The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

expression of cat-after-swallowing-canary on Mrs. Williams’s face she realized, too late, that she had made a serious slip.
    “The police, you say. What does that mean?”
    Oh, if only I had had sense enough to say “Dr. Scott,” she thought. “I believe the police always deal with these things,” she said lamely.
    “Oh.” Mrs. Williams’s face fell and then brightened. She had another thought. “Was there any blood? I mean on the hammock, or the ground, or—or—or”—she waved a vague hand—“or on the body?” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she mouthed the last lovely word.
    “I—I don’t really know.”
    “Don’t know. Surely it was you who discovered the body. Well, I’m certain there has been bloodshed. She was a wicked woman and she deserved to die. Have they asked James Brewster anything about this, I wonder. The wages of sin—” she added darkly.
    The minister looked up from his book, and Mrs. Williams stopped her flow of words for a moment.
    This was Fredericka’s chance and she said quickly, “I wonder if you would mind very much if I excused myself for a moment. The customers came earlier than I expected and I haven’t yet had any breakfast. I—I feel rather faint with the heat.”
    “Of course, Miss Wing.” Mrs. Williams’s saccharine voice had suddenly turned sour.
    Fredericka was too exhausted to care. But as she started for the kitchen the back door banged, and a moment later Margie almost knocked her down in the hall.
    “Do you want something, Margie? Or have you come to help? I could do with some.”
    “Oh no, sorry, I can’t stay but Mom wanted me to get something from our storeroom so I just ran in.”
    Fredericka noticed that the girl’s face was very white behind the red blotches of acne, and that she also trembled with excitement—or fear, it was impossible to say which. But Fredericka was now completely exhausted. She said abruptly, “Yes, Margie, if you must, but it really would help if you’d come after hours for your personal belongings. I’m busy and it is annoying to have you banging in and out.”
    “Aunt Lucy said—” Margie began, but Fredericka cut her short.
    “I’m sorry, Margie, but I’m in charge now.” Then seeing the look of desperation in the girl’s face she forced herself to postpone the thought of breakfast, and added, “All right, but I’ll just come up with you, I think.” What could the child have on her mind now? What fresh deviltry was she up to?
    Margie agreed to this suggestion with obvious reluctance and Fredericka followed her up the stairs. By the time she reached the top she had decided to make her bed and tidy her room and not stand over the wretched girl. Margie seemed to take a very long time and when Fredericka looked in she found the girl rummaging through a trunk full of old letters. This seemed harmless enough and Fredericka decided, since her upstairs work was finished, not to wait any longer. She returned to her customers downstairs and found that they had left. Bertrand Russell lay open and face downward on the chair. Of course Mr. Williams wouldn’t buy it nor ever intended to, she thought, furiously. She picked up the book and put it on her desk, and then sank wearily into the chair. It must be well past noon and she was now almost too exhausted to bother with food.
    It was at this moment that the skies opened and the rain that had been threatening all morning pounded down in a sudden loud tit-tat-too on the tin roof over the back porch. A cool wet breeze lifted the curtain near the desk and, with relief, Fredericka got to her feet and went slowly into the kitchen. The arrival of the storm should mean the end of the customers—for the moment, anyway.
    She saw that the kitchen clock said ten minutes after three and decided to change eggs and coffee to a sandwich and iced tea. She put on the kettle and called upstairs to Margie. When there was no answer, she called again. Then with a muttered curse, she climbed the stairs, only to discover that the Hartwells’ storeroom was empty. The jumble of boxes, trunks and oddments seemed untidier than ever but there was no sign of Margie. Fredericka looked into the other rooms and then realized that the girl must have slipped out without a word. Infuriating child. The whistle of the kettle blew with a sudden shrill note and Fredericka went back to the kitchen and her long delayed meal. There was, at any rate, the consolation of being