He grinned at the note, balled it into his fist and threw it into the
paper can. When the coffee was hot, he poured himself a cup and fixed a
couple of sandwiches with what was left of the package of cold meat. As
he was finishing the last couple of bites of the sandwich, he heard the
thud of the evening paper against the front door. For a moment, it
startled him, then, when he had realized what it was, he was half out of
the chair... He paused there momentarily, then sank back into his seat.
He _couldn't_ go out there and get the paper - if the neighbors saw him
picking it up ... He sat there, waiting for Beth to come home, the
suspense digging into his guts with ragged teeth. Had they found the
plane? Were they onto him? Who were those two men? How did they know
where to find him? Why were they looking for him?
He drank damned near the whole pot of coffee and watched the hands of
the electric clock move with agonizing slowness. Finally, at five forty,
Beth drove up to the house and came through the door. Nick leaped from
the chair.
"The paper!" He snatched it from her hands and began tearing it open.
Damn newsboys for folding them!
"Nick! Aren't you going to kiss me?"
"Huh? Oh." He kissed her briefly, fleetingly, and returned to the paper.
The crash was on page one.