The Geographer's Library

Jon Fasman
answer, the timing of it, the pause before the expression of surprise, and
again I didn’t say anything.
“It wasn’t a shotgun, actually, it was a handgun.” Her look stayed level.
She nodded at me again. “You’re not surprised?”
“Well, sure I am,” she said, a little defensively. “Why would you think I
wouldn’t be?”
“No, no, I’m not. I mean, I don’t. I shouldn’t. I’m just . . .”
“Just acting like a reporter. Aren’t you ever off duty?”
“Yes. Starting now.” She leaned against me, her head fitting perfectly into
the crook of my shoulder and chest.
“What else did your professor say?”
“Nothing, really.” I decided not to tell her about the police just yet. Something
in her tone before made me think that she saw Pühapäev as her own
project somehow, as a revealed instance of her generous nature, a Good
Work, and I didn’t want to tell her anything else about his legal troubles. “I
found something weird when I came home tonight, though.”
“What was it?”
“A note on my door.” She stiffened against me, just slightly, but enough to
feel. “On the note there was this drawing of a caduceus. See, I learned a new
word today. A caduceus is—”
“I know what it is,” she said, beginning to get up but then sinking back
against me and wrapping my arm around her chest. “What did the note say?”
“Well, nothing. It had my name taped to the front, and inside there was a
tooth. A human tooth.”
She sat up and stared at me. “Are you joking?”
“No, totally serious. Looked like it had just been ripped out, too.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “Have you told anyone about it?”
“You mean, aside from you?”
“Yes, smart-ass,” she said, playfully pinching my ear. “Like the police, or
your editor, or anyone like that.”
“I haven’t told Art yet, but I guess I should. The cops here, well, you’ve
probably seen them. What are they going to do?” I wanted to leave Joe out of
it. I couldn’t say why, though in retrospect it was the right instinct. “What do
you think I should do?”
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