Love on the Line by Deeanne Gist Page B

pleasure—”
    Miss Gail yanked open the screen door and charged straight into her room, immediately to the left of the front entrance. He jumped to his feet, the cord of the earpiece pulling him up short like a dog on a leash.
    She slapped the door shut behind her. In the brief seconds he had, he catalogued mussed hair, pale face, red nose, and fresh tears.
    “Would you like to join my family for supper, Mr. Palmer?” Miss Honnkernamp asked. “Now that we know what your favorite is, I’m sure—”
    Throwing off the earpiece, he yanked the cable from the jack and rushed to her bedroom door. “Miss Gail? Are you all right? Are you hurt? What’s happened?”
    No answer. He cocked his ear and held himself still. The sound of suppressed sobs came from the direction of the veranda. Pushing open the screen, he stuck his head out.
    The crying was louder. He looked toward the swing, then remembered. Her window. It was open. Easing onto the porch, he stood and listened.
    Whatever happened had been catastrophic. She took deep, broken breaths, followed by a long series of quiet, staccato sobs. He rubbed his mouth. What in tarnation?
    Ding.
    He pictured her prone on the bed, face cradled in the crook of her arm. Closing his eyes, he called to mind as much of her room as he could. The bed had been shoved against the window. Its quilt reminded him of a little girl’s, all pinks, yellows, and blues with large squares patched together. A washstand had been on the opposite wall, a wardrobe against the right, a fireplace in the mix. That was all he could remember.
    Ding.
    His mother had spent a good portion of her life crying, but she never troubled to hide it. It had been so much a part of his childhood, he was buying his first shaving mug before he realized all women weren’t like that.
    Still, it had been a long time. And it was the last thing he’d expected from Miss Gail.
    Ding.
    She started to wind down, taking deep breaths, then releasing them in exhausted exhales. After a moment, all was still and quiet.
    Ding.
    He scowled, wishing he knew how to disconnect the stupid bell, but that hadn’t been covered in his manual. As hushed as it was, he knew she was waiting for him to answer it. If he went in there now, she’d hear the screen door and realize he was eavesdropping. He rubbed his eyes. What was he doing out here?
    Ding.
    Her bed creaked; then she blew her nose. He quickly slipped inside. Several drop lines had fallen. Settling into the chair, he started answering.
    “Central.”
    “Who’s this? Where’s Georgie?”
    “This is Luke Palmer. I’m the new troubleman. Miss Gail ran to town. She’ll be back any minute. Who can I get for you?”
    “I need to talk to Roscoe over at the bank.”
    “Just a minute.” He flipped the key to center position, looked at the list Miss Gail left him, plugged the corresponding cable into number five, pulled the rear key backward, checked his notes again, and cranked a handle to the right of his knee with three quick turns.
    “Hello?”
    Luke flipped the key forward. “Go ahead.”
    Returning the key to center, he continued answering the waiting calls. Everything went pretty well unless someone wanted to know what the price of turkeys was, who could deliver wood, or who’d come in on today’s train.
    The time spent on the board gave him an appreciation for what Miss Gail did all day—and the pulse she had on the comings and goings of every person in the county. During today’s stint, he’d visited with several subscribers in town and a few out on farms. He’d do well to be a bit more friendly toward SWT&T’s operator. She no doubt had information that would speed up his investigation.
    Ding.
    “Central.”
    “What happened, Mr. Palmer? One minute you were there and the next you weren’t.”
    “Please accept my apologies, Miss Honnkernamp. My hand slipped and I jarred loose the cable.”
    Miss Gail’s bedroom door opened.
    Luke quickly folded his notes with one hand