Angels Fall

things.'"
    "Damn and me without my violin."' With her habitual quick jabs, Joanie stubbed out the cigarette. "I'll make sure I have it next time you have a pity party."
    "You re so mean." Recce spooned up soup. "Why is it the two people who give me little to no sympathy in any area are the ones who help the most?"
    "I figure you had a gutful of sympathy in Boston, and don't want a refill."
    "Direct hit. Before you came up, I was talking myself into leaving. Now I'm sitting here eating soup—and it would be better with fresh herbs—and talking to you, and I know I'm not going anywhere. It feels better knowing that. Even though when you leave I'm going to check the lock on the windows, lock the door, check to make sure the phone's got a dial tone."
    "You gonna put the chair under the doorknob again, too?"
    "Nothing gets by you."
    "Not a hell of a lot." Joanie carried the makeshift ashtray over to set down by the sink. "I've got sixty years under my belt, so—-"
    "You're sixty? Get out"
    Unable to prevent a quick smile at Reece's obvious disbelief, joanie shrugged. "I'll be sixty a year from next January, so I'm practicing. That way it won't be such a shock to my system. Now I've lost my train of thought."
    "I'd've put you ten years under sixty."
    Joanie gave her a long, cool look, but her lips twitched at a smile again. "You bucking for a raise before it's time for one?"
    "If I can get it."
    "I know good stock when I see it, that's what I was going to say. You're good stock, and you'll hold up. You held up to worse."
    "I didn't."
    "Don't tell me you didn't," Joanie snapped hack. "I'm standing here looking at you, aren't I? You just remember, there may be big noses and big ears in the Fist, but there are good people in this town, else I'd've taken myself out of here long ago. Bad things happen everywhere: you've got cause to know that. People around here take care of themselves and each other when it's needed. You need a hand, you ask for it."
    "I will."
    "I have to get back down." As she stepped back, Joanie glanced around. "You want a TV up here? I've got an extra one I can spare for now."
    Reece started to say no, don't bother, too much trouble. Tune those violins, she thought. "I'd really like to have one, if you've got one you can lend me."
    "You can haul it up tomorrow." At the door. Joanie stopped, sniffed. "Rain's coming in again. Expect to see you at six. sharp."
    Alone, Reece got up to close the windows, lock the door, but she deliberately took her time. Like any woman, she told herself, locking up for the night. And if she braced the chair under the knob, it didn't hurt anyone.
     
    TH E RAI N CAM E just after two a.m. and woke her. She'd fallen asleep with the lights on and Brady's book in her hand. There was a muffled roll of thunder under the slap of rain on the roof, against the windows. She liked the sound of it, the windy power of it that made her feel all the more cozy and snug in her little bed.
    She snuggled down, rubbing the kink out of her neck. Yawned, tugged the covers up to her chin. And in her habitual scan of the room before closing her eyes again, she froze.
    The front door was open. Just a crack.
    Shuddering, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, then gripped the flashlight beside the bed like a club. She had to get up, she had to make her legs work. Her breath wheezed in and out as she quivered her way out of bed. then ran to the door.
    She slammed it, locked it. turned the handle hard to be sure it didn't give. Her pulse continued to race as she dashed to the windows, assuring herself each one was securely locked as she took quick peeks through the glass.
    There was no one out in the rain. The lake was a black pool, the street slick and empty.
    She tried to tell herself she'd left the door unlocked by mistake, or had managed to unlock it when she checked it that last time before she got into bed. The wind hail blown it open a bit. The storm had come in, the wind had blown.
    But she got down on her hands and knees by the door and saw the faint scratches where the chair had scraped.
    The wind hadn't pushed the door open hard enough to shove the chair that inch.
    She sat with her back to the wall by the door, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
     
    SHE MANAGED to doze, then managed to get dressed, to work. As soon as the mercantile opened for the day, she took her break and walked down to buy a dead bolt.
    "You know how to install this thing?" Mae asked her.
    "I thought I