M Is for Malice

the shrill sound subsided as though with relief. I waited while she filled the mug and brought it over to me. "Thanks."
    I could see her hesitate, apparently debating with herself about her next comment. "Is something bothering you?" I asked.
    "I'm not sure what I'm allowed to say," she hesitated. "The lieutenant asked us not to talk to the press..."
    "Not surprising," I said. "Have you seen 'em out there?"
    "Like vultures," she remarked. "When I came back from the station, they were all yelling and vying for my attention, pushing microphones in my direction. Made me want to pull my jacket right up over my face. I felt like one of those criminals you see on the television."
    "It's probably only going to get worse. This started out as a minor human-interest story. Now it's big news."
    "I'm afraid so," she said. "But to answer your question, yes, I was here, but I didn't hear anything. I've had trouble sleeping lately with this arm of mine. Ordinary analgesics don't begin to touch the pain, so I'd taken a Tylenol with codeine and a prescription sleeping pill. I don't do that often because I dislike the effect. Leaves me feeling logy the next morning, like I never quite wake up. Also, I find the sleep so deep it's almost not restful. I went to bed about eight-thirty and didn't stir till nearly nine this morning."
    "Who discovered the body?"
    "I believe it was Christie."
    "What time was this?"
    "Shortly after ten. I'd made myself a cup of coffee and I was back here in the kitchen, watching the morning news on that little TV set. I heard all the commotion. They were supposed to meet for breakfast to talk about the will, and when Guy didn't come down, I guess Bennet got furious. He thought Guy was playing games, at least that's what Christie told me later. Bennet sent her upstairs to fetch him. Next thing I knew they'd dialed 9-1-1, but I still wasn't sure what was going on. I was just on my way out there when Donovan came in. He looked awful. He'd lost all his color and was white as a sheet."
    "Did you see the body?"
    "I did, yes. He asked if I'd go up. He thought there might be something I could do, but of course there wasn't. Guy must have been dead several hours by then."
    "There's no doubt?"
    "Oh, none. Absolutely. He was cold to the touch and his skin was waxen. His skull had been crushed and there was blood everywhere, most of it dried or congealed. Given his injuries, I'd say death must have been quick, if not instantaneous. Also, messy. I know the police have been puzzled by that aspect of the murder."
    "Which aspect?"
    "What the killer did with his own clothes. Not to be gross about it, but there would have been quite an area of splatter. Blood and brain material. There's no way you could leave the premises without attracting attention. The detectives were interested in a number of articles of clothing. They asked for my help since I take items to the cleaners."
    "Did they find anything significant?"
    "I don't know. I gave them everything that was going out today. They talked to Enid at length, but I'm not sure what they wanted with her."
    "You have any idea what the weapon was?"
    "I wouldn't hazard a guess. That's not an area where I feel qualified to comment. There was nothing in the room, at least as far as I could see. I did hear one of the detectives say the autopsy was scheduled first thing tomorrow morning. I imagine the medical examiner will have an opinion," she said. "Have you been hired by the family to investigate?"
    I could feel the lie form, but then thought better of it. I said, "Not yet. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I can't believe anybody in the family is going to turn out to be responsible."
    I expected her to pipe up with protests and reassurances, but the quiet that followed was significant. I could sense a desire to confide, but I couldn't imagine what. I let my gaze rest on hers with an expression I hoped appeared trustworthy and encouraging. I could, almost feel my head tilt like a dog trying to decipher the direction of a high-pitched whistle.
    She'd become aware of a dried speck on the counter, and she worked at it with her fingernail, not looking at me. "This is really none of my business. I had only respect for Mr. Malek..."
    "Absolutely."
    "I wouldn't want anyone to think badly of me, but I can't help but hear things while I'm going about my business. I'm paid well and God knows, I enjoy the work. Or at least I did."
    "I'm sure you're only trying to help," I said, wondering