|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The door was opened by a creature of stunning beauty. She was, Frazier quickly decided, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I'm . . . I'm Charles Everett Frazier," he blurted, still thrown slightly off balance by the vision that confronted him. "I . . . I have an appointment with Miss Caron." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The woman's enticingly sensuous, crimson-colored lips parted in an inviting smile. "I know who you are, Captain Frazier. I am Jubell Caron, and it's not Miss. It's Mrs. I am a widow." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Without even realizing it, Charlie had crossed over the threshold into the foyer. To his surprise, there were no lights in the room, just candles. The surrounding shadows danced in the glow of a dozen or more flickering flames. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"You seem somewhat taken aback, Captain. A little short of breath maybe. Is something wrong?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Charlie Frazier, like most young men, had worked long and hard at developing the cherished image of "cool under fire," but his long practiced aplomb had deserted him. His senses were reeling. "You . . . you aren't quite what I expected," he stammered. He was suddenly feeling even more foolish than he had earlier with the old man. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The woman had a musical laugh, an en- |
|
|
|
|
|