Her frown was deep: a dog and a doll. Jury could almost hear the words chasing around in her mind. Were a dog and a doll enough to keep a person from getting shot? If it was not so, if she had really saved herself, then why hadn’t she saved Jury?
Nope: go with the dog and the doll. “Well, I guess he could have helped even if he wasn’t there. He could’ve been sending messages to Sparky, too. It’s not like us.”
Isn’t it? Jury smiled.
Gemma said to the doll Richard, “I’m sorry. I should’ve understood.” Then she yanked the bonnet down over the doll’s eyes, not altogether pleased with Jury’s solution, as it put her at least a little in the wrong. But in another instant, her face cleared completely.
Jury asked, “Are you going to put his black clothes back on him?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “He gets so bossy when he’s wearing them, though.” Rearranging the bonnet so the doll could see again, she hesitated. “Your name is Richard, too,” wanting to clear this up about the two Richards. “You’re not bossy at all. I wish he was more like you.” She flicked a glance Jury’s way to see if he liked hearing this.
“Thank you. I try not to be. But if I had a set of new black clothes to wear, I might be pretty bossy.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I’ll bet you don’t even boss around the criminals you catch. Probably, you didn’t even boss
He knew who she meant by “them” and tried to track emotion across her face, but it was free of fear, yet not so much she would name their names. “I don’t remember if I did or not. Probably not. I was too upset by what happened to you and Benny.”
“Benny? Nothing happened to Benny!” Not about to share the limelight with Benny, she got annoyed and stood the doll on his head. “Anyway, I’m sorry you got upset over me.”
She said this in the most self-satisfied tone that Jury had ever heard, her mouth crimped like an old lady’s, as she righted Richard and adjusted his gown.
A voice called her: “Gemma!”
Gemma slid off the seat and grabbed Richard. “It’s time for me to read to Mr. Tynedale. You can come.”
“I’d like to, but I’ve got to be getting back.”
“To the Yard?”
“Yes, the Yard.”
“I’m glad you came,” she said before she scooted off.
And then she turned and ran back. She put her hand on the cheek Jury had kissed, removed it and placed it against Jury’s own cheek. It was, he guessed, about as close as she dared come to a kiss. “Bye!”
He stood up and watched her run and skip, skip and run, her black hair gleaming in the frosty winter light. Then he watched the space now empty of her.
She was gone. In a moment, so was he.
MARTHA GRIMES
