Crime is Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

to question Professor Dawes. Once her eerie pronouncement had been made, the housekeeper took off down the path at a striding gait that left Lisa far behind; and by the time she did reach the house Carrie was already busy in the kitchen. The results were gratifying. There was no need for Johnny to go after that can opener.
    By morning the mood had passed. The sun came out and Marta Cornish was forgotten in a flurry of cleaning, unpacking and airing. But underneath that flurry, or perhaps even at the root of it, the professor’s seed was growing.
    “Forget it,” Johnny advised, after hearing of Carrie’s outburst. “The woman’s a weirdo, anyone can see that. Mrs. Cornish probably offered her a lamb chop and she thought it was attempted murder.”
    “I suppose you’re right.” Lisa didn’t sound at all convinced. She didn’t feel convinced. “But if you’d seen that house—”
    “I’ve seen the house. This morning, by broad daylight. I went down to the ruins and saw a blackened mess that should be torn down before it falls on someone; and I saw a perfectly ordinary architectural monstrosity sitting up on a hill.”
    “Did you hear anyone playing a piano?”
    “I did not. And I didn’t hear anyone scream, or see any spirits, pixies, or people chasing each other around with bloody axes in their hands. Lisa, let’s not!”
    Johnny was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her legs clad in corduroys and her hands clutching the handle of an oversized claw hammer. She’d been pulling nails out of the crate over a half-liberated console radio, and for a moment Lisa thought the protest had something to do with the job at hand. It didn’t.
    “Let’s not do Martin Cornish,” Johnny added. “I don’t like him already.”
    Lisa didn’t answer.
    Johnny sighed. “Oh, I know I’m wasting my breath. I was sure of it as soon as I saw
that
this morning.” The claw hammer pointed accusingly toward the wire recorder on Lisa’s desk.
    “I thought I might dictate a few letters,” Lisa said.
    “Sure, you did. All right, then.” The hammer ripped out the last nail in the crate and was tossed to the floor in a gesture of resignation. Johnny came to her feet. “If we must do Cornish, let’s do him right. Let’s get all the dirt. I think I know someone with a great big shovel who’d just love to help. Mrs. Graham.”
    “Mrs. Graham?”
    “Mrs. Tod Graham, you know, the butter-and-egg-man’s spouse.”
    “Oh, you mean the realty agent.”
    “Among other things. Remember that card he gave you? ‘Tod Graham, Attorney at Law,’ and then, in big letters, ‘Boost Bellville.’ I met his wife in the market yesterday. I forgot to tell you.”
    “Oh—” Lisa was half-interested now. “What’s she like?”
    “The perfect mate, I’d say, for Brother Graham. Not so obvious, of course. Quite proper, in fact. The social leader of Bellville, at least, of the smart, modern set.”
    Lisa smiled. “No wrought-iron fences?”
    “Definitely not. There’s a new section, she told me, down near the yacht club. That’s where the Grahams live, very lush and very modern from the sound of it. We’re invited for cocktails—”
    “Oh, Johnny, you didn’t accept!”
    Johnny sighed from deep, deep down. “‘Miss Brancroft,’” she intoned officiously, “‘rarely accepts social engagements. She’s come to Bellville seeking seclusion for rest and relaxation.’ Oh, I lied, Lisa. I lied dutifully, but my heart wasn’t in it. Frankly, I’d like to go. We’ve been cooped up in this—this barn for over a week with nothing but rain, cobwebs, and packing crates for company.”
    “And now Carrie,” Lisa said.
    “Yes, we mustn’t forget Nature Girl. Is that what you want to become of me? A root-eater?”
    “Heaven forbid!” Lisa laughed. “We’ll have to do something before it comes to that. But I loathe cocktail parties.” She’d wandered over to the desk beside the French windows. Her fingers found the recording