Free Choke by Kaye George Page B

her feet prickled. “All right,” she told herself. “You’re frightened. That doesn’t mean you can’t do this.” She smeared a little more of Hortense’s bright red lipstick on her lips and opened the car door.
    Her hat blew off. The wind whipped at the door. She tugged at the door handle, holding it against the rooftop gale so the hinges wouldn’t break. After she clambered out and pushed the door shut, she watched her new hat sail over the parapet and dive toward the street below. It skidded toward the fountain by the front door, then disappeared around the other side of the hospital, rolling on its brim. She held tightly to her wig and hurried to the elevator.
    The front desk jockey wouldn’t tell her what room Xenia was in unless she was a relative.
    “I’m her cousin. Her cousin Millie.”
    The receptionist didn’t look as if she believed her, but she didn’t challenge her statement either. “Ms. Blossom has a visitor with her. When he leaves you can go up.”
    “Who is it? Cousin Ned?”
    “I believe it’s her husband.”
    Immy sat on a hard vinyl chair and thought about that, frowning. A husband would be just as fictional as a Cousin Ned or a Cousin Millie. Xenia wasn’t married, but she had been living with Frankie Laramie for a while. He had probably told the receptionist he was her husband so he could get up to the floor to see her. Frankie Laramie and Xenia Blossom were well matched, in Immy’s opinion. Both were good looking but with an underlying crudeness about them. Xenia was most always dressed to play up her bosom. Frank, all spiked black hair and narrow pants, looked like some slick, big city gangster. He was a huge fan of Xenia’s bosom, but he seemed to like Immy’s, too. Immy was always a little uncomfortable around him. He had an uncle or cousin or something who owned the Wymee Falls franchise for The Tomato Garden restaurant. Frankie’s sleazy-looking relative had started coming to Hugh’s restaurant a few months ago. Hugh and the relative would go into the upstairs office and close the door to talk. Something was going on, but Immy wasn’t sure exactly what.
    When Frank stepped off the elevator and walked through the lobby, his head down and his steps dragging, Immy gave a shudder. He moved like a slow snake today. He looked up and saw her.
    “Hi, Imogene,” he said. She had never seen him look so bad. His dark eyes were underscored by matching hollows, and his clothes looked like he’d worn them for a few days. Frank was usually outfitted and pressed neat as a trussed turkey.
    “I’m here incognito, Frankie.” Damn, he’d seen right through her disguise.
    He ignored her comment and dropped onto the chair next to hers. “She’s bad off, Imogene.” His voice cracked when he talked.
    “Is she still unconscious?”
    He balled one fist inside the other and twisted it against his palm. “I don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Then he slowly turned to face her. “It’s your family, that damn Hugh Duckworthy. It’s his fault. He’s your uncle.” His knuckles turned white.
    Immy drew back. He was blaming her for Xenia’s accident? “I wasn’t there, Frankie.”
    “But that damn Hugh was. She came storming out, said he refused to give her the last paycheck. She was madder’n a mad cow. Tore off and lost control of the car. Only reason I’m OK is because I had my seatbelt on. She didn’t. She got tossed out of the convertible and she looked…” He gulped loudly, and his eyes misted. “She looked so broken.”
    “Xenia fought with Hugh right before her wreck yesterday?”
    “That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
    “Yesterday?” She couldn’t have fought with Hugh. He’d died three days before that. Why had Xenia lied to Frank?
    “Have you seen a newspaper lately?” she asked him.
    He looked at Immy like she was a two-headed goat. “I don’t read newspapers.”
    Of course not. “Have you seen any TV this week?”
    “Just Xenia’s soaps.” He