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 them.”
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.
Because she almost made me wish she’d disappear, so I could find her.
She was gone. In a moment, so was he.
MARTHA GRIMES
