Curiosity Didn't Kill the Cat Read Online Free PDF

he stayed on Front as far as Beach Street. There’s a light at the corner there, and he didn’t turn off. But it was too dark for her to see him after that.”
    Conan frowned. Beach Street intersected Front only a block north of his house—and the access.
    “Was he alone?”
    “Yes.”
    “You have no idea where he might have been going?”
    “No. We don’t know anyone down at this end of Front; not well, at least. Except you.”
    “Well, Harold never paid any calls on me here at home. Is there any reason he wouldn’t take the car? I mean, mechanical problems that would preclude his using it?”
    She picked up her glass, swirling the brandy idly, smiling with a hint of irony.
    “No. The car was always in perfect working order. Harold wouldn’t tolerate mechanical malfunctions; he ran a tight ship.”
    “That would suggest his destination was close—within walking distance.”
    “True, but it doesn’t suggest to me what his destination might have been.”
    “Did Mrs. Crane have anything else to offer?”
    “Oh, a great deal, but nothing else that could be classified as factual.”
    “Nel, what about—” He paused, then, “I don’t like to make things worse for you, but was there anything unusual about the body? Any signs of violence?”
    She shut her eyes briefly. “I—I don’t think so. Nothing obvious, anyway.”
    “And the official cause of death was drowning?”
    “Yes. I’ve ordered an autopsy done, but I haven’t heard anything about it yet.”
    “Do you know who the examining physician was?”
    “Nicky Heideger.”
    His head came up. “Nicky?”
    Dr. Nicole Heideger was probably one of the finest G.P.’s in the country, but because she was too outspoken about local politics, she was persona non grata to the administrators of the Taft County Hospital.
    “I know it was Nicky, Conan. I talked to her last night at the hospital.”
    “I was only surprised she’d be called in. Nel, when Harold was found, was anything missing—billfold, money, jewelry?”
    She shook her head vehemently. “No. He still had his billfold, and there were forty-five dollars in it. He was wearing a rather expensive watch and a two-carat diamond ring. It wasn’t a simple case of robbery.”
    “All right. What about yesterday? Did anything unusual happen?”
    “No. We were both at home all morning, then we came down to the bookshop in the afternoon—you remember.”
    “Yes. Where did you go after you left the shop?”
    “To the post office to pick up the mail.”
    “Were there any personal letters for Harold?”
    “No. The only mail in the box was a letter to me from my daughter Jane.”
    “And after you left the post office?”
    “We went back home.”
    “Were there any calls or visitors?”
    “No, and neither of us left the house. We were together all day until Pearl picked me up for our bridge date at eight o’clock. Everything was perfectly normal; there wasn’t the slightest hint that anything was wrong. When I left, Harold was sitting by the fire, peacefully reading a book. He was in his robe, already prepared for bed.”
    Conan’s lips were compressed, and he nearly knocked the ashtray from the table as he put his cigarette out. He despised questions with no answers. Why would a man comfortably reading, already prepared for bed, go to the trouble of dressing and braving a rising storm on foot? Particularly a man like Captain Jeffries, whom the villagers called a recluse; a hermit.
    “Did…Harold drink much?”
    She laughed at that. “He didn’t drink at all. That was another of his quirks.”
    He nodded, staring down at the rich patterns in the Lilihan, his frustration mounting steadily. It was like trying to climb a sheer wall; he kept fumbling for a foothold, and the wall only became increasingly solid, offering not even the slightest crack. He wondered why he kept asking questions.
    He shifted his gaze to Nel, still finding her calm a source of amazement.
    “What about Harold’s