The driver braked the car with a jerk, swearing under his breath. “Want I should call a cop to handle this, miss?”
“Shut up.” I poked a bill over the window ledge at him. “She’s all right.”
Tildy lurched to her feet, started down the street, half running, head down, bumping blindly into passers-by.
As I went after her the driver’s scorn followed me. “... ashamed yaself, gettin’ a nice goil like that plastered...”
“Tildy!” I caught her, held her. “Snap out of it.”
“My fault,” she whimpered. “All on — ’count of me.” She leaned weakly against a store window. “He’d be alive this minute if I hadn’t been a rotten coward.”
“Don’t you start blaming yourself. There’ll be plenty of others doing that. Let’s get off the street, back to the hotel, huh?”
“I’d rather die.” She drew a long, shuddering breath, opened her eyes. “If you take me back, I’ll kill myself first chance I get.”
“Now, now—” Couples began to slow their strides to observe us. I couldn’t watch her and keep an eye out for a man who looked like Roy Yaker at the same time. “No need to talk wild.”
“Mean every word of it. I’ll jump out the window — anything—”