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A distant male voice asked,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Tracy Whitney?"
She hesitated. If this was an obscene phone call... "Who is this?"
"This is Lieutenant Miller of the New Orleans Police Department. Is this Tracy Whitney?"
"Yes." Her heart began to pound.
"I'm afraid I have bad news for you."
Her hand clenched around the phone.
"It's about your mother."
"Has--- has Mother been in some kind of accident?"
"She's dead, Miss Whitney."
"No,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]!" It was a scream. This was an obscene phone call. Some crank trying to frighten her. There was nothing wrong with her mother. Her mother was alive. I love you very, very much, Tracy.
"I hate to break it to you this way," the voice said.
It was real. It was a nightmare,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but it was happening. She could not speak. Her mind and her tongue were frozen.
The lieutenant's voice was saying,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Hello...? Miss Whitney? Hello...?"
"I'll be on the first plane."
She sat in the tiny kitchen of her apartment thinking about her mother. It was impossible that she was dead. She had always been so vibrant,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], so alive. They had had such a close and loving relationship. From the time Tracy was a small girl,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], she had been able to go to her mother with her problems, to discuss school and boys and, later, men. When Tracy's father had died, many overtures had been made by people who wanted to buy the business. They had offered Doris Whitney enough money so that she could have lived well for the rest of her life,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but she had stubbornly refused to sell. "Your father built up this business. I can't throw away all his hard work." And she had kept the business flourishing.