By Charles L. Grant
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Yes. " She stepped away from the curb, kicking back through the hillock of plowed snow until she was on the sidewalk. She watched as Harriet drove away, rear tires spinning for a moment in apparent indication the girl was angry and wanted desperately to speed. Then, with a white-breathed sigh, she hurried back upstairs and called Constable. Neither he nor Danvers was in his office, but she left a message with both secretaries and assured them vigorously she would return on Monday in one piece.
The windshield fogged over. In the dashboard's unnatural glow his eyes vanished, his mouth broadened to a thick, gleaming slash. "She was a good kid," he said quietly. "A little pushy, but I suppose that comes with an actor's ego. I wanted to protect her from Ford's shoving as much as I could, to let her grow her own way, but toward the end she wasn't listening. Ben and Oliver came to me once, a couple of weeks ago, and told me to leave her alone. It was like something out of a Cagney movie. '' The abrupt eruption of bitterness in his voice took her aback, but his reaction was understandable.
Isn't fair to him? To Danvers? " And he looked to Greg for support against illogic and women. "Look, Pat, the man doesn't like you, pure and simple. You beat him out of his precious little fiefdom, with"—he grinned immodestly—"another chunk gone he probably didn't expect. Plus, you're a woman. You're taller than he is by a head—and stop smiling, it's true. You know he's a refugee from the nineteenth century. " "All right," she said reluctantly. " Stephen nodded, Janice shrugged. "But what I still want to know is —who?