There Hangs the Knife (Joanna Stark Mysteries Book 2) by Marcia Muller

Author:Marcia Muller [Muller, Marcia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781612323404
Publisher: Speaking Volumes
Published: 2012-03-19T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

She had always hated getting up in the morning, but for most of her life circumstances had conspired to force her out of bed. Now something—no, someone—was doing it again: shaking her . . . slapping her face, for God’s sake! An arm supported her shoulders, and then she breathed in foul medicinal air. She gasped, sputtered, and mumbled, “Go away!”

“Coming around now,” a female voice said.

“Miss Stark?” This one was a man. “Are you all right?”

Both of these people had English accents. Where was she, anyway? She shook her head groggily and opened her eyes. Faces came into focus. John Grey and his elderly barmaid. What had happened with Parducci also came into focus—fuzzily. She moaned and shut her eyes again. Her head throbbed horribly.

“There, you’ll be fine now,” John Grey said. “Let’s just get you off the floor.”

“No.” Her mouth was dry, cottony. She swallowed. “Leave me alone a minute.”

Grey, the one who had been supporting her shoulders, lay her back against a hard bumpy surface. She kept her eyes closed and touched it with her hand—one of the sacks of potatoes. She said, “What was that God-awful stink?”

“Smelling salts,” the barmaid said.

“I didn’t know they were even made anymore.”

“They are—and they’re effective.”

“I’ll say.” After a moment she opened her eyes and looked at Grey. He and the barmaid were kneeling on either side of her in the confined space between the desk and the items stacked against the wall. “What happened?” she asked.

“I was on my way back here when I heard a rumpus. That bloke had you down on the desk and was trying to throttle you.”

Her hand went to her throat. There was a slight ridge where the belt had bound, but no abrasions. “What do you mean—‘that bloke’?”

The publican avoided her eyes. “The one I caught trying to kill you. He must have followed you back here.”

“Are you claiming you don’t know he was Antony Parducci?”

“I . . . All right, I know him.”

“Did you send him after me?”

“No.”

“See him follow me?”

“If I had I would surely have tried to stop him.”

She wasn’t sure whether she could believe him, but the fact that he had apparently saved her was a point in his favor. “What happened to Parducci?”

“I pulled him off you, and we had a tussle. He got away from me, went out that window into the alley. By then you’d slipped off the desk and hit your head.”

So that was the cause of this awful throbbing. She put her hand to the back of her skull and felt a sore spot.

The barmaid said, “That wants attention.”

“I’ll see to it later.”

“You should see to it now. Head injuries—”

Grey said, “I’ll make sure she does, luv. And you’d best go back out front, before those savages commence a beer riot.”

The woman looked put out but got to her feet. As she crossed to the door, Joanna said, “Thanks for the smelling salts.”

The barmaid smiled ironically. “You’re welcome, dearie. Smith’s, they’re called, sold at most chemists’.

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