The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

alone.
    The rain continued to beat down on the tin roof as Fredericka made her tea and sandwich. She listened to the sound and, to her delight, it seemed to be saying in a most definite and reassuring manner, “No customers. No customers.” But she had just sat down at the table in the window when there was an imperious knock at the front door.
    “Dear God,” she muttered weakly as she struggled to her feet.
    In the hall she met her visitors who had not waited for the door to be opened to them.
    “Hi!” Peter greeted her and, from behind him the chief of police said: “Good afternoon.” They stood still and expectant, dripping water from their raincoats.
    Fredericka, who had been hoping all day yesterday that Peter would appear, now felt annoyed at sight of him. “Come in,” she said grudgingly. “Better dump your raincoats here. I’m having lunch, or rather, breakfast and lunch together.”
    “Why no breakfast? And why so late?”
    “Why? Why?” Fredericka said irritably. “I’ve been answering questions the whole morning long from the moment I started to get my breakfast until the storm gave me my first break.” Seeing his look of genuine concern she relented a little. “If you want to ask me more questions, and I can see from your faces that you do, please do it in the kitchen and let me eat my lunch. I can give you iced tea but I’m unequal to more.”
    “Thanks, Fredericka,” Peter answered, and the voice behind him was an echo, as they moved together into the kitchen.
    “I haven’t much to bother you with,” Thane Carey began apologetically. He fished in his pocket awkwardly and produced a small antique silver snuff box. “Is this yours?” he asked quietly, holding it out to her in the palm of his hand.
    “Never seen it before, I’m afraid,” Fredericka said, “but I wish I could claim it. What a lovely thing it is.” She took the box from him and opened it cautiously. Inside were several orange-colored capsules.
    “Vitamins?” she asked.
    “I expect so. Not yours then?”
    “No. Where did it come from?”
    “My man found it in the long grass by your back porch.”
    “Perhaps it’s Margie’s. She comes in and out that way at all hours, day and night. But,” she hesitated, “well, it doesn’t look like Margie, does it?”
    Thane Carey smiled. “It does not, but we can’t rule out anyone, as you are well aware.”
    “Is it so important then?” It looks like a clue, and you handle it as though it was. But a clue to what? “Catherine Clay was murdered then—?” Fredericka suddenly felt cold. The two men regarded her intently.
    “We can’t jump to conclusions. On the other hand—but we must wait for the result of the autopsy before we take any active steps. We ought to have that by Wednesday or Thursday at the latest. It’s maddening that there’s this delay—but there it is.” He reached for the box and started to put it back in his pocket. Then he seemed suddenly to change his mind. He removed the capsules and handed Fredericka the empty box. “Would you be willing to keep this for me and ask your customers if any of them have lost it or known who might have?” he asked.
    “Good idea,” Peter put in. “Fredericka gets a real cross-section of the town.”
    “But I don’t know when I’ll see any of the likely ones again. I’m sure every able-bodied regular customer has crossed my threshold this morning. This afternoon I am expecting only the lame, the halt, and the blind.”
    Both men laughed a little self-consciously and then Peter said: “Oh, they’ll be back again. Never fear.”
    The chief of police stood up. For a moment he seemed to tower menacingly over Fredericka’s head. Then he said mildly enough. “I’ve got to dash, Mohun. Thanks for the iced tea, Miss Wing. It saved my life.”
    When he had gone, Fredericka and Peter lit cigarettes and moved into the living room.
    “Do you believe that it was murder?” Fredericka asked.
    “Yes, Fredericka, I do. And it is obvious that you do, too.”
    “But I don’t want to. And I can’t understand why or how it happened in my back yard and in my hammock.”
    “I have the answer to that.” He got up, went into the hall, and fished in the large pocket of his raincoat. Then he returned to Fredericka and handed her a book. “That’s your answer, I think.”
    Fredericka stared down at the lurid jacket of Kathleen Winsor’s latest novel and frowned. Then she looked up suddenly, “Of course,