A Vision of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

but it didn’t offend Mrs. Dodd. Her
problem is that she doesn’t have any imagination, she thought as she
waited, glancing up at the picture of Lorene as a little girl. A somber, stern
little face stared back at her, dress perfectly arranged.
    No, Lorene had never had any
imagination. It used to drive Mrs. Dodd crazy that her child was so serious.
She had been prepared for a much different daughter. One who enjoyed playing
house and tea. One who had dollies and enjoyed hearing
her mother’s stories.
    “But mother.” The child
insisted on calling her mother, too, which was not the most endearing term in
Mrs. Dodd’s opinion. “That could never really happen. Not in real life.” Her
serious little eyes had appraised Mrs. Dodd sensibly, as if looking for the
flaw that caused her to believe such tales.
    “It’s a story, Lorene,” she
had said, exasperated.
    “I don’t understand,” her daughter
had replied, just as exasperated. And she didn’t. No matter how much Mrs. Dodd
pushed and prodded, she couldn’t get Lorene to be a little girl. She hated
dollies, stating that they didn’t serve any useful purpose. Playing house and
tea were wastes of time when there was real housework she could be helping
with.
    All of Mrs. Dodd’s friends
had told her again and again how lucky she was to be the mother of such a
helpful, sensible creature. But Mrs. Dodd had disagreed. She had looked on
enviously at their children, acting as children should in her estimation. Maybe
that was why when she lost the next child….
    “No, it doesn’t do to linger
in the past,” Mrs. Dodd said, staring resolutely at the house next door.
Thinking of Mary   wouldn’t bring her back. But she had had a certain
spark. Mrs. Dodd had seen the imagination in her young daughter’s eyes. Lorene
had also sensed the kinship between her younger sister and her mother. She had
been so jealous….
    Mrs. Dodd shook her head again.
There was work for her to do! As usual, never a moment’s
break. Not for her. “No rest for the weary,” she muttered as she lifted
her binoculars to her eyes again. Nothing. Not a sign
of life. What was that psychic doing?
    The screen door slammed suddenly.
Mrs. Dodd hurried to thrust her binoculars out of sight, sliding them quickly
in a desk drawer. She crept cautiously to the door expecting to hear her
daughter’s high pitched voice any second.
    But no. No one was there. The front
door stood wide open with the screen door banging loudly against it. “I was
sure I closed that door,” Mrs. Dodd muttered aloud. The dog, Ginger, looked up
appreciatively. Mrs. Dodd smiled at her as she closed the front door securely,
twisting the dead bolt into place. “The wind must
have blown it open, hey Ginger?”
    Ginger seemed to smile back
at her. “Why don’t we get a snack?”
    The old dog was already
overweight, its stomach just missing dragging the floor, but at the word “snack” it leapt
to its feet, scurrying along behind Mrs. Dodd.
    As she sliced a hunk out of
the apple pie she had made that morning, liberally covering it with ice cream,
she kept her eye on the neighboring house. “I hope she didn’t sneak past while
I was busy with that door,” she muttered. Ginger whined, so she trimmed the
crust from her slice of pie and dropped it in the dog bowl.
    The two ate in silence,
enjoying their snack as the lightning flashed and the rain drummed down on the
window. The light dimmed outside as the next storm moved in, casting the kitchen
into near blackness. Mrs. Dodd didn’t notice as her mind wandered. Where was
that psychic tonight?
    The outside kitchen door
knob twisted violently as someone shoved against it. Creaking open, the outline
of a tall figurestood forebodingly in the doorway.
Lightning flashed behind the figure as a shrill scream tore through the air.
    “Mother,” Lorene gasped
angrily, “you frightened me. What are you doing sitting in this dark
kitchen!?!?!? And why was the front door locked?  I had