In Cold Pursuit by Ursula Curtiss

Author:Ursula Curtiss [Curtiss, Ursula]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0396074669
Published: 2019-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

Mary had just said goodbye to a bewildered Mrs. Ulibarri, over a distant chorus of background barking, when the light tap sounded at her door.

She hadn’t put the chain on, but at least the knob wasn’t turning. Jenny always signalled, so was this, incredibly, a maintenance man about her lamp? The chambermaid, having thought of a new place to look for the earring? No, she would have come right in. Mary called a query, and opened the door to Owen St. Ives.

For a moment, she was terrified. Something had happened to Jenny at the pool, even though in the water she was like a bird in its element, and he had come to break it to her. Then he said, “I have a great favor to ask of you, if you’re not busy for the next fifteen minutes or so. I’ve been—”

He broke off there, studying her with the blue gaze that was so much darker than Spence’s. He asked curiously, “Do I frighten you for some reason? At times—I notice because you have very pretty eyes, you look as if . . .”

“No, of course not,” said Mary, feeling the blood rise to her face. “It’s just that you remind me of someone I used to know.” To her own ears that sounded very equivocal, and she stepped back at once, turned to the desk for a cigarette to give her something to do with her hands, took time to inspect it because this was the kind of moment in which she might well light the filter end. “If it’s something I can do?”

“I’ve been entrusted with twenty-five dollars to buy a birthday present for my sister-in-law, preferably a poncho or a shawl. I don’t know why my brother would think me capable of this, as I’m no good about women’s clothes, but she wants something from Mexico,” said St. Ives, “and I wondered if you’d help me pick something out.”

Mary was obscurely glad about part of his statement; if necessary, Spence could have selected an entire wardrobe for a woman without going wrong anywhere. She said doubtfully, “Oh, but—”

“She’s tall,” said St. Ives, recognizing this demur, “and . . . large. She has red hair.” He considered for a few seconds. “Very red,” he added.

Mary thought privately that anyone tall and large with very red hair would be better off without a poncho, but she said, “Well, I’ll try, if you can give me five minutes first.”

He nodded his appreciation. “I’ll get the car and meet you in front. We’ll be quick about this, I promise.”

Mary washed her face rapidly, put on light fresh makeup, combed her hair. Her dress was beginning to feel like a uniform, but the one that had been splashed with coffee wasn’t quite dry and in any case, after that remark about her eyes, she was going to be every inch a gift counsellor.

Owen St. Ives wasn’t in front, because a number of guests were arriving to fill the vacuum left by the after-lunch exodus.

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