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“Just like your mom. One grunt is worth a thousand words. ”
“Mm,” she said again, but smiled.
“Crow can take care of himself. Hell, we’ve all seen that. ”
“I know, Daddy, but you know what it did to him. He probably wouldn’t have even started drinking if it hadn’t been for that job. ”
“Yep, and I also know that he pulled himself up by his own bootstraps and put his life back together—while he was still in that job. Not a lot of men could do that. He fixed himself, as my pappy would say. He saw that his life was broken, and he fixed himself. ”
“Mm. ”
“Will you stop that?”
“Mm-?hm. ”
He threw a cracker at her, which she surprised herself by catching. She ate the cracker and stuck a crumb-?covered tongue at him.
Connie Guthrie whisked into the room, all fresh and cute in her floral-?print dress, sensible pumps, bouncing blond curls, and brilliant smile. She favored them with an airy wave of her hand and then made a beeline for the stove.
“Ooo! We have soup!”
“It’s for Crow,” Guthrie said quickly as if he didn’t have a spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Well, you have some. Maybe I’ll just try a little. ” She looked quickly at Val, as if for approval, but neither wanting nor expecting any. Without another word she took a bowl from the cupboard and began ladling soup into it. Guthrie gave Val an apologetic look, but she waved it off. “I didn’t even know you could cook. ”
Connie had just finished arranging her side of the table with a frilly place mat, precisely folded napkin, soupspoon set just so, the soup bowl positioned perfectly in the center of the plate with five crackers laid out overlapping each other around the rim, when the doorbell rang.
“Ooo, there’s the door!” Connie said, as if that were a hilarious joke. “Just when I was sitting down. ” Then she actually sat down. Val exchanged an amazed and exasperated look with her father.
“Shall I get that, then?” she asked dryly.
“Oh, would you, dear?” cooed Connie. “I wouldn’t want this fabulous soup of yours to get all cold and nasty. ”
“Heaven forbid. ” Val stood up, waving to her father to remain seated just as he began to rise. “I’m up, I’ll get it. ”
She moved toward the door, crossing behind Connie, who was delicately blowing across the surface of her first spoonful. Val paused and mimed strangling Connie. Connie saw none of it, and Guthrie had to pretend to cough to hide his laughter. Sighing audibly, Val walked out of the kitchen, down the long hall, and into the living room. The visitor knocked again. A hard, insistent rap.
“I’m coming!” Val called as she reached for the knob, turned it, and opened the door.
A man stood there, tall and thin and pale of face. He had dark hair greased back from a widow’s peak, black eyes, and a wide, friendly smile. In his right hand he held a small, almost delicate-?looking pistol. The barrel was pointed at Val’s stomach.
“Trick-?or-?treat,” whispered Karl Ruger, and pushed his way into the house.
Part II
Mr. Devil Blues
Gypsy woman told me I’ve got to walk the night Like a fallen angel, I’m blinded by the light.
Whitesnake, “Nighthawk (Vampire Blues)”
There’s a darkness deep In my soul I still got a purpose to serve.
Santana, “Put Your Lights On”
Well, I ain’t superstitious, black cat just cross my trail Well, I ain’t superstitious, oh the black cat just cross my trail.
Willie Dixon, “I Ain’t Superstitious”
