The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [212]
“Well,” I said, my brain working too hard at keeping up with her thoughts to worry about being tactful, “what about you, then?”
Miss Howard’s green eyes slid slowly sideways to give me a glance what said I’d better make my meaning a bit clearer.
“What I’m saying,” I added in a hurry, knowing how fast her temper could flare, “is that none of that business really goes for you. You’re not married, you don’t have any kids, but you’re—” I looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “Well—you’re as much of a woman as any mother I ever knew. If you see what I mean.”
That brought her hand gently to my arm again, and allowed the green eyes to open wider. “That’s the most decent thing anyone’s said to me in a long time. Thank you, Stevie. But remember, too, you’re still young.”
“Oh,” I said, grabbing at my own chance to get huffy, “so my opinions don’t count? Or they’ll change, just because I’ll get older?”
It was Miss Howard’s turn to squirm a bit. “Well,” she noised, “it does happen sometimes …”
“Okay,” I pressed. “What about the others, then? The Doctor and the detective sergeants and Cyrus—even Mr. Moore? They all feel the same way.”
Miss Howard shot me a doubtful look. “Hardly an average selection of American men. I’m sorry, Stevie. Of course I value and respect how you and the others feel—you may never know how much. But to the rest of our world I’ll probably always be that strange Sara Howard, the spinster detective lady—unless and until I have a family. Not that part of me wouldn’t like to, someday. If I ever feel like I’ve really made a difference with my work, I might consider children—it’s just that I object to the notion that I won’t be whole until I do. It’s a cruel standard—especially to the women who can’t achieve it. Libby couldn’t, and the failure broke her. Yes … for all her cleverness, she’s terribly broken. A little like your friend Kat, in that way. Clever, yet lost. Lost, and somehow—somehow—”
Suddenly Miss Howard’s face, so passionate while giving voice to ideas what I knew were as important to her as any in the world, went completely blank. Her words fell off with a quickness what let me know she’d caught sight of something—and there was only one “something” it could be.
“Where?” I said, whipping my head from side to side. “Where is he?”
Miss Howard put a steadying hand to my shoulder. “Just slow down, Stevie,” she whispered. “If I’m not mistaken, he’s right in front of us …”
I searched the dark road ahead; and there, to be sure, was the silhouette of a small person, the bagginess of the clothes and the bushiness of the hair giving away his identity. El Niño wasn’t moving, either away from or toward us; he seemed to be waiting for our rig to reach him, and as we got closer I began to make out that damned smile again.
“What the hell…” I mumbled. “Is he real, even? The mug gets around quicker than spit.”
“Oh, he’s real, all right,” Miss Howard answered. “The question is, what does he want?”
“Figure we should stop?”
She shook her head. “No. Keep going at a walk.” She pulled out her revolver and placed it in her lap. “Let’s see what happens.”
CHAPTER 38
I followed the order. The aborigine didn’t move, just stood there smiling until we were about twenty feet from him. Then, very deliberately, he put his hands into the air. I drew the Morgan to a halt, and we waited. Lowering one arm, the aborigine pointed to the ground.
” I don’t hurt you,” he said, his smile getting wider. Following his finger, we could see that there was a small bow, a couple more of the plain little arrows, and another, wave-bladed kris on the road. “And you don’t shoot me,” he went on, putting his arm back up. “Yes?”
Miss Howard nodded; but she kept the gun right where it was. “All right,” she said. “What is it you want?”
“I to help you!” the aborigine answered. “Sure—can help you, yes! Sometimes, I help you already.”
“But you’re Señor Linares’s man,” Miss Howard answered. “Why do you help us?”
The aborigine moved to pick up his weapons, prompting Miss Howard to pull back the hammer of her Colt. The