The Winter of Her Discontent: A Rosie Winter Mystery by Haines Kathryn Miller

Author:Haines, Kathryn Miller [Haines, Kathryn Miller]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical, Adult, Crime, Suspense
ISBN: 9780061983450
Amazon: 0061983454
Goodreads: 10301438
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
Published: 2008-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

19

The Lady Killer

I GASPED AT THE SIGHT of red on my hand and stumbled backward. I tested each of my fingers and searched for the source of the blood. It wasn’t coming from me. Before I could enter the room a second time, a noise like a car door slamming grabbed my attention. It was coming from the load-in doors, an oversized entrance just to the right of me. A man’s voice barked incomprehensible instructions. The lever used to keep the doors in place began to shake. Keys jangled outside.

I ducked back into the cross-under and ran to the other side of the basement. The men were in the building now, but unless they were coming my way, I was safe. I slipped off my shoes and took the stairs two at a time. The door came into sight, and so did the small window set in its center; only instead of glowing with the dim light of an empty corridor, a shadow was blocking my view. I slowed my pace and snuck up on the window so I could see out, but no one on the other side could see me. Garvaggio was back, twice as big as I remembered him.

I squatted like a hen about to lay an egg and tried to think of a perfectly good reason for why I was coming up those stairs. Lost? Unlikely, unless I was a boob. Jayne might be able to pull off the wide eyes and big chest game, but I would be unconvincing. Could I have been sent there by someone to retrieve something? That could work, though who and what better make sense and not be easily verifiable.

“It’s amazing,” said a voice. It was Jayne. “I never knew how much work went into making a single cigar.” I stood back up and carefully looked out the window. Garvaggio had his back to me and was illustrating something with his stogie. I caught Jayne’s eye and with a flutter of hand movements begged her to get Garvaggio out of the way. She nodded at him—and me—and smiled that brilliantly coquettish smile of hers, the one that could mince meat and butter bread.

“I’ve always wanted to try one,” she said. “Do you think it’s wrong for a woman to smoke a cigar?”

“Nothing wrong at all, doll.” I couldn’t see Garvaggio’s face, but the tone of his voice made it clear: the idea of seeing Jayne smoke a cigar was as exciting as seeing Salomé do the Dance of the Seven Veils. “You want a puff of this one?”

“That’s yours. I couldn’t take it.”

“Suit yourself.” He returned the cigar to his mouth.

“Though if you had another one, I might be willing.”

Garvaggio turned until I could see his face in profile. He put a bejeweled hand into his lapel pocket and pulled out a cigar still wrapped in cellophane. He was smiling a wry little grin as though he believed Jayne was doing exactly what he wanted her to do when, in fact, he was the one being manipulated.

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