Antiques Fate Read Online Free PDF Page B

He was behind the wheel and alone; he got out and strode toward me with that sideways John Wayne walk of his. Maybe, like Mother, he had bunions.
    Whatever the case, in that tan uniform, the sheriff made a tall, commanding figure, graying just a little at the temples. The walk wasn’t the only thing that made Mother wistfully comment, from time to time, that Rudder reminded her of the middle-aged Duke.
    The sheriff planted himself in front of me like a big oak tree. “What’s this about a murder that your mother’s going on about?”
    â€œCall it a suspicious death.” I wasn’t ready to commit to the m word yet. “Millicent Marlowe collapsed, while showing mother around. Miss Marlowe owns, or owned, this theater.”
    Rudder frowned in recollection. “I believe I know her, or anyway met her—older woman? Why weren’t the paramedics called?”
    â€œMother wanted you to see her first.”
    He sighed. “She does have her own way of doing things. Damnit, this better not be a waste of time—I’m short-handed as it is. Where is she?”
    â€œMother?”
    â€œThe dead woman.”
    â€œOn the stage.”
    â€œAnd your mother?”
    â€œOn the stage.”
    Rudder winced.
    Just before we moved inside, he asked, “What are you and Vivian doing here, anyway? Aren’t you two a little ways off your beat?”
    Briefly, I filled him in.
    With Sushi in my arms, I had to hustle to keep up with the lawman’s long stride as he crossed the lobby. Entering the auditorium, Rudder was met by an agitated Chad, who’d come rushing up the center aisle.
    â€œSheriff,” he said, as if making a point in an already long under-way argument, “my grandmother died from a heart attack, and that’s all there is to it!”
    Rudder held up a traffic-cop palm. “Let’s back it up, son, and start with your name.”
    â€œChad Marlowe. Artistic director of the theater. As I said, Millicent is, was , my grandmother.”
    The sheriff’s eyes traveled past Chad to the stage, and the small form covered by the blanket. “Sorry for your loss. Please take a seat down front, Mr. Marlowe.”
    Rudder stepped around Chad and proceeded toward the stage. I followed with Sushi.
    From the stage, Mother called, “ Sheriff Rudder! I’m so very pleased to see you. We’re so fortunate you were in the neighborhood.”
    This greeting was met with stony silence as the sheriff ascended the steps and went to the body, then squatted in front of it to slowly pull back the blanket. He checked the woman’s throat for a pulse.
    After a moment, he looked up at Mother. “Well, Vivian, you’re correct that this woman is deceased . . . but what was the idea of calling me to the scene?”
    â€œIsn’t it obvious? Look at her arms, Sheriff.”
    Taking Millie’s nearest arm, Rudder noted the pushed-up sleeve of the red sweater, revealing a large purple area.
    Rudder sighed, then stood. “Hematoma.”
    Chad, in the front row, asked, “What did you say?”
    Before the sheriff could reply, Mother did, calling out helpfully, “Hematoma, dear! Symptom of an overdose of blood thinner medication.”
    Fred, who had been standing motionless near the stage-left wing, chimed in: “Dang it, anyway. Millie probably lost track of how much medication she took.”
    Rudder’s head swiveled, as if noticing the man for the first time, though I knew very well that the sheriff had taken everything in already. “And you would be?”
    â€œFred Hackney. Carpenter, general handyman around here. I make the sets and props.”
    Rudder approached him. “And your opinion that the woman overdosed herself—that’s based on what exactly?”
    Fred began studying his feet to avoid Rudder’s stare.
    â€œWell, sir, I’ve noticed that Millie hasn’t been as . . . you know, sharp lately.