And why was it, Jack wondered, that whenever something like this happened, he’d always had a little too much to drink? The sheer momentum of having gotten to their feet after having sat so long at the table carried Jack and Susan past Rodolfo and Libby. But before they’d gotten very far, Jack and Susan glanced at each other, eyes wide, and swung back around in a single motion. What had gone through their minds was this: James Bright’s telegram to Susan in New York two weeks before had suggested that Rodolfo’s family had somehow been behind the attempts to murder him. James Bright was now dead, his murder seemingly unmotivated, his killers unknown—and here was Rodolfo. It wouldn’t do to press the Cuban down into a chair, shine the forty-watt bulb from the tiny pink table lamp in his face, and say, “Spill it, Rodolfo.” Jack and Susan would have to play a part, and hope that Rodolfo—if he knew anything—would somehow, in some manner, betray himself.
What do You think about Jack And Susan In 1953 (2013)?
