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on a banana peel and the other in the joint?" ^Not tonight. All I want is
tonight." "All you ever wanted was tonight." "Don't talk. Don't ask for a
goddamn commitment." He heard her undressing behind him while he unfolded his
new hideabed. And remembered he was a loser. Maybe he would fail at this too.
She was thinner; her expensive suit had hidden a new Miiness, flesh gone from
her hips and breasts. It didn't seem to matter. Even knowing the risk, he
responded to her completely, recalling in his loins their exceeding joy in one
with her. The ache went out of him when he was at last inside of her, and just
before he came, he thought that it was quite wonderful that he should be here,
locked with her, instead of lying on his jail bunk in Wenatchee. ' fell asleep
on top of her, too exhausted and too to move away from her. He kissed the damp
hair
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at her temples, and remembered nothing more all night long.
She was gone when he woke, chilled under the single blanket, the cat purring
against his chest. He thought that he had dreamed her there. And then he saw
the sheet of paper pinned to the hideabed arm, a yellow legal sheet with her
square printing on it.
S.ù Will call later. Gone to see Joanne.
N.ù
Nina had found the element of surprise wise in her first contact with Sam in
five years; she now considered it essential in getting close to Joanne
Lindstrom. Mark Nelson had tried the proper channels and had been rebuffed by
Elizabeth Crowder, and the welcome wouldn't be any warmer for her. None of
them were going to give anything to Sam. She had no doubt that they had been
warned to avoid the defense, told they did not have to face Sam Clinton
outside the courtroom. Well, Mark Nelson was forthright to a faultùat least a
fault in a defense attorneyùgifted with no slyness and precious little
ingenuity. Nina imagined him, hat in hand, announcing who and what he was and
asking to see Joanne.
She had left Sam's bed at six and driven to the Holiday Inn to claim her
suite, take a shower, and dress again into something that did not label her
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"professional woman." jeans and a red-checked shirt, boots that had cost
three hundred dollars but didn't look it, she could have been the wife of a
well-to-do Natchitat rancher.
She found the Lindstrom farm easily enough. She was good at directions, and
she was lucky. She was invariably
326
lucky for other peopleùunless they depended on her for something more than she
could give. Just before she drew up to the lane to the farm, she saw a
perfectly maintained 1972 Plymouth emerge from the narrow road and turn toward
town. The driver had to be Elizabeth Crowder, an older woman sitting bolt
upright behind the wheel. Nina slowed and satisfied herself that the Plymouth
had disappeared around the first curve in the gravel road before she turned
her Mazda toward the farm. Bumping over the last rutted hillock, she saw that
there were no vehicles parked in the yard or in the shed, that the curtained
windows shut any occupant off from a view of her.
She rapped sharply on the back door and waited. There was no answer. She
rapped again and heard some sound in the house beyond, but no one came. A door
slammed inside; music rose and then stopped as if someone had turned the
volume knob of a radio or television up when they'd meant to turn it off. She
knocked again, and called, "Joanne!"
No answer.
"Joanne! I have to talk to you."
A figure moved toward her from the far end of the kitchen, and she thought at
first that it was an old woman, the movement so tentative. The woman inside
peered at Nina at a disadvantage as her eyes tried to focus into the sunlight
of the back yard.
"Joanne?" Nina called loud enough to be heard through the glass.
The door opened slowly and Joanne Lindstrom stood before her, so pale that her
skin seemed translucent.
"Yes."
"I came to talk with you."
"There's no one here."
Nina stepped inside as if she had been invited, and Joanne moved aside, her
back against the edge of the counter. "There's no one here now."
Nina smiled and drew no response. "You're here. You're the one I want to see."
"I'm afraid I don't remember you. I ..."
327
"We haven't met."
"Then I don't understand. I've been ill."
"I know, and I'm sorry for the trouble you've been through. My name is Nina
Armitage." She held out her hand and saw that Joanne was confused, only
belatedly lifting her own fingers. "I'm a friend of Sam Clinton's."
The reaction was immediate and full of panic. Joanne slid around her and moved [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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