Read Online A Thorn in the Bush by Frank Herbert - Free Book Online
Authors: Frank Herbert
Tags: Suspense, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages)
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this morning: proud curve of neck, a tiny smile on the passionate lips, the flashing dark eyes.
Mrs. Ross smiled. Everything will be as it was .
Paulita was knitting on something green this morning. Her fingers flew across the work with a sharp rhythm.
I’ll just say hello , thought Mrs. Ross. She opened the doors, stepped outside, leaned across the riotous green of the parsley.
It was then that Mrs. Ross noticed Paulita’s self-conscious attention to the knitting, the way she avoided looking up when it was obvious that she must have heard the French doors.
Mrs. Ross became aware of a noise beneath her balcony, looked down.
Hoblitt!
He was bent over his sketch pad. The duck curl of blond hair pointed upward at the nape of his neck.
Mrs. Ross had the sensation that time had slipped backward, that she had lived through this moment before. Then a sense of horrible fascination overcame her as she realized that Hoblitt was not sketching, but was using the pad to conceal something from Paulita. Sunlight glistened off nickel-plated metal. Mrs. Ross could not quite see what it was he held in his hand, but her mind leaped to its own conclusion: He has a gun! Good heavens! He’s found out about Paulita’s legs!
She did the only thing she could think of—pushed the pottery container of parsley off the rail directly onto Hoblitt, turned and raced downstairs as fast as her legs would carry her.
Paulita was gone from the window when Mrs. Ross reached the street. Hoblitt lay face up, diagonally across the sidewalk. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Dirt and bits of greenery had spattered his shirt, mostly on the left side where the heavy pottery box had struck his shoulder. The force of the blow had hurled him almost to the gutter. There was a pale, defenseless look to his craggy face. His lips appeared bloodless.
Mrs. Ross put her left hand to her cheek. I must do something, she thought. A boy! I must send a boy for the doctor!
Several youngsters already were gathering at the intersection beyond Hoblitt. They bunched together as though for protection, presented a mass of dark, tousled hair and faded, wrong-sized clothing. Mrs. Ross recognized Antonio Muñez among them, called out: “Antonio! Run get Doctor Herrera!”
“Tanis already has gone,” said Antonio.
The boys inched toward her, moving in a body, their attention focused on Hoblitt. “He is not yet dead,” said one. “See, his chest moves.”
Mrs. Ross heard a door open, glanced across the cobblestones at the Romera house. Paulita stood in the doorway on her crutches. Light gleamed along the new metal braces supporting her legs. A look of fury contorted her features. She tried to push forward, but was held back by her aunt.
As Mrs. Ross watched, the aunt led Paulita back into the shadows of the house. The door was closed, presenting its worn boards to the street.
There came the sound of the bolt being secured.
She saw me push the box! thought Mrs. Ross. She must have turned while I was looking at Hoblitt.
Piping whistles sounded from around the corner. The police came: a pack of tan uniforms and black shoes that thumped along the sidewalk. One carried a stretcher on his shoulder, the canvas laces flying loose behind him.
Dr. Herrera trotted along behind, black bag swinging from one long arm. He looked like a great lumbering football player.
Police Chief Beto, Don Jaime’s nephew, brought up the rear, mustaches flapping, his fat body vibrating.
“Do not crowd too closely to the body!” he called.
Dr. Herrera put down his bag, knelt beside Hoblitt, concealing the fallen man’s head and shoulders from Mrs. Ross. The police ignored Chief Beto’s order, pressed closely about the doctor. They presented a tan wall to Mrs. Ross. The children scattered around the group, peering between legs, past belts.
There was a rattling of iron at the gate behind Mrs. Ross. She glanced back, saw Serena standing there. Mrs. Ross recognized the vacant look on her
Mrs. Ross smiled. Everything will be as it was .
Paulita was knitting on something green this morning. Her fingers flew across the work with a sharp rhythm.
I’ll just say hello , thought Mrs. Ross. She opened the doors, stepped outside, leaned across the riotous green of the parsley.
It was then that Mrs. Ross noticed Paulita’s self-conscious attention to the knitting, the way she avoided looking up when it was obvious that she must have heard the French doors.
Mrs. Ross became aware of a noise beneath her balcony, looked down.
Hoblitt!
He was bent over his sketch pad. The duck curl of blond hair pointed upward at the nape of his neck.
Mrs. Ross had the sensation that time had slipped backward, that she had lived through this moment before. Then a sense of horrible fascination overcame her as she realized that Hoblitt was not sketching, but was using the pad to conceal something from Paulita. Sunlight glistened off nickel-plated metal. Mrs. Ross could not quite see what it was he held in his hand, but her mind leaped to its own conclusion: He has a gun! Good heavens! He’s found out about Paulita’s legs!
She did the only thing she could think of—pushed the pottery container of parsley off the rail directly onto Hoblitt, turned and raced downstairs as fast as her legs would carry her.
Paulita was gone from the window when Mrs. Ross reached the street. Hoblitt lay face up, diagonally across the sidewalk. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Dirt and bits of greenery had spattered his shirt, mostly on the left side where the heavy pottery box had struck his shoulder. The force of the blow had hurled him almost to the gutter. There was a pale, defenseless look to his craggy face. His lips appeared bloodless.
Mrs. Ross put her left hand to her cheek. I must do something, she thought. A boy! I must send a boy for the doctor!
Several youngsters already were gathering at the intersection beyond Hoblitt. They bunched together as though for protection, presented a mass of dark, tousled hair and faded, wrong-sized clothing. Mrs. Ross recognized Antonio Muñez among them, called out: “Antonio! Run get Doctor Herrera!”
“Tanis already has gone,” said Antonio.
The boys inched toward her, moving in a body, their attention focused on Hoblitt. “He is not yet dead,” said one. “See, his chest moves.”
Mrs. Ross heard a door open, glanced across the cobblestones at the Romera house. Paulita stood in the doorway on her crutches. Light gleamed along the new metal braces supporting her legs. A look of fury contorted her features. She tried to push forward, but was held back by her aunt.
As Mrs. Ross watched, the aunt led Paulita back into the shadows of the house. The door was closed, presenting its worn boards to the street.
There came the sound of the bolt being secured.
She saw me push the box! thought Mrs. Ross. She must have turned while I was looking at Hoblitt.
Piping whistles sounded from around the corner. The police came: a pack of tan uniforms and black shoes that thumped along the sidewalk. One carried a stretcher on his shoulder, the canvas laces flying loose behind him.
Dr. Herrera trotted along behind, black bag swinging from one long arm. He looked like a great lumbering football player.
Police Chief Beto, Don Jaime’s nephew, brought up the rear, mustaches flapping, his fat body vibrating.
“Do not crowd too closely to the body!” he called.
Dr. Herrera put down his bag, knelt beside Hoblitt, concealing the fallen man’s head and shoulders from Mrs. Ross. The police ignored Chief Beto’s order, pressed closely about the doctor. They presented a tan wall to Mrs. Ross. The children scattered around the group, peering between legs, past belts.
There was a rattling of iron at the gate behind Mrs. Ross. She glanced back, saw Serena standing there. Mrs. Ross recognized the vacant look on her
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