Still Life With Crows Read Online Free PDF

than she’d first thought: what she had taken to be white hair was instead remarkably blond. He was quite handsome and elegant, too, if one didn’t mind such pale eyes and skin.
    “I rent three rooms upstairs,” she explained. “You have to share the bath, I’m afraid, but there’s nobody presently—”
    “I’ll take the entire floor. Would five hundred dollars a week be acceptable?”
    “Oh, my.”
    “I will pay extra, naturally, for my board. I’ll only be requiring a light breakfast and the occasional afternoon tea and dinner.”
    “That’s rather more money than I usually ask. I wouldn’t feel right—”
    The man smiled. “I fear you may find me a difficult boarder.”
    “Well, then—”
    He sipped his tea, placed it on the coaster, and leaned forward. “I don’t want to shock you, Miss Kraus, but I do need to tell you who I am and why I’m here. You asked me if there has been a death. In fact, as you probably know, there has. I am a special agent for the FBI investigating the murder in Medicine Creek.” He flashed his badge, as a courtesy.
    “A murder!”
    “You haven’t heard? On the far side of town, discovered last night. You will no doubt read all about it in tomorrow morning’s paper.”
    “Oh, dear me.” Winifred Kraus felt dazed. “A murder? In Medicine Creek?”
    “I’m sorry. Does that change your mind about taking me in as a lodger? I’ll understand if it does.”
    “Oh no, Mr. Pendergast. Not at all. I’d feel much safer, really, having you here. A murder, how very dreadful . . .” She shuddered. “Who on earth—?”
    “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you as a source of information on the case. And now, may I examine my rooms? There’s no need to show me upstairs.”
    “Of course.” Winifred Kraus smiled a little breathlessly as she watched the man climb the stairs. Such a polite young gentleman, and so . . . Then she remembered the murder. She rose and went to the telephone. Perhaps Jenny Parker would know more. She picked up and dialed the number, shaking her head.
     
    After a swift inspection, Pendergast chose the smallest room—the one in the rear—and laid his valise on its princess bed. On the bureau stood a swivel mirror, in front of which was set a china washbasin and pitcher. He pulled open the top drawer, releasing the faint scent of rosewater and oak. The drawer was lined with shellacked newspapers from the early 1900s, advertising farming equipment. In a corner stood a chamber pot, the lid placed upside down in the old-fashioned way. The walls were papered in a Victorian flowered print, much faded; the moldings were painted green and the ceiling was beadboard. The curtains were hand-embroidered lace.
    He returned to the bed, laid one hand lightly upon the bedspread. It had been needlepointed in a pattern of roses and peonies. He examined the stitching closely. Hand done. It had taken someone—no doubt Miss Kraus herself—at least a year.
    Pendergast remained motionless, staring at the needlepoint, breathing the antique air of the bedroom. Then, straightening, he walked across the creaking floorboards to the old rippled window and looked out.
    To his right and down, set back from the house, Pendergast could see the shabby low metal roof of the gift shop. Behind, a cracked cement walkway ran down to a depression leading to a rupture in the earth, where it disappeared into darkness. Beside the gift shop, a peeling sign read:
KRAUS’S KAVERNS
T HE B IGGEST C AVE IN C RY C OUNTY , K ANSAS
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M AKE A W ISH IN THE I NFINITY P OOL
P LAY THE K RYSTAL C HIMES
S EE THE B OTTOMLESS P IT
T OURS AT 10:00 AND 2:00 D AILY
T OUR G ROUPS , B USES W ELCOME
    He tried the window, found it opened with surprising ease. A muggy flow of air came into the room, carrying with it the smell of dust and crops. The lace curtains bellied. Outside, the great sea of yellow corn stretched to the horizon, broken only by distant lines of trees along the bottomlands of