The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

stopped abruptly, seeing his frown.
    “No. Look at it this way. Suppose the murderer wanted to make it look like someone out there. It would be a beautiful blind, wouldn’t it? All those herbs, poison and plain, are labelled and easily accessible. Nothing whatever is under lock and key and the whole town runs in and out of the place all the time. And now I really have talked too much, and I am unworthy of my—I was going to say stripes —but perhaps badge is the right word.” He smiled pleasantly, however, and then added: “Perhaps I should just confess that Peter says you can be trusted. How he knows I can’t think. But there it is, and like a lot of other people in this town for me what Colonel Peter Mohun says—GOES.”
    Fredericka said nothing and after a moment Thane got up. “I haven’t mentioned that business about Margie paying you a midnight visit but I can assure you that it has been very much on my mind.”
    “It was Margie then?”
    “I’m quite certain it was but she won’t admit it. Scared stiff to, I suppose. I even told her we knew about her beauty parlor in the greenhouse but that was a mistake. She only became more clam-like than ever. If she wasn’t such a kid, I’d resort to third degree—”
    “Someone ought to be able to win her confidence and trust. That would make more sense.” Fredericka thought guiltily of her own failure but then Margie had made her an enemy from the moment of their first meeting.
    “Well, we can but try.”
    Fredericka followed Thane to the door and watched him put on his hat. Then he grinned back at her from the path. “Scorcher, isn’t it? Just my luck with a thousand and one people to see and they’ll all be bears, I wouldn’t wonder.”
    “You seem to have covered a lot of ground already,” Fredericka couldn’t resist saying.
    “I work late and early. But so far, only the obvious suspects and that’s about one fiftieth of the job. A policeman’s lot—and all that!”
    He doesn’t look in the least like a policeman, Fredericka decided as she returned to her desk and the comparative comfort of the office. He doesn’t even wear a uniform and his disreputable hat is only a concession to the sun. But perhaps chiefs are like plainclothes men. Perhaps they graduate out of a uniform or keep it pressed for state occasions.
    It was only ten-thirty. And already the day had been hours long. Well, the bookshop must come first, and Fredericka Wing must get back to work. With a great effort of will, she tore her list of suspects off the pad and began to jot down titles and publishers. But after a few moments she remembered that it was early closing day in the village. Miss Hartwell had said she could shut up the shop or not as she wanted. Perhaps she would lock the doors and retire to her sanctuary in the apple orchard where she had escaped often in that other life—that blessed week before the murder. There she could read in peace even if her mind was in too much of a turmoil to write. Chris would be knocking off at noon, she felt sure…and she didn’t really want to be alone in the shop… On such a hot day customers would be few and far between…
    This serious matter decided, Fredericka returned to her list but she had added only one title when Mrs. Williams appeared. Her visit was ostensibly to “borrow” Bertrand Russell which her husband wanted to quote in his sermon but it was obvious that, in fact, she wanted to discuss the latest developments in South Sutton’s first murder case. Fredericka had no sooner got rid of her than Margie made one of her sudden back door entrances, came straight to the office, and sank limply into the big chair.
    Fredericka’s annoyance faded at sight of the girl’s flushed face and distraught manner. “What’s the matter, Margie?” she asked kindly. Perhaps now, at last, she could talk to the child. Confront her with facts and force her to an admission of whatever it was that she was hiding.
    “Nothing.” Margie’s voice was sullen.
    For a moment Fredericka said no more, and made a pretence of returning to work.
    “Mother wants that cookery book I told you about last week.”
    “I don’t think it’s come yet.”
    “Chris has just brought up a parcel from the post office. I saw him taking it back to the stockroom when I came in.” She hesitated, then said: “Shall I go down and see if the book’s in it?”
    The thought of Margie undoing a parcel that hadn’t been checked and mussing up the