Authors: Donald Hamilton
Then Belinda Nunn stepped out of the little car and came back to me. She was wearing some kind of a baggy jumper outfit, I guess current fashions aren’t supposed to be flattering, but I remembered a rather brave and uncomplaining young woman in grimy jeans and a pretty lady in chiffon, and it didn’t matter anyway. After a while, knowing what they are, remembering the times you’ve shared with them, you start to disregard how they look at any given moment.
“This is a hard place to find,” she said.
“Next time let me know and I’ll send out the Saint Bernards with the brandy.”
She glanced at Bravo. “Well, you've got a dog that’s big enough. ’’ She glanced toward the house. “Do you have anybody in there, Matt? Or are you planning to move anybody in?”
I said, “Ruth just stopped by with her girls, to say goodbye, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I guess it is,” Belinda said. “Well, you are kind of a target, and I didn’t think she was the kind to want to live in the line of fire.”
“She has her daughters to think of.”
“Sure. Well, in that case . . After a momentary pause Belinda went on: “There was some unfinished business. It’s the only time in my life I ever spent a week with a man and finished as pure as I started. I thought that if you had nobody else on your mind, maybe we could . . . Well, aren’t you curious, too?”
I was.