Her Daughter's Mother by Daniela Petrova

Author:Daniela Petrova
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-06-18T04:00:00+00:00

32.

LANA

NOW

It had been a slow news weekend, without any major events at home or abroad, and Katya’s story had been picked up by the network news. By Monday morning, everyone was talking about the beautiful Columbia student from Bulgaria and her tragic end in the Hudson just shy of graduation. I could barely focus on work and I couldn’t afford not to because tonight was the Visiting Committee. I’d finally managed to finish the presentation over the weekend after Tyler had left. Anger was a powerful motivator. This morning, I’d woken up to Alistair’s notes in my inbox. I didn’t need to open the e-mail to know that he’d have a lot of “suggestions.” By lunchtime, I’d finished the revision and sent it to Caitlin to look over and print out a clean copy. On my way back from the cafeteria, she handed me the pages.

“It’s fabulous,” she said, smiling her big dimpled smile. “You’re going to wow them.” I was glad she was coming to the event tonight. Ordinarily, it would be Alistair and me, but since he was away, I’d asked Caitlin to join me. She might not be the most brilliant of scholars but she was a fantastic networker. Upbeat and vibrant, she worked the room at department functions without a sign of hesitation, as if our patrons—often more than twice her age—were her college pals. Nor did she seem intimidated by scholars, collectors, or private dealers with as many years of experience as she was old.

First thing I did back in my office was check the news. According to the latest Gothamist article, an NYPD spokesman stated that Katya’s case was “an active investigation and the cause of death is pending.” They were still waiting on the autopsy report. More tests needed to be performed, including a toxicology report.

I’d barely closed the screen when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number but decided to answer it. I could use a distraction even if it was just a marketing call.

“Lana?” a female voice said.

“Yes?”

“I’m calling from the Bulgarian consulate,” said the woman on the other end. She introduced herself as Anna Konstantinova and explained that Detective Robertson had given her my contact information. She told me that Katya’s mother had flown in from Bulgaria and was with her at the consulate at the moment. How crushed this poor woman must be, I thought. Her only child found dead in a foreign land. “She speaks no English,” Anna continued, “but she’d like to meet with some of Katya’s friends. Detective Robertson told us that you are also Bulgarian—”

I stiffened. “Actually, my mother is Bulgarian. I don’t really speak the language. I understand a bit but can’t—”

“No worries,” Anna said. “I’ll come with her. You work at the Met, right?”

“Yes, but I am . . .” I hesitated. Could I really tell a mother who’d just lost her only child that I was too busy at the moment to see her? “Sure, no problem,” I said. We agreed to meet at the Starbucks on Madison in twenty minutes.

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