Suddenly he felt smothered in here. And somehow it had nothing to do with the tobacco smoke that filled the room. He made a lunge for the doorknob, telling himself that he needed air.
He hurried through the hall and across the parlor. He opened the front door, came out on the doorstep, and saw the other female member of the household. Her name was Bella and she was Lola’s daughter. She was sitting on the top step, and as she sensed his presence, her head turned very slowly, and her eyes drilled him with a mixture of icy scorn and fiery need.
4
“Hello,” Kerrigan said.
“You go to hell.”
“Still mad at me?”
“Do me a favor. Drink some poison.”
Bella was in her middle twenties. She’d been married three times, once by a judge and twice by common law. Somewhat tall and on the plump side, she was a slightly smaller edition of her mother. Her hair was the same jet black, her eyes dark and flashing, her complexion a Cherokee russet. She had the same generously rounded build as Lola, and emphasized it with tightly fitting blouses and skirts.
She had a loud and very bushy mouth, an evil temper, and she wasn’t afraid of a living soul with the exception of her mother. Some weeks ago, during an argument in the parlor, she’d kicked Kerrigan and really hurt him, and Lola grabbed her and tore her up so badly with an ironing cord that she couldn’t leave the house for two days.
Kerrigan smiled at her. “What’s the gripe this time?”