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“Dr. King didn’t get himself killed,” snapped DuBose. “Someone murdered him.”
The same officer looked at her. “Well, I guess you’re entitled to your opinion.”
After they left Jack said, “Pack up, you’re coming to stay with me.”
“Jack, I can’t. You know what people will—”
“I don’t give a damn about that, Desiree,” he interjected. “You almost died.”
“All right, I’ll stay with you tonight. Tomorrow we’ll see how things are.”
“You know as well as I do that they’re not going to be any better tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 44
THE NEXT MORNING, JACK, WHO had slept on the small couch in his office, rose to find DuBose already dressed and cooking breakfast in the kitchen.
Queenie was eating from her bowl. The dog glanced up and wagged her tail at Jack. He gave the dog a pat and sat at the kitchen bar in his robe and pajamas. DuBose poured him out a cup of coffee and then turned back to the stove.
“Eggs scrambled and bacon, and toast with butter and jam sound good?”
“Works for me, thanks. How’d you sleep?”
She gave him a playful smirk. “Much better with you and Queenie to protect me.”
Jack sipped his coffee and watched her deftly preparing the meal. “You seem to know your way around a kitchen.”
“My mother was a fine cook and she taught me.”
“You said your father works at Marshall Field’s. How about your mother?”
“Cancer took her two years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I also have two brothers and three sisters.”
“They all doing well?”
“Some are doing better than others. Just like every family, I suppose.”
“Any of them follow you into the law?”
“No. My oldest brother is a doctor in San Diego. My youngest sister owns an art gallery in Harlem.”
“That’s impressive.”
“He’s a surgeon and a fine one. My sister exhibits established artists as well as up-and-comers. She’s been very successful, and influential, in her field.”
Jack watched her for a few moments before saying, “You okay after last night?”
She put his food on a plate and slid it in front of him, along with a paper napkin and utensils. “It wasn’t the first time someone tried to kill me. And it won’t be the last.”
“But I suppose a person doesn’t really get used to that. At least I hope you don’t.”
DuBose sat down on the stool next to him and cradled her coffee cup in her hands. She looked at Jack, clearly troubled.
“What?” he asked.
