The Banshee's Walk Read Online Free PDF Page B

offhand annoyance one might express as being short-changed a penny by the kindly old apple-seller. “Or I swear I’ll see him replaced, today.”
    The monocled choker nodded, released the chokee, frowned at the poker in my hand, and then reached into his jacket pocket and produced a dog-eared sheaf of papers.
    “I thought I got hit with the poker in Act Three,” he said, rifling through the pages. “They haven’t changed it again, have they?”
    I lowered my poker.
    The woman being choked produced a similar document and, frowning, began to leaf through it.
    “You’re not Robert,” repeated the blonde. She finally lowered her hands, and looked confused rather than terrified. “You’re not even in the cast, are you?”
    “My name is Markhat,” I replied. Confused glances were exchanged all around. “I heard what sounded like a woman being murdered, so I let myself in.”
    The blonde raised an eyebrow. “So when you lifted that poker…”
    “I was about to enact Act Three a bit too early and a bit too hard,” I said. I leaned the poker carefully back where I’d found it. “I apologize for barging in. Are you Mrs. Hemp?”
    “He thought we were real,” said the brunette, beaming. “He thought you were really about to kill us.”
    The man grinned. “Not bad for a stand-in, huh? I haven’t rehearsed Robert’s role.”
    I stuck out my hand. It was the least I could do, after nearly braining the man.
    “You had me thoroughly convinced,” I said. Then I turned again to the woman while we shook hands.
    “Mrs. Hemp?”
    “Oh, yes, yes, I’m Mrs. Hemp,” she replied, smiling. “I’m sorry. I should have closed the door, but I didn’t want to leave Robert out on the stoop.” She stepped forward, laughed again, and offered me her hand to shake. “We’re rehearsing,” she said, as we shook hands. “Of course we rehearse at the theatre as well, but this scene is so sticky we wanted to work on it here.” She brightened suddenly. “Are you with the theatre, Mister Markhat?”
    I grinned back. “I’m not, Mrs. Hemp,” I said, while the brunette and her murderous male friend sat down on the couch and began a whispered exchange punctuated by numerous stabs at the script. “Actually, a friend sent me by with a parcel for you. She knows I’m interested in art, and I understand you have a new piece by—”
    I trailed off as Mrs. Hemp flew into a silent but furious flurry of shushing signs at me. She glanced at the pair on the couch, sighed in relief when she decided they hadn’t been listening, and ushered me out of the room, through the foyer, and out the door, which she closed with a solid bang.
    “That’s a secret, Mr. Markhat,” she said. “I’m not even going to hang it until the evening of our cast party for Three Murders by Midnight . It’s a Werewilk,” she whispered. “The best I’ve ever seen.”
    I winced. Darla’s linen clad gown lay crumpled on the stoop, so I bent and picked it up and handed it ruefully to Mrs. Hemp.
    “It’s from Darla’s,” I said. “I dropped it when I thought your friend was being throttled.”
    She brushed it off and smiled. “Well, I can hardly blame you for that,” she said. “I doubt it’s hurt. Darla always double-wraps.”
    “I’ll make it good if a stitch is out of place,” I said. “Now, about the you-know-what.”
    “You can’t see it,” said the blonde. “Not unless you come to the cast party.” She grinned a sly grin. “It’s two weeks from Saturday,” she said, looking up at me with an ever-widening smile. “If you’re interested?”
    I smiled back. I’m a generous fellow, with my smiles.
    “Oh, I’m interested,” I said, with commendable accuracy. “Do you know Lady Werewilk? Personally, I mean.”
    Mrs. Hemp nodded a happy yes. I began to wonder where Mr. Hemp might be, and if he himself had access to any wrought iron fireplace pokers.
    “Erlorne? Oh yes, I know her quite well,” said Mrs. Hemp, with an unwifely