in her quiet tone and opened the register. Mrs. Lyons always looked good, her dark hair was always parted in the middle and combed back in a roll without a wisp of loose hair sticking out. She was the neatest, cleanest-looking person Lowell had ever seen. (And he surely couldn't picture her in bed with Son Martin, or anybody.) He watched her now. Her eyes were something; they were dark brown. Sometimes they sparkled when she smiled and had the warmest look he had ever seen. Though sometimes--watching her closely when she was talking to another person--her face would smile, but her eyes would tell nothing: as i f s he were looking at the person from behind her smile, or maybe thinking about something else. Whenever he talked to her for any reason, Lowell would have to look over somewhere else, once in a while. She was a lot older than he was, at least thirty, and he didn't know why he'd get the nervous feeling.
The man didn't take his hat off. He bent over and wrote slowly Frank Long, Post Office Box 481, Frankfort, Ky. Mrs. Lyons dropped her eyes and brought them back up and asked Mr. Long if he was staying just the night. He shook his head saying he wasn't sure how long he'd be; maybe just a few days. Mrs. Lyons didn't ask him anything else--if he was a salesman or here on some business or visiting kin. The dark eyes went to Lowell as she handed him the key to 205.
Lowell bent over to pick up Mr. Long's suitcase, then put his free hand on the counter as he straightened--God, like there was bricks in the thing. Mr. Long was watching him. He didn't say anything; he followed Lowell up the stairway.
In the room, putting the bag down and going over to the window, Lowell said, "You got a nice front view." He leaned close to the pane, seeing his own reflection over the lights and lit-up signs across the street. Frank Long was looking at himself in the dresser mirror, feeling his beard stubble.
Lowell said, "Can I get you anything else?" "Like what?" Mr. Long asked ?
"I don't know. Anything you might fee l l ike." He waited as the man took off his coat and tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Did you want anything to drink?"
Mr. Long looked at him, pausing a second and holding the button. "Are you talking about soda pop or liquor?"
"Either," Lowell said. "Or both."
"You can get whiskey?"
"Maybe. There's a person I could call."
"Don't you know selling liquor's against the law?" He pulled off his shirt; a line of black hair ran up from his belt buckle and spread over his chest like a tree. His skin was bone white and hard muscled.
"I'm not saying I'd get it. I said maybe there was a person I could call."
"How late's the dining room open?"
"Till eight. You want something you'll have to hurry."
Mr. Long pulled a fold of bills from his pocket. He handed one to Lowell. "Tell them to dish up. I'll be down in ten minutes."
"Thank you," Lowell said. "Tonight they got breaded pork chops, chicken-fried steak, or baked ham."
"Ham," Mr. Long said. He let Lowell edge past and reach the door. Lowell was opening it when he said, "Boy, do you know a Son Martin?"
Lowell kept his hand on the knob. He came around slowly, giving himself time to get a thoughtful frown on his face. The man was unbuckling the straps of his suitcase. Lowell watched him let the two sections of the suitcase fall open on the bed.
As the man looked at him, Lowell said, "There's a Son Martin lives about ten miles from here. I don't know as it's the same one you mean though."
"How many Son Martins d'you suppose there are?"
"I guess I never thought to count them."
Frank Long studied him. "This one I know, his daddy was a miner before he passed on. Name John W. Martin. This Son--if it's the one--him and me soldiered together in the United States Army."
"You were in the war with Son?"
"In the Engineers if it's the same one." "Well, it sure sounds like it. John W. was his papa's name."
"You say he lives about ten miles from here?"
"You go out the county
The man didn't take his hat off. He bent over and wrote slowly Frank Long, Post Office Box 481, Frankfort, Ky. Mrs. Lyons dropped her eyes and brought them back up and asked Mr. Long if he was staying just the night. He shook his head saying he wasn't sure how long he'd be; maybe just a few days. Mrs. Lyons didn't ask him anything else--if he was a salesman or here on some business or visiting kin. The dark eyes went to Lowell as she handed him the key to 205.
Lowell bent over to pick up Mr. Long's suitcase, then put his free hand on the counter as he straightened--God, like there was bricks in the thing. Mr. Long was watching him. He didn't say anything; he followed Lowell up the stairway.
In the room, putting the bag down and going over to the window, Lowell said, "You got a nice front view." He leaned close to the pane, seeing his own reflection over the lights and lit-up signs across the street. Frank Long was looking at himself in the dresser mirror, feeling his beard stubble.
Lowell said, "Can I get you anything else?" "Like what?" Mr. Long asked ?
"I don't know. Anything you might fee l l ike." He waited as the man took off his coat and tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Did you want anything to drink?"
Mr. Long looked at him, pausing a second and holding the button. "Are you talking about soda pop or liquor?"
"Either," Lowell said. "Or both."
"You can get whiskey?"
"Maybe. There's a person I could call."
"Don't you know selling liquor's against the law?" He pulled off his shirt; a line of black hair ran up from his belt buckle and spread over his chest like a tree. His skin was bone white and hard muscled.
"I'm not saying I'd get it. I said maybe there was a person I could call."
"How late's the dining room open?"
"Till eight. You want something you'll have to hurry."
Mr. Long pulled a fold of bills from his pocket. He handed one to Lowell. "Tell them to dish up. I'll be down in ten minutes."
"Thank you," Lowell said. "Tonight they got breaded pork chops, chicken-fried steak, or baked ham."
"Ham," Mr. Long said. He let Lowell edge past and reach the door. Lowell was opening it when he said, "Boy, do you know a Son Martin?"
Lowell kept his hand on the knob. He came around slowly, giving himself time to get a thoughtful frown on his face. The man was unbuckling the straps of his suitcase. Lowell watched him let the two sections of the suitcase fall open on the bed.
As the man looked at him, Lowell said, "There's a Son Martin lives about ten miles from here. I don't know as it's the same one you mean though."
"How many Son Martins d'you suppose there are?"
"I guess I never thought to count them."
Frank Long studied him. "This one I know, his daddy was a miner before he passed on. Name John W. Martin. This Son--if it's the one--him and me soldiered together in the United States Army."
"You were in the war with Son?"
"In the Engineers if it's the same one." "Well, it sure sounds like it. John W. was his papa's name."
"You say he lives about ten miles from here?"
"You go out the county
Similar Books
The Draig's Woman
Lisa Dawn Wadler
The Everlasting Covenant
Robyn Carr
Circle the Soul Softly
Davida Wills Hurwin
Pirates of Somalia
Jay Bahadur
The Staff of Kyade
James L. Craig
Hero Duty
Jenny Schwartz
Losing Me
Sue Margolis
The Final Murder
Anne Holt
The Greatest Knight
Elizabeth Chadwick
Magic
Danielle Steel