The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

to him for his note of cheerfulness. Peter dropped behind the others.
    “Sure you’re all right?” he asked.
    “Quite sure. I’m more than ready for bed.”
    “Good.” He put a firm hand on her shoulder for a moment and then hurried after the others.
    But when Fredericka returned to the empty house and the soiled coffee cups, a weight of depression fell on her. And when, with determination, she turned her back on the untidiness and went upstairs to bed, she could not sleep. She turned the pillow and moved from one side of the bed to the other, but she could not forget the cold body of Catherine Clay lying below in the garden and the wretched policeman keeping his silent vigil. Why hadn’t they taken her away at once?
    Finally, Fredericka switched on the light and got up to put on her bath robe. It was much better, she decided to give up the struggle. She went downstairs, collected the dirty cups and made a fresh pot of coffee. When she called the policeman, he came in and took the coffee gratefully but refused to sit down. He went back to his job, taking his steaming cup with him and Fredericka took hers to the office. Then she opened the middle desk drawer, drew out the notes for her projected book and, with her head in her hands, in a proper attitude of concentration, she began to study them intently. The lives of her three industrious “scribbling women” began to shape themselves in her mind and she reached for a block of paper with eagerness born of her sudden creative impulse and the blessed relief it gave her. It was a long time later that she looked at her watch and saw that it was half past five. Outside, the sky was streaked with crimson and the tentative bird song had now become a mighty chorus. She stood up and stretched. Then, after a moment of indecision, she tiptoed to the kitchen and, with the fascination of horror, stared out at the hammock and the dead body of Catherine Clay. Behind it the figure of the policeman paced slowly up and down like a symbol of grief.
    Fredericka had worked away her morbid fears and now, having looked at the body, she felt relieved of the weight of mystery. She could sleep at last and the whole day lay ahead. Sunday. Blessed thought. Unless, of course, the police came to perform their macabre duties and go on with their endless questioning. Surely not that, again. She lifted one weary leg after the other and went up the stairs to bed.
    In a few hours dawn brightened into day and the sun streamed in across the carpet, but Fredericka slept on.
    Chapter 5
    On a desert island somewhere in the blue Pacific, Fredericka was just reaching up to pick a large grapefruit for her breakfast when she was startled by the sound of tom-toms in the distance. She stood still and listened, tense with fear. The noise increased until it became rolling thunder and then, near at hand, she could hear the clamor of human voices, calling out again and again, as if in distress.
    At this moment she woke up. The tom-toms became loud knocks at the front door of Miss Hartwell’s bookshop. The voices became one voice, calling, “Miss Wing,” and then, more urgently, “Miss Wing, are you there?”
    With the sound, she returned from the dream to the nightmare of reality—the death of Catherine Clay and the long night. It was Thane Carey who was calling because the police had come as she had feared they must. She looked at her watch—only nine o’clock—and she had planned to sleep the whole day, dreaming away on golden sands under azure skies. But there was no escape.
    The thumping became more urgent. She went out onto the landing and called down the stairs, making no effort to keep the fury from her voice.
    “Very well, I hear you. For goodness sake can’t you even give me time to put on my bathrobe?”
    The knocking stopped and Fredericka went back to her room. She took her time but it did not soothe her ruffled spirits. Some moments later she went down the stairs and unlocked the front door.
    Thane Carey and a policeman stood outside. “Well,” she said rudely.
    “Good morning.” Thane took off his hat and looked at her intently. “You locked the door again.”
    This unwise remark was the spark to set off her smouldering anger. “Yes, and wouldn’t you yourself do the same after all that’s happened here. And didn’t I tell you last night that I have city habits, perfectly good ones that I hang on to, even in the backwoods of Massachusetts,” she exploded.
    “I’m sorry,