Chalk Line by Paula LaRocque

Author:Paula LaRocque
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marion Street Press, LLC
Published: 2011-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

Saturday night, February 22

Dollie had barely waved Andrew down the hall and lain back among her tumbled bedclothes when a rapid-fire knock told her Andrew was back. She tossed the blankets aside and ran to the door, snatching it open.

For Jimmy, he looked a little slept in, white shirt disheveled, collar loose, black suit coat slung over his right shoulder. But his intense chartreuse tie, pocket silk, and socks were as robust as when he’d put them on that morning. He leaned his left forearm on the door casing, casual, a thumb against his forehead, a wing of hair drooping over one delicate brow.

Snazzy growled, and Dollie bent to pick him up.

“I thought for a while there,” Jimmy said, “that your ex-con was going to stay the night.”

“What are you doing here, Jimmy?” Dollie asked, her color mounting. “Spying on me?”

He brushed past her and strode into the bedroom. She followed, apprehensive, Snazzy in her arms, and watched as Jimmy took in the rumpled bed and moved to the window, which she opened at bedtime as a defense against the stuffiness of the building’s steam heat—especially given Northeast Texas’ usually mild winters.

Jimmy stood with his back to her.

“I asked you—what are you doing here?” she repeated.

He was silent at the window for a second, then said, “I want to know what you told those dicks and, for the last time, I want to know why you won’t see me again. Because that old creep in the glasses roughed me up a little?”

He turned to look at her, clasping his hands beneath his chin, fluttering his lashes and saying in falsetto, “My hero!”

Dollie shifted Snazzy to her other arm, the dog never taking his eyes off Jimmy.

“We’ve already had this conversation, Jimmy.”

“Well, that bully bastard got his, didn’t he?”

“Mr. Slaughter was a wonderful man, but you don’t feel a moment’s sympathy. That’s something you don’t know about. Just like that poor kitty. It’s the sort of thing you would do, isn’t it, Jimmy. Sneak around. Shoot someone.”

She brushed past him to close the window, but he stopped it with his palm and opened it wider.

“I didn’t happen to have a vise with me,” he said.

Dollie was closer to him now than she wanted to be, and she averted her eyes, buried her face in Snazzy’s auburn fur.

He took a lock of her black hair between his thumb and index finger, tugged a little, harder than was comfortable. She didn’t move.

“You love that stupid mutt, dontcha?” he said.

Her eyes grew wary.

“You love that stupid mutt more than anything, dontcha.”

His eyes slid toward her, then to the open window.

“Jimmy,” she whispered.

He seized Snazzy by the auburn ruff at his neck and yanked him out of her arms. The little dog yelped, no, screamed, his voice going right to the top of the register.

“Jimmy Jimmy no no no Jimmy no!” Dollie screamed, along with the dog.

Jimmy held the squirming little bundle out the window, looking back at Dollie, who stared, dry lips moving please please please but making no sound.

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