The Old Contemptibles by Martha Grimes Read Free Book Online Page B

years. It makes me look unstable—that and the joblessness, and the way they say I bring him up. He’s been sent down from school—the one I borrowed from a friend to pay for, but don’t tell him—three times.”
    “Sounds like you make a great pair. What did he do? Cheat on a test? Tell off the headmaster?”
    “Him? He doesn’t get angry. Or doesn’t let it show. He’s more stable than even you.”
    “Impossible.”
    “Probably cleverer too.”
    “More impossible.”
    She picked up the picture. “Handsomer.”
    “Now you’re really being absurd.” Jury lifted her from the dressing-table stool. “I’m afraid to meet this paragon.”
    “Oh, he’s not. I don’t think he always tells me the truth, you know, about his activities. But one time the accompanying missive from the headmaster claimed he’d been caught with a deck of cards.” She was unbuttoning Jury’s shirt.
    “Keep going.”
    Jury took the brush from her. He was relieved she was on lighter, airier ground, talking of her son.
    “He made a lot of it, you know—the tuition—odd jobs, he claims. They must have paid well.”
    Jury smiled. “He doesn’t sound like a kid in need of a change of venue.”
2
    Jury would never have gone inside the little shop unless a friend had told him about it. It looked more like a costumer’s than a jeweler’s. Still, it had been recommended by a friend on the force whose wife collected antique jewelry.
    Not much light was coming through the front windows, given the presence of soot and the absence of sun; the street was cobbled and narrow. The shop windows were stuffed with bits and bobs of jewelry, with sequined and porcelained masks, antique clothes and feather boas.
    Mr. Cuttle was the name of the proprietor. (“A bit stingy with words, but not with his wares; he asks ridiculous prices and knows you won’t pay them, so haggle with him.”) Jury was not a very good haggler, but he had decided he would buy the ring that day, after he left the office, even if he wouldn’t be seeing her as they’d planned. He was still worrying it would seem too much of a commitment. How about an old ring? She could take it as a gift or a promise; it might not be threatening.
     • • • 
    For at times she seemed to withdraw into some corner of her mind that he could not enter. Her face would shift and go slightly out of focus for him, like a face in water. She might stand at the long front window, holding back the curtain, looking out at the rain, almost as if she were looking for someone. Such moods made him feel anxious, excluded. He brushed this away, for much of the time they were like children sharing an enormous secret.
    A few days after they’d met, and had been lying in bed, he’d put his arm around her, and asked, “Have I blundered into the middle of something?” And he tried to make it mildly amusing. The answer was no.
     • • • 
    There was no Mr. Cuttle about, and only one other customer, a woman largely hidden by the old velvets and beaded dresses, the boas and peacock feathers. One could get at them only by rummaging, which was what she was doing. Something about her struck Jury as familiar. He could see part of her back, and hair that curled up under a Liberty scarf.
    A throat was being cleared. Jury swung round and saw that an elderly man had entered through a heavy drapery. He was a squat person who held his hands before him and his head down, staring up at Jury under heavy, wild eyebrows, as if sneaking a look.
    “Mr. Cuttle?”
    The downturned head dipped a couple of times in a Cuttle-nod.
    “I was wanting to buy a ring for a lady.”
    The head dipped once.
    The temptation to lean down and engage Mr. Cuttle’s eyes on his own level was strong. In the velvet ring tray, Jury had seen one he thought particularly lovely, a ruby set in antique gold, that looked asif it would not be too dear a price—worth haggling over, in any event. “Could I see that one, please.”
    Mr. Cuttle