John D MacDonald Travis McGee 09 Pale Gray for Guilt

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"But Maria better sit there by her just in case." "She's there, Connie. If Jan
wakes up, she'll wake us up. But it isn't likely."
Puss went over to the little bar in the corner, put two cubes in a squat
glass, poured some brandy over them and then came over and shoved the
footstool closer to me, sat on it and leaned her head against the side of my
knee and yawned again. "She was trying to be so damn brave," Puss said. "She
wouldn't let go, and she wouldn't let go, and then she did. And that's the
best thing. Did you get the calls through, Connie?"
"I got that Sheriff and told him she knew and she was resting, and I'd call
him back tomorrow and let him know what she's going to do next. I got her
people and got them calmed down. She'll have to phone them tomorrow. And the
boys have to be told."
"Jan said not to tell them," Puss said. "She said it's her job. She keeps
asking how we can be sure he never got her note."
Connie swirled the ice in her drink and then slugged it down. "Know what I
can't forget? Can't and never will? Five years and it's still so clear in my
mind. Every word that was said. Oh, it was a typical brooha. Tommy and I had
hundreds of them. Yell and curse, but it never really meant anything. We both
had strong opinions. What we quarreled about that morning doesn't matter.
After he went crashing out, I ran and yanked the door open and called after
him. 'And don't be in a great big hurry to come back!' Maybe he didn't hear
me. He had his jeep roaring by then. He never did come back. He didn't see the
sinkhole and drove into it, and he stayed alive in the hospital two days and
two nights without regaining consciousness, and he died there." She stood up,
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wearing a crooked smile, and said, "The guilts. That's what they leave you.
Tomorrow is going to be a long rough day too, people. 'Night."
I was on the downslope into sleep when the bed tipped under Puss's stealthy
weight and she slipped under the sheet and blanket to pull herself long and
warm against me, fragrant and gentle, with some kind of whisper-thin fabric
between my hands and her flesh.
"Just hold me," she whispered. "It just seemed like such a dark, dark night to
be alone." Her words were blurred, and in a very little while her breathing
changed and deepened and her holding arms went slack and fell away.
The four of us arrived in Sunnydale three days later, at a little before noon
on Thursday. Connie Alvarez drove the lead car, a mud-caked black Pontiac
convertible of recent vintage and much engine. Janine was beside her. When the
road was straight, I had all I could do to keep them in sight. Puss mumbled
now and again about Daytona and Sebring.
"The whole thing sounds so nutty," she said. "Do you really think that
funny-looking little old judge knows what he's doing?"
"That funny little old Judge Rufus Wellington knows what everybody is doing.
And he'll have had the whole morning to pry around." I braked at the last
moment, pulled the rental around a bend and peered ahead for the distant dot
that would be the Pontiac. "Have you got any questions at all about your
little game?"
"Hah! Can the gaudy redhead from the big city dazzle the young, earnest
attorney with her promissory charms? Will Steve Besseker, the shy counselor
from the piney woodlands reveal the details of local chicanery to yon
glamorous wench? I might have a question at that."
"Which is..."
"You were a little vague about the details, McGee. Do I give all for the
cause? Do I bed this bumpkin if it seems necessary, or don't you care one way
or the other?"
I risked a high-speed glance at her and met the narrowed quizzical eyes of
sexual challenge. I said, carefully, "I've always had the impression that if
the string on the carrot was too long, and if the donkey snapped at it and got
it, he'd lose his incentive and stop pulling the load."
"I resent the analogy and approve the sentiment, sir."
But challenges have to go both ways or there is no equality among the sexes.
"On the other hand, I imagine that you're the best judge of your own
motivations, and you would be the best judge of the appropriate stimulus and
response. Such situations vary, I imagine."
"Are you trying to be a bastard?"
"Aren't we both trying?"
After a thoughtful silence she said, "Just for the hell of it, McGee; what
would be your reaction if I said I'd keep the carrot on a mighty short
string?"
"Killian, I would have to admit that I am just stodgy and old-fashioned enough [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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