Eagle & Crane by Suzanne Rindell

Author:Suzanne Rindell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-07-02T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Afterward, they lie together in Bonner’s creaky double bed. Rosalind’s dark curls rest in the crook of his armpit; her cheek is turned against his chest. Her eyes are open; he can feel her lashes periodically brushing against his skin.

Bonner has no idea what to make of this encounter. Mostly it was tender, but there was something almost anguished and violent in it, too. His thoughts roam the room, racing in a wide circle and returning to him again.

“How long . . .” Rosalind begins to say, but her voice catches in her throat and she gives a quick cough. Her voice has grown low and shy since their encounter. “How long do you think you’ll be in town for this investigation?” she asks.

The question hangs in the air. Under normal circumstances it would be an expected question, the kind of question a woman might ask a man she hopes to keep around—if Bonner could flatter himself to assume that’s what Rosalind wants now: to prolong their time together. But Bonner also senses an unreadable element in the question’s tone and delivery. Once again she seems less interested in Bonner himself and more interested in his investigation and the politics that orbit him.

“It depends,” he says, repeating his earlier response to the same question, “on how much evidence I can turn up for my report.” He pauses. “Someone has to account for the deaths of these two men,” he says, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, his gut tells him he wants this to be true, but it isn’t.

Rosalind stiffens. She sits up with a restless air, holding the covers to her bare chest, looking around for her discarded nightgown. Bonner rolls over to his side and props his head up with one hand, frowning as he watches her. Her sudden agitation has him equally unsettled. He isn’t entirely sure of what he wants—whether he wants her to stay or to go—but he doesn’t like watching her move away from their warm huddle in the bed or watching her slip the thin white nightgown back over her head.

“I don’t see why,” she replies to his assertion that someone had to account for the deaths of the Yamadas, her voice hard—angry, almost. “American boys are dying all over the Pacific; why should we care about a couple of Japs who die here in a plane crash?”

Bonner studies Rosalind’s face, taken aback by her sudden callousness. She returns his stare but does not soften. Her features are hard, her expression chilly. Bonner knows lots of folks feel that way nowadays. He is surprised, however; he didn’t suspect his hostess belonged to their number.

Rosalind, now in her nightgown, stands beside the bed, holding Bonner’s gaze as though deciding how much to tell him.

“If you ask me,” she says, “I’m glad they’re dead. Two less Japs to worry about.”

Her tone suggests she is finished with the conversation. With the ghost of her ugly remark still hanging in the air,

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