Read Online A Thorn in the Bush by Frank Herbert - Free Book Online Page B

head backward in anguish as Dr. Herrera began taping a board across the shoulders. Mrs. Ross gulped, felt a pang of remorse.
    The artist gasped, took a deep breath, stared at Mrs. Ross. “You’re going to pay for this!”
    “Of course I’ll pay for it,” whispered Mrs. Ross. She cleared her throat, spoke louder. “It’ll all go on my bill.” And she thought: What if he tells? How they’d laugh here in San Juan!
    “That’s not what I mean,” said Hoblitt.
    Dr. Herrera smoothed a last length of surgical tape into place across Hoblitt’s chest, stood up, spoke to Mrs. Ross. “I am going to administer a sedative. Will you ask the young man first about his family, whom to notify, which hospital he would prefer?”
    Mrs. Ross found momentary difficulty in shifting back to Spanish. She swallowed, said: “I will take care of all expenses.”
    “What’s he saying?” demanded Hoblitt.
    The anger of desperation overcame Mrs. Ross. She squatted beside Hoblitt, demanded: “How did you find out about me? Who else knows?” And she thought: Does Serena know? Jaime? Is this what they really gossip about?
    Hoblitt gritted his teeth. Perspiration stood out along his forehead. “Can’t he give me something to stop the pain?”
    “He is preparing something,” said Mrs. Ross. “How long have you known?”
    “At the art show in Mexico City,” whispered Hoblitt. He squinted, wet his lips with his tongue. “I showed a portrait of you—the one Don Jaime had me make for him—only I changed it the way he wanted: made you look younger.”
    Mrs. Ross put a hand to her throat. “Like the sketch you sent me?”
    “Yeah.”
    Just as I feared . Oh, why didn’t I do something then? Through dry lips she said: “Who saw the picture?”
    “Tourist,” panted Hoblitt. “Old guy. Named John Sullivan.” He subsided, breathing in shallow gasps.
    Old John! thought Mrs. Ross. God in heaven!
    She said: “What did he tell you?”
    Hoblitt’s lips trembled.
    Behind Mrs. Ross, Dr. Herrera said: “Please do not take too long, Señora.”
    Mrs. Ross ignored the interruption, hardly heard it. “Did you tell this tourist where I live?”
    “Wish I had,” whispered Hoblitt. “But after he told me who the portrait looked like … I told him you were … dead … you died years ago. He wanted to buy the picture, but Don Jaime wouldn’t sell.”
    “Did you tell Don Jaime what the man said?” asked Mrs. Ross.
    Recognizing the name, Dr. Herrera said: “Don Jaime has already been summoned, Señora.”
    Hoblitt said: “I didn’t tell anyone.”
    “What … did Sullivan say to you?” she whispered.
    Hoblitt held his head rigid, turned his eyes, stared directly at her. There was sharp clarity in his attention, and his voice came out strongly: “He said my portrait was the spitting image of Kodiak Kate, who used to run the best house in Juneau. He said you were the smartest business woman he ever met: everything in your house was for sale … except Kate herself. That’s what he told me!”
    Dr. Herrera cleared his throat. “Do you have the necessary information, Señora?”
    Mrs. Ross answered without turning: “One moment, Doctor.” She shifted back to English, attention fixed on Hoblitt. “What do you intend to do with this information?”
    Hoblitt spoke in a low, musing voice. “Been thinking. At first I wasn’t going to do anything. But since …” He swallowed, and a muscle rippled along his chest. “What’d you hit me with?”
    “A flower box fell off my balcony,” said Mrs. Ross.
    “Fell!” grated Hoblitt. His attention wavered past her, came back. “What happened to that thing I was carrying?”
    Mrs. Ross had lost all contact with her previous suspicions. “What thing?” she asked.
    “Model. Little wheelchair. Sold portrait of Paulita. Sent part back with Don Jaime … braces … her legs. Rest … money for wheelchair. Making special one.” He blinked, focused on Mrs. Ross. “I was nerving myself