Rainbow's End by James M. Cain Page B

there.”
    â€œWill you tell Mrs. Howell?”
    â€œSure,” I told him. Well? I would have if I could have, and whether I could, he didn’t ask me. Some newspapermen called, especially the one from the Times , the Marietta Times I mean, and I gave them what little news I had, about the postponement of the inquest and Jill finding her locket. Jill called to say she’d moved out of the hospital to a motel in the center of town, one York had found her, and asked whether she should call Edgren and tell him. I said that York could do it, then changed my mind and said she should do it herself. She said she’d be out in a little while.
    I went back to thaw out a lamb roast and check whether I had mint jelly. I was just about done when she came, looking so pretty I wanted to cry. She had on a beautiful winter coat, dark brown, and under that a bottle-green mini that was perfect with her hair, beige pantyhose, and loafers she said were “frumpty,” but “are comfortable on my feet.” I didn’t think they were frumpy, but couldn’t rightly say for looking at her legs, which were beautiful. She didn’t mind being told, and in fact lifted the mini so I could see all the way. We were in each other’s arms when a car drove up.
    When I looked, Uncle Sid was getting out. He was Mom’s brother, not only mountain but looked it: six feet, thin, raw-boned, and lanky. He had on a dark-blue flannel shirt, gray striped pants, and black windbreaker. But what you noticed most was the hat—black felt, kind of rolled up at the sides and pulled down low in front. It didn’t make him look mean, the way a wild kid looks mean; somehow it made him look important. But mostly, he looked like someone you shouldn’t monkey with. I let him in and introduced him to Jill. He was polite, but cold. He mentioned that he’d seen her picture and, pointing to the pile of papers still on the floor, explained: “I mean in the papers, miss. That was a terrible thing to be snatched from a plane that way.” And then, to me, almost in the same breath: “Where’s my sister, Dave? Where’s your mother?”
    â€œUncle Sid, why don’t you tell me? It was you she called, wasn’t it? Before she left the house? Before she drove off in the car?”
    He blinked without answering, and I added: “Well, it was, wasn’t it? Where was she headed for? Your place? Flint?” Flint was the village on the Monongahela, where he lived and where she originally came from.
    â€œWell, she might have called me at that,” he said finally in that left-handed mountain way that never quite lines it out straight. “I don’t say she didn’t.”
    â€œThen she must have said where she was headed for. Was she headed for Flint, or wasn’t she?”
    â€œFlint’s her home, Dave.”
    â€œThen that’s where she figured to go?”
    â€œWe could expect her to.”
    â€œIt’s what I want to know.”
    â€œBut maybe she didn’t get there.”
    â€œNot yet, you mean, Uncle Sid.”
    â€œShe should have, by now.”
    â€œGive her time.”
    â€œDoes that hit you funny, Dave? That she should haul out of here, bang, just like that, at three in the morning?”
    â€œIt does and did—at the time.”
    â€œWhat made her do it, then?”
    â€œShe got sore at me, is all.”
    â€œWhat about?”
    He sounded ugly as he said it. I counted three before trying to answer, but while I was doing it, Jill broke in: “Me, I was the what. She didn’t like me, Mr. Giles.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI’m going to marry David.”
    â€œI see...I see.” Then: “You were here, then? You spent the night with Dave? I don’t wonder she kind of got sore.”
    â€œNo, sir. I was in the hospital.”
    â€œBut I was here,” I said. “She came to my room, screaming. She called Jill