[Maggie Sullivan 06.0] - Dames Fight Harder by M. Ruth Myers

Author:M. Ruth Myers [Myers, M. Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 1940s mystery series, detective
ISBN: 9781979533935
Google: PA9yvwEACAAJ
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 38917984
Publisher: Tuesday House
Published: 2017-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SIX

“Based on my impartial survey, you’re the second prettiest girl in the room,” Connelly murmured in my ear as we moved to the hypnotic strains of “Dancing in the Dark” at Hotel Miami.

Leaning back a few inches to see his face, I lifted an eyebrow.

“And number one is...?”

“The girl selling cigarettes. I’ve a weakness for redheads.”

The cigarette seller was middle-aged and the red so obviously out of a bottle a blind man could see it. I laughed.

On rare occasions I felt pretty, but never beautiful. I almost did tonight. On Ione Jenkins’ last trip to New York, I’d given her money to buy me something swanky at a discount place she’d told me about. I was wearing her selection, a steel blue jersey number with a darker appliqué edged in sequins on one shoulder. Or maybe it was Connelly’s arm around me that made the difference.

The music brought us to the end of the dance floor and we turned. I missed a step.

“Maggie? Anything wrong?”

“That man coming in. He works at Rachel’s site.”

It was Hawkins, dressed in a suit with his hair slicked, looking out of his element and all the more belligerent for it as he glared at the maitre d’. The head of the girl with him came to his shoulder. She was looking around in awe.

“Big bruiser,” Connelly observed.

“Yeah, and I’m wondering where he got the money to turn up here.”

“Shall I go and inquire?”

I pretended to consider. “He might take exception.”

The music stopped. We returned to our table. Hawkins wasn’t satisfied with the first one he was shown to, and the waiter led the way to a second. As soon as he sat down, Hawkins looked around. His eyes came to rest on me and he gave an unpleasant smile. Surely he wasn’t following me. I would have noticed him, and he’d have to go home and put on a suit and find a date, assuming he wasn’t married. I resolved not to let Hawkins’ presence spoil my evening.

Our second cocktails of the evening arrived.

“I took my physical today,” Connelly said casually. “Selective Service.”

I looked up in dismay.

“You needn’t worry,” he said with a wry smile. “They wouldn’t have me. Some nonsense about rheumatic fever might have weakened my heart.”

“You never said anything about getting a draft notice.”

“I didn’t. I meant to enlist. Water under the bridge now.”

“The chief will be glad not to lose you.”

“And you?”

The tip of his finger touched mine on the table.

“Yeah. I’m not going to pretend I’m not.”

Uncomfortably I recognized that it made a difference when the vague abstraction of men going off to war changed to the concrete image of someone you cared about. Now I understood why a woman down the hall from my office had fought tooth and nail in behalf of isolationism. She couldn’t bear the thought of her only son going.

Connelly smiled at me.

“Let’s dance some more.”

What he’d told me made me gladder than ever to be in Connelly’s arms. Twice more in the course of the evening I caught Hawkins staring at me.

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