Lou-Annâs cutting up pretty bad.â With that cheery bulletin, he rang off.
I did check to see if Gerry was in his bedroom then, but there was no sign of his having been there recently. Off nesting with one of his birds, I presumed. Which was no help to me, as usual. I went back to my own room and dressed quickly.
The Cousins were leaving as I arrived. They sidled past me with the eager escaping faces of males who had been subjected to an overdose of female hysterics.
Lou-Ann was sitting in a chair in the centre of the room, a heap of tattered, soggy paper handkerchiefs at her feet. She wasnât actively crying at the moment, just snuffling occasionally, her hands shredding a Kleenex restlessly. Crystal perched on the arm of her chair, an expression of concern on her face, and a full box of Kleenex on her lap. As Lou-Ann let the shredded one fall to the floor, she pulled out a fresh one and handed it to her automatically. It should have been a funny routine but, looking at Lou-Annâs red blotchy face, it wasnât.
Uncle Noâccount leaned against the farther wall, watching them unhappily. His fingers caressed the harmonica, probably he itched to play it. Equally probably, he felt it wouldnât show proper respect for Lou-Annâs anxiety. He nodded to me and sketched a brief salute with the harmonica.
Bart stood by the window, looking intently down into the street. He seemed to have dissociated himself from everyone present, although it was his suite. He didnât even turn round when I spoke.
âIs there anything I can do?â
Lou-Ann raised her head and looked at me pleadingly. âFind her, Douglas. Sheâs lost â sheâs lost and gone ââ She broke off, her head cocked, as though to catch an echo of something she could not quite place. (âYou are lost and gone for ever, Oh, my darling, Clementineâ.) Fortunately for her peace of mind, the fragment of lyric drifted away.
âYou know your way around this city, Douglas,â she continued, after the brief pause. âWhere could she be?â
âHas anyone called the police?â I asked.
âNo â and nobodyâs going to.â Bart turned away from the window, his shoulders hunched menacingly. âWe donât want no police nosing around here, boy.â He glanced sideways at Lou-Ann. âIt wouldnât be good publicity for the Act. You know how Maw would hate that.â
âThatâs right,â Lou-Ann agreed reluctantly. âMaw wouldnât want bad publicity. But ââ
âYou jesâ leave things be for a little while longer,â Bart said. âSheâll maybe turn up by herself when she feels like it. You never know â she might just be out on a tear.â
âMaw donât drink!â Crystal sounded genuinely shocked. âLeastwise, not that much.â
âHow do you know what she mighta decided to do last night? Was you with her?â
âNo â no, Bart.â Crystal lost colour.
âShe was with me, Bart,â Lou-Ann said mechanically. âWe was playing gin rummy.â
âYeah?â Bart glanced at her suspiciously. âGoing in quite a lot for card games these nights, ainât you? Maybe I should look in for a hand or two sometimes.â
âWhy donât you, Bart?â Lou-Ann turned to him eagerly. For the moment, her mother was forgotten in the place of her bigger, more enduring problem. âYou ainât been by in quite a long spell. Maybe we could sit by ourselves and talk awhile.â
Bart ignored her, returning to his vigil at the window, staring intently down into the street. Was he more worried than he seemed? Lou-Ann sniffed unappealingly, and Crystal, still wary of Bart, passed her another Kleenex.
âWhereâs Sam?â I spoke over their heads to Uncle Noâccount who, at least, seemed to be keeping calm, if not neutral, in the face of this
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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