“No, I didn’t know that either, but I’m not surprised.”
“Mel’s gone, now Nat’s leaving. That leaves me all alone. Scary. Do you want a drink?”
“No.”
“Hot chocolate, coffee?”
“No thank you.”
She drifted forward and sat on the arm of his chair. “That job of yours, Sonny, do you really like it?”
“It makes me feel useful,” he said. “I help keep the town safe for realtors and developers.”
“But do you like it?”
“It’s not what it used to be.”
“Quit it.”
He half smiled. “And do what?”
“I’ll make you rich. Marry me.”
“It wouldn’t work.”
She pushed an idle hand through his hair. “For a few years it might. A lot of people would settle for that.”
“It’s something to think about,” he said and looked around. “Where is Natalie?”
“In one of her moods. In her room.”
“I’m surprised she’s leaving you.”
“It’s not me she’s leaving, Sonny. It’s Melody. It really hasn’t been easy for her.”
“I’d like to talk to her.”
“Anything I should know?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
The door to Natalie’s room was partly open. Her briary globe of hair was all he saw at first. She was bent double, squeezing on her shoes. Raising her head, she looked at him with little interest. “May I come in?” he asked.
“You already are.”
“May I shut the door?”
“No.”
“OK, it’s not necessary,” he said as if talking to an injured child. She was not wearing her glasses, which made her face look different.
“Contacts,” she immediately explained. She played with the bracelet on her wrist. “Melody’s,” she said.
“I have some news,” he said.
“What kind of news?”
He moved to her bed and sat on it. “Good news, but I need your help.”
When he came out of the room several minutes later, Sue was sipping a drink in the shadowed kitchen. He went to her with his hair still mussed where she had run her hand through it. Her drink looked and smelled like Dubonnet. “Maybe I’ll try one of those,” he said.
She tilted her head. “What else would you like?”
“To stay the night.”
• • •
Claire Fellows said, “It’s for you, dear.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then ask.”
“Who is this, please?” She listened hard and then pressed the receiver against her breast. “She says she’s calling long distance. Spring Grove.”
“Where the hell is Spring Grove?”
She smiled. “The only Spring Grove I know is a cemetery.”
He shucked himself out of the club chair that had belonged to his father, tore himself away from the television drama he had been watching, and shuffled toward her in leather slippers she had given him three Christmases ago. He snatched the phone from her hand. “Yes, who is this?”
“It’s me.” The voice was Melody’s.
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Sweetheart
Goldilocks
Voices in the Dark
No Way Home
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Copyright © 1987 by Andrew Coburn
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Cover Images ©123rf/Engin Korkmaz, Nikita Sobolkov, Bryan Mullennix
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-4509-X
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4509-2
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