Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [111]
“It don’t matter,” Ragston responded. “Frank’s worked mighty hard to curry favor with folks. He was spittin’ mad about them hats. You’re just lucky that milliner’s takin’ the blame.”
“Frank could’ve at least told me.” Necker again. “I didn’t find out ’bout Prysborski ’til them church bells started ringing.”
“Hush up, all of you.” Finkel. “Palmer’s sure to come back any minute. Now, deal the cards.”
Luke slipped back to the edge of the yard, then made plenty of noise as he approached. All the while, disappointment and remorse assailed him. Discovering Ragston to be a cold-blooded killer was a great deal worse than suspecting him of train robbery.
Why would he resort to something so grievous? But greed and fear were powerful motivators and ones Luke had seen at work many a time.
The cardinals began building their nest not eight feet from Georgie’s corner window. She could not sit still for the excitement. All morning the brownish yellow female with her red underlit wings and orange bill had placed vine stems, small twigs, and bark strips in the tangled, dense interior of Georgie’s ligustrum.
Many birds had nested in her yard, but never at eye level and never so close to the house. She could not believe her good fortune. Without ever setting foot outdoors, she’d see everything from the building of the nest to the laying of the eggs, the female’s song as she incubated, the hatching of the eggs, the feeding of the young, and the first flight of the fledglings.
Gathering up cotton and wool, hair from her brush, yarn from her sewing basket, straw from her broom, and a beautifully colored ribbon from her drawer, she quietly placed her offerings on the back porch, then retreated inside to watch.
The mother perched in the shrub, looking at her work, then picked up a twig and moved it just so. Puffing herself up, she squatted down and did a fast little twist. Georgie pressed her knuckles to her mouth, already recognizing the bowl-shaped indention the bird created.
Standing behind Georgie, Luke slipped his arms about her waist and pulled her back against him.
She rested her hands on his. “She used my colored ribbon. Do you see it?”
They faced her corner window, watching as the mama cardinal nosed the edges of her nest. It had taken her only three days to build it. The compact bowl was a masterpiece of twigs, rootlets, vines, and strips of bark. Interlaced within its siding was a frivolous piece of yellow-and-orange frippery.
“I do,” he said. “Definitely gives it the woman’s touch.”
She smiled.
He had to admit the process was fascinating. The male had kept a close eye on his mate during construction, but didn’t offer any help. He wondered if it contributed at all once copulation had occurred, but wasn’t quite sure how to pose the question.
“How long before she lays?” he asked.
“Five or six days.”
“Then how long before they hatch?”
“Another twelve, give or take.”
He rested his mouth against her hair and inhaled the flowery-cinnamon shampoo paste she used. “You going to name them?”
She angled her head back. “I believe the most romantic couple’s names have already been taken.”
Unable to resist, he gave her a soft kiss. “There’s Romeo and Juliet.”
Scrunching her nose, she turned back around. “I don’t much care for the ending of that tale.”
The female cardinal hopped to the edge of the ligustrum, then darted away in search of food.
“Cleopatra and Caesar?”
“No, I’m through glamorizing people who don’t deserve it.”
He gave her a quick squeeze. “Then what about Queen Victoria and Prince Albert?”
Her spine straightened. “Oh, I like that. And with the cardinals’ rich beautiful plumage, they deserve royal names.”
They watched the last-minute scurrying of the cardinals and other songbirds as the sun began to set and they looked for a place to roost. Their grand finale included more songs than he could count.
He’d not heard back from the captain since sending him a report, but he hadn’t really expected to. Much as Luke wanted to avenge Prysborski’s death, the intent of the mission was to locate Comer. Everything