Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

Irv had waited in the car. When he saw her coming from the building, he got out to help her and Pearl into the passenger seat. “Is it the Spanish flu?” he asked. “Pneumonia?”

“He didn’t say.”

He tilted his head and looked at Pearl, who was lying in Laurel’s arms. “She seems better already.”

“He gave her paregoric.”

He frowned. “That’s dope, ya know. You’d’ve been just as well off funneling some whiskey down her throat.”

Laurel agreed. Her mother had given her paregoric whenever she’d suffered a stomachache or diarrhea. However, rather than easing her symptoms, the opiate had always nauseated her, making her throw up.

She didn’t like the idea of the stuff, and would be very stingy with the doses she gave Pearl for her cough. Now, however, she was grateful that the baby was no longer struggling for every breath. Pearl’s eyes were blinking sleepily, and sleep would be as good a remedy as anything.

Laurel kissed her daughter’s forehead, then whispered to her, “Things are going to get better, Pearl. I’m going to make them better. I promise.” After Irv had started the car and gotten behind the wheel, she said, “I want to see that house for rent.”

* * *



As they drove through town, Irv reopened the subject of the scene in the sheriff’s office. “That fella Hutton. What do you think?”

“I don’t think anything.”

“I mean in connection with the doc’s wife gone missing.”

Rather than answer his question, she asked, “How was the mayor involved? Is he a close friend of the Driscolls?”

“Naw, he just sticks his big nose into everybody’s business.”

“Well, this is his business. He’s a public official, and a woman in his city went missing overnight.”

“You think that Hutton took her?”

“I don’t know, Irv.” Her tone reflected how tired she was of his seeming obsession with Mr. Hutton. Since he’d ventured into their yard yesterday, no matter what topic they were talking about, Irv always circled back to him. Every time she’d asked what had made him so suspicious of the man, his answer was usually the same. “Just don’t trust a tall, dark stranger who drops out of nowhere.”

As now, he muttered, “Don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

He would trust Mr. Hutton even less if he knew that he’d placed his hands on Laurel’s arms and held her against him. She’d taken his hand!

By doing so, she’d given him an opportunity to force himself on her if he’d been of a mind to. No, they had to be wrong to suspect him of molesting Mrs. Driscoll in any way. He’d done nothing in the manner that Sheriff Amos’s question had suggested, nothing to make her fear that he meant her harm, or that his intentions were dishonorable.

The worst he’d done to her was to make it impossible for her not to think about those moments when they had touched. She feared that seeing him again, even in those circumstances, had prolonged the time it was going to take for her to forget them.

* * *



The house was as Irv had described: rambling. It appeared to have been broken apart at one point and pieced back together incorrectly. Even more uniquely, it backed up to a sheer wall of limestone.

But it was actually better than Laurel had expected. “Can we see inside?”

Irv wasn’t completely sold on the idea of moving into town, but he turned off the truck’s motor, grumbling, “Landlord said he’d leave the key under the porch in a sardine tin.”

They found the key. The front door’s hinges screeched when Irv pushed it open. The interior smelled like mildew with an undertone of dead mouse, but Laurel reasoned that if the front windows were open, the southerly breeze would dispel the odor.

Flanking the central hallway were a parlor to the left and a staircase to the right. Laurel stepped into the parlor. The wallpaper was shabby and stained, but it had tall windows and a pretty Victorian carved wood spandrel that demarcated the parlor from the dining room. A door on the far side of it led into the kitchen.

“The icebox is the old-fashioned kind,” Irv said. “You’d have to have ice delivered. But the stove’s electric.” Gesturing to the rusty faucets in the sink, he added, “It’s tapped into the city water. You won’t have to pump no more.”

“Is there a bathroom?”

Irv led her to it. Obviously a late addition, it was tucked under the staircase. The fixtures needed a good scouring, but she was delirious at the thought of no longer having to use an outhouse.

“Upstairs?”

“Two bedrooms and a sleeping porch. Some of these steps are rotted, so be careful.”

The front bedroom faced south. Sunlight shone through the dirty windows, from which she could see the tallest buildings of downtown. Having been isolated for months, the thought of having a view of nearby civilization was comforting. She could make this a pleasant room for Pearl and her to share.

The sleeping porch was a screened-in, long and narrow space. She would have to think on how best to utilize it.

Beyond it was a small, claustrophobic room that had only one east-facing window. The ceiling slanted downward to meet the far wall. “This’ll do me fine,” Irv said. “I don’t require much space.”