Murder Comes First Read Online Free PDF Page B

placed among capsules in a bottle containing vitamins, which had been kept in a medicine cabinet in the bathroom off Mrs. Logan’s bedroom. And—Thelma Whitsett had been in the bathroom only minutes before a maid brought the bottle down to Mrs. Logan.
    â€œOpportunity,” Bill told them. “Obviously.”
    â€œBill,” Pam said. “The maid. Anybody. It might have been there for days. You mean to say the inspector—? Of all the flimsy—”
    Bill Weigand smiled faintly. He would admit, to them, here, that the inspector liked things simple. He hesitated.
    â€œIn this case,” he said, “very probably too simple. But—it’s not quite that flimsy, Pam. There could be a motive, of sorts. Not particularly good, as it stands. But—how much do you know about your aunts, Pam?”
    She knew, she told him, what people generally know about aunts who live in another city, who are seen, briefly, once or twice a year. They were her father’s sisters; they had lived for many years in Cleveland; they had never married.
    â€œAunt Pennina was always going to,” Pam said. “I don’t know why she never did. Lucy, I guess never. And Aunt Thelma—I don’t suppose she—” But then Pam stopped. She said she was trying to remember something.
    â€œRight,” Bill said. “Your Aunt Lucinda remembered it and—mentioned it. She said, ‘But that’s ridiculous. So long ago.’ Something like that. So we found out what was long ago and ridiculous. You remember?”
    â€œAunt Thelma was going to be married,” Pam said. “I remember that. It must have been—oh, twenty-five years ago. She must have been—oh, in her middle forties. But, he married someone else.”
    â€œRight,” Bill said. “His name was Paul Logan. He married someone else, Pam. A widow named Grace Rolfe. Five years or so younger than your aunt, and very pretty. She wasn’t pretty when we saw her an hour ago.”
    â€œBill!” Pam said. “That’s—that’s grabbing a straw. Twenty-five years, Bill!”
    Bill Weigand nodded slowly. He said twenty-five years was a long time, too long a time; that no sane person carried hate for twenty-five years; that there was no present evidence there had ever been hate.
    â€œNo sane person,” he repeated. “The inspector grants that.”
    â€œYou mean,” Pam said, “he thinks Aunt Thelma is—isn’t sane? That she came here to have tea with Mrs. Logan and brought cyanide in capsules? On the chance that Mrs. Logan would be taking capsules and—”
    â€œNo,” Bill said. “She knew about the capsules. Mrs. Logan was taking them last spring when your aunts called on her. After tea, as today. Miss Whitsett agrees to that. All the Misses Whitsett agree to that.”
    â€œJerry,” Pam said. “Don’t you see it’s ridiculous?” Now there was a kind of uneasiness in her voice. “Brooding for years, getting more and more bitter until finally—” Then Pam North stopped, hearing herself.
    â€œIt could be argued, Pam,” Jerry said.
    â€œI know,” Pam North said. “I just did. But I don’t believe it, no matter who says it. I—”
    But she was interrupted by a voice from the door which said first, “Listen, Loot” and then, in a different tone, “My God.” They looked toward the door, and Sergeant Aloysius Mullins looked at them.
    â€œI guess,” Mullins said. “I should of known, because it’s begun to go screwy, Loot. Hello, Mrs. North. Hello, Mr. North.”
    They said “Hello” to Sergeant Mullins.
    Mullins still looked at the Norths.
    â€œRight,” Bill Weigand said. “It seems that the Whitsett sisters are Pam’s aunts. So—”
    â€œOh,” Mullins said. “Well, I should of known. This son of hers isn’t where he’s