The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
“Ah, yes! You see, it is a university that makes its students into such fine
newspaper writers. So you see why he wanted to give this money there.”
I hesitated before asking the next question. Hannah’s expression had
gone from unease to suspicion, and when I looked up at her, she subtly
widened her eyes and nodded at me, clearly telling me to finish my interrogation.
Interview. Whatever I was doing. I only had one more. “In addition
to paying his living expenses, did you ever pay for a lawyer for your brother
as well?”
For just a moment, his amiable-old-codger veneer slid, and he glared at
me with curiosity and loathing. As soon as he did that, I remembered where I
first saw him: the Lone Wolf. He was the old guy sitting by himself at the end
of the bar, the only one who didn’t talk at all. Now he knew I knew that his
brother was something different, something more than he appeared, and with
the kindled hawkishness of that look, I knew he knew I knew. He clouded
and widened his eyes, opened his mouth slightly into its vacant grin, and
scratched his thigh absently while looking at me. “Lawyer? What Jaanja did
with his money I never knew. But why do you ask?”
“Well, according to someone in Wickenden’s history department, he had
a bit of trouble with the law.”
“Paul!” Hannah spoke so sharply I jumped. “Tonu has come all the way
from Estonia to collect his brother’s body, not to hear about some problems
he might have had. Does this really matter now?”
“It’s my job to be curious about this sort of thing. And yes, it might matter
very much, because—”
“I cannot see how,” said Tonu, standing up slowly and leaning on his
cane. “I have told you, I think, what you need to know, yes? Now it is time for
an old man to go back to the comforts of his little room.”
Hannah helped him on with his coat and hat. “Do you have enough food?
What will you eat?”
“There is a small tavern, I think, just down the road from my guesthouse.
I will eat American hamburgers and listen to Elvis Presley on one of your
jukeboxes and then sleep in my big American bed.”
“I didn’t know the Lone Wolf had a kitchen,” I chanced.
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