer by standing and crossing the room to meet her, taking the photo by the frame and staring at the man and woman within.

“That’s Arthur. And the woman beside him is—”

“His wife,” I guessed.

“Yes. You knew already?”

“That much Lulu told me.”

“And what else?”

“Nothing,” I confessed. “All she said was that he was married.”

“Did Louise tell you that Rachel was a lunatic?” She didn’t wait for me to respond, so I didn’t have to fib. “Oh yes, that woman was a basket case. One of those holy rollers who can’t keep her nose out of anybody’s business. I never liked her—not from the moment I met her. Always had to know way too much about every little thing. Asked a lot of questions—rude ones. Then when Art went and married her, well, that did not make me happy. Not at all. Rachel cared way too much about things that weren’t her concern. Small wonder he turned out the way he did.”

Her apparent swing in topic confused me. “Arthur, you mean?”

“Huh? No. I mean Malachi.”

She said it casually, though she watched me closely from under shuttered lids. She wanted to see my reaction as the realization blossomed that I was wistfully holding a snapshot of Malachi’s parents. I tried not to swallow too hard, and I made my face a mask, refusing to give the evil old crow her satisfaction as I stared down at the man who must have fathered me and my homicidal nemesis both.

He was average enough in appearance, light brown hair and eyes more green than my hazel ones. I searched for any likeness we might have shared and found only a similarity in our slouched posture. Just about anyone could see that I favored my mother’s family; Lu had passively passed me off as her child for years. But Malachi favored our father strongly. I now knew where he’d gotten his sharp cheekbones and rectangular chin, as well as his bird-thin bones—a gene that had passed me by entirely. I glanced at Eliza and realized she had the high cheeks too, though age had hung her skin from them like curtains from a rod.

“How do you feel about that?” she asked, prodding for the carnage she felt she deserved.

“I’m not sure,” I said. I shook my head, pretending to toss my hair over my shoulder and out of the way. Mostly I wanted to do something that didn’t involve looking over at the smug old battleax again. “It doesn’t matter, really. Where could I find him?”