Read Online Fallen Sparrow by Dorothy B. Hughes - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy B. Hughes
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evening, passing the time of day with the rookie cop, Chris McKittrick. Before she danced at Tony Pastor’s and the French Duke coveted her, before she returned with a title and her face ravaged and her hair grayed. She never mentioned her Parisian days.
She said sternly, “If you’ve told me once you’ve told me every day. And I’ve told you that Annie Rooney was as common as Mary Smith in New York before the century turned. Now what are you doing here?”
He couldn’t give out to Det. She was sponsoring Toni Donne and inversely Otto Skaas. He’d have to do the act with her too, hope she wouldn’t catch on and give him away. He winked. “She wouldn’t have lunch with me.”
Det began to laugh and then she didn’t. “You mean Toni?”
“Who else?”
Her eyes weren’t heart warm now. “Did you come here for that?”
The game wouldn’t go with her. He didn’t know why she should be wary with him but she was. He nodded.
“Why?”
He said unsmiling, “I saw her at the benefit last night. I thought I recognized her.”
“How did you know who she was and where to find her?”
He answered coolly, “I made inquiries. I want to meet her.”
Det studied him as if he were a stranger. Finally she spoke. “Toni.”
The girl might have been standing behind the curtain listening for her cue. Her face was expressionless. Det put an arm around the thin shoulders. “Toni, this is Kit McKittrick, the son of my old friend, Chris McKittrick.” They might have been leagued against him, the granite woman bulwarking a wraith.
Toni said, “How do you do. There is someone to see you, Det, in the work room.” She didn’t follow; she stood there waiting.
Kit apologized, “I’m sorry.” He was sincere. He’d overacted the fool. “I’m really sorry. Couldn’t I see you sometime? Dinner tonight?”
She said, “I have a dinner engagement.”
“Tomorrow night? Friday? Saturday?”
She leveled a flat finality. “I do not care to go out with you, Mr. McKittrick.”
That made him mad. He spoke out of anger. “I suppose you prefer Franconia Notch too. Well, I’ll offer that if you want it.”
Her eyes held words but she kept her mouth silent, her hands clenched. He caught up his coat and hat and glared down at her. “I think you will go out with me. I think you’ll ask me to go out with you. I even think you’ll explain what you were doing at Harmon yesterday. In case you want to get in touch, call Geoffrey Wilhite on Park. He’s in the book.”
The door wouldn’t bang satisfactorily after him. It had one of those plush mufflers on it. He marched down to Fifth again before he remembered to put on the coat. He didn’t know why Det had suddenly turned against him. He didn’t know any more about Toni Donne than he had when he woke up this morning. Yes, he did. He knew she was a stubborn little die-hard.
He was in fine fettle to tackle Content’s imaginatory excursions. He strode to the Plaza, entered the bar in which women were blessedly taboo, and drank a double brandy. That was better than lunch. He’d shake the truth out of Content even if she wouldn’t talk. He went to the phone booth, called the Hamilton town house.
“Miss Content does not reside here,” Old Merrill burbled.
“Where does she reside?” he demanded.
“We do not have her current address.” The disapproval iced the wires between. Whether of him or of Content, Kit wasn’t sure. All he knew was that everyone from homicide inspectors to antiquated butlers were trying to make it hard on him.
Someone would know. East 50th would know. He needed another double brandy first. It was much better than lunch. Two double brandies. Three. Jake wasn’t at Number 50. The voice at the other end of the wire made no bones about thinking that some early drunk was attempting to annoy the club’s singing sensation. Kit gave up in angry futility. And he returned to the bar to map a new campaign. He didn’t care about lunch at all. Not
She said sternly, “If you’ve told me once you’ve told me every day. And I’ve told you that Annie Rooney was as common as Mary Smith in New York before the century turned. Now what are you doing here?”
He couldn’t give out to Det. She was sponsoring Toni Donne and inversely Otto Skaas. He’d have to do the act with her too, hope she wouldn’t catch on and give him away. He winked. “She wouldn’t have lunch with me.”
Det began to laugh and then she didn’t. “You mean Toni?”
“Who else?”
Her eyes weren’t heart warm now. “Did you come here for that?”
The game wouldn’t go with her. He didn’t know why she should be wary with him but she was. He nodded.
“Why?”
He said unsmiling, “I saw her at the benefit last night. I thought I recognized her.”
“How did you know who she was and where to find her?”
He answered coolly, “I made inquiries. I want to meet her.”
Det studied him as if he were a stranger. Finally she spoke. “Toni.”
The girl might have been standing behind the curtain listening for her cue. Her face was expressionless. Det put an arm around the thin shoulders. “Toni, this is Kit McKittrick, the son of my old friend, Chris McKittrick.” They might have been leagued against him, the granite woman bulwarking a wraith.
Toni said, “How do you do. There is someone to see you, Det, in the work room.” She didn’t follow; she stood there waiting.
Kit apologized, “I’m sorry.” He was sincere. He’d overacted the fool. “I’m really sorry. Couldn’t I see you sometime? Dinner tonight?”
She said, “I have a dinner engagement.”
“Tomorrow night? Friday? Saturday?”
She leveled a flat finality. “I do not care to go out with you, Mr. McKittrick.”
That made him mad. He spoke out of anger. “I suppose you prefer Franconia Notch too. Well, I’ll offer that if you want it.”
Her eyes held words but she kept her mouth silent, her hands clenched. He caught up his coat and hat and glared down at her. “I think you will go out with me. I think you’ll ask me to go out with you. I even think you’ll explain what you were doing at Harmon yesterday. In case you want to get in touch, call Geoffrey Wilhite on Park. He’s in the book.”
The door wouldn’t bang satisfactorily after him. It had one of those plush mufflers on it. He marched down to Fifth again before he remembered to put on the coat. He didn’t know why Det had suddenly turned against him. He didn’t know any more about Toni Donne than he had when he woke up this morning. Yes, he did. He knew she was a stubborn little die-hard.
He was in fine fettle to tackle Content’s imaginatory excursions. He strode to the Plaza, entered the bar in which women were blessedly taboo, and drank a double brandy. That was better than lunch. He’d shake the truth out of Content even if she wouldn’t talk. He went to the phone booth, called the Hamilton town house.
“Miss Content does not reside here,” Old Merrill burbled.
“Where does she reside?” he demanded.
“We do not have her current address.” The disapproval iced the wires between. Whether of him or of Content, Kit wasn’t sure. All he knew was that everyone from homicide inspectors to antiquated butlers were trying to make it hard on him.
Someone would know. East 50th would know. He needed another double brandy first. It was much better than lunch. Two double brandies. Three. Jake wasn’t at Number 50. The voice at the other end of the wire made no bones about thinking that some early drunk was attempting to annoy the club’s singing sensation. Kit gave up in angry futility. And he returned to the bar to map a new campaign. He didn’t care about lunch at all. Not
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