"But someone knows you're here."
"Yes, someone."
He dropped it. He didn't want to push anymore, at least not right now. She'd been through quite enough for one day. But she hadn't lost it. She'd hung in there. "I'm proud of you," he said, without thinking.
She blinked as she looked up at him. He was still standing by the front door, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're proud of me? Why?"
He shrugged and walked over to her. "You're a civilian, but you didn't fall apart."
If only he knew, she thought, as she rubbed where that ring had been, so tight on her finger, paralyzing her.
"Sally, what's wrong?"
She jumped to her feet. "Nothing, James, nothing at all. It's lunchtime. You hungry?"
He wasn't, but she had to be, if that single piece of dry toast was all she'd eaten so far today. "Let's go back to Thelma's and see what's cooking," he said, and she agreed. She didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to be in this house alone.
The old lady was sitting in the dining room slurping minestrone soup, her diary open and facedown in her lap, the old-fashioned fountain pen beside her plate. What the hell did she write in that diary? What could be so bloody interesting? When she saw them, she yelled, "Martha, bring me my teeth. I can't be a proper hostess without my teeth."
She shut her mouth, not saying another word until poor Martha hurried into the dining room and slipped the old lady her teeth. Thelma turned, then turned back, giving them a big porcelain smile.
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"Now, what's all this I hear about you two finding a dead body?"
James said, "We're hungry. Any chance for some of your soup?"
Thelma yelled, “Martha, bring two more bowls of your minestrone!"
She waved them to two seats across from her. She stared at Sally, who was no longer wearing her wig.
"So you're Amabel's niece, are you?"
Sally nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you."
The old lady snorted. "You just wonder why I'm not dead yet. But I'm not, and I make sure I see Doc Spiver every day to tell him so. He pronounced me dead three years ago, did you know that?"
Quinlan did. He imagined everybody did, many times over. He just smiled and shook his head. He reached beneath the table and squeezed Sally's hand. She went rigid, then slowly he felt her relax. Good, he thought, she was beginning to trust him. Then he felt like a shit.
Martha set two places in front of them, then served two bowls of soup.
"Martha always had men hanging around her, but they were rotters, all of them, They just wanted her cooking. What did you do with young Ed, Martha? Did you cook for him or demand that he go to bed with you first?"
Martha just shook her head. "Now, Thelma, you're embarrassing poor little Miss Sally here."
"And me, too," Quinlan said and spooned some of the soup into his mouth. "Martha," he said, "I'm not a rotter and I'd surely marry you. I'd do anything for you."
"Go along, Mr. Quinlan."
"A big man like you embarrassed, James Quinlan?" Thelma Nettro laughed. Sally was thankful she was wearing her teeth. "I think you've been around several blocks, boy. I bet I could take off my clothes and it wouldn't faze you."
"I wouldn't bet on it, ma'am," Quinlan said.
"I'll bring in the chicken parmigiana," Martha said. "With garlic toast," she said over her shoulder.
"She keeps me alive," Thelma said. "She should have been my daughter but wasn't. It's a pity. She's a good girl."
This was interesting, Quinlan thought, but not as interesting as the soup. They all gave single-minded concentration to the minestrone until Martha reappeared with a huge tray covered with dishes. The smells nearly put Quinlan under the table. He wondered how long he'd have a hard stomach if Martha cooked all his meals.
Thelma took a big bite of chicken parmigiana, chewed like it was her last bite on earth, sighed, then said,
"Did I tell you that my husband, Bobby, invented a new, improved gyropilot and sold it to a huge conglomerate in San Diego? They were hot for it, it being the war and all. Yep, that's what happened. I Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
know it made airplanes fly even more evenly at the same height on a set course than before. With that money, Bobby and I moved here to The Cove. Our kids were grown and gone by then." She shook her head, smiled, and said, "I'll bet that body was a real mess when you found it."
"Yes," Sally managed to say, reeling just a bit. "The poor woman had been thrown over the cliff.
Evidently she was caught in the tide."
"So who is she?"
"No one knows yet," Quinlan said. "Sheriff Mountebank will find out. Did you hear a woman screaming, Ms. Nettro?"
"You can call me Thelma, boy. My sweet Bobby died
in the winter of 1956, just after Eisenhower was elected- he called me Hell's Bells, but he always smiled when he said it, so I didn't ever get mad at him. A woman screaming? Not likely. I like my TV loud."
"It was in the middle of the night," Sally said. "You would have been in bed."
"My hair curlers are so tight, I can't hear a thing. Ask Martha. If she's not trying to find herself a man, she's lying in bed thinking about it. Maybe she heard something."
"All right," Quinlan said. He took a bite of garlic toast, shivered in ecstasy at the rich garlic and butter taste, and said, "The woman was screaming close by, perhaps just across the way from Amabel's house.
She was someone's prisoner. Then that someone killed her. What do you think?"
Thelma chewed another bite of chicken, a string of mozzarella cheese hanging off her chin. "I think, boy, that you and Sally here should go driving some place and neck. I've never before seen a girl in such a twitter as poor Sally here. She's a mess. Amabel won't say anything except that you've had a rough time and you're trying to get over a bad marriage. She said none of us were to say a word to anybody, that you needed peace and quiet. You don't have to worry, Sally, no one from The Cove will call and tell on you."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Call me Thelma, Sally. Now, how much does either of you know about that big-time murdered lawyer back in Washington?"
James thought Sally would faint and fall into her chicken parmigiana. She looked whiter than death. He said easily, "No more than anybody else, I suspect. What do you know, Thelma?"
"Since I'm the only one with a real working TV, I know a world more than anybody else in this town. Did you know the missing daughter's husband was on TV, pleading for her to come home? He said he was worried she wasn't well and didn't know what she was doing. He said she wasn't responsible, that she was sick. He said he was real concerned about her, that he wanted her back so he could take care of her. Did you know that? Isn't that something?''
She wouldn't faint into the parmigiana now. Quinlan felt her turn into stone. "Where did you hear that, Thelma?" he asked mildly, even as he doubted he ever wanted another bite of chicken parmigiana in his life.
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"It was on CNN. You can find out everything on CNN."
"Do you remember anything else he said?"
"That was about it. He pleads real well. Looked very sincere. A handsome man, but there's something too slick about him. From what I could tell he's got a weak chin. What do you two think about that?"
"Not a thing," Sally said, and James was pleased that her voice didn't sound scared, though he knew she had to be.
Thelma didn't seem to realize that her audience had stopped eating. She cackled, saying, "I like James.
He's not all soft and smooth like that poor girl's husband. No, James doesn't put all that mousse in his hair. I bet that poor girl's husband wouldn't use that nice big gun James has under his coat. No, he'd have one of those prissy little derringers. No, he's too slick for my tastes.