barely took a breath between sentences. "Mr. Williams, the reason I called--"
"Are the police any closer to catching the killer?"
"I wouldn't know."
"Weren't you questioned?"
"Everyone who was at Dr. Howell's house that night was asked for possible leads. To the best of my knowledge nobody had anything to offer." Instead of relaxing her, the wine was giving her a headache.
"Mr. Williams, did I receive a delivery today?"
"Not that I know of. were you expecting one?"
He was the only neighbor who had a key to her house. She had been reluctant to give him one, and it wasn't because of mistrust. The notion of someone coming into her home when she wasn't there was repugnant. As with rhythms and routine, she was a stickler for privacy.
But she had felt that someone should have a spare key in case of an emergency or to let in repairmen when necessary. Mr. Williams had been the logical choice because of his proximity.
To Rennie's knowledge he had never abused the privilege.
"I was on the lookout for a package," she lied. "I thought it might have been delivered to you since I wasn't at home."
"Was there a notice on your door? A yellow sticker?"
"No, but I thought the driver might have forgotten to leave one. You didn't see a delivery truck parked at my curb today?"
"No, nothing."
"Hmm, well, these things never arrive when you're looking for them, do they?" she said breezily. "Thanks anyway, Mr.
Williams. Sorry to have bothered you."
"Did you hear about the Bradys' new litter of puppies?"
Damn! She hadn't hung up fast enough.
"Can't say that I have. As you know I've been out of pocket for a couple of weeks and--"
"Beagles. Six of them. Cutest little things you ever saw. They're giving them away. You should speak for one."
"I don't have time for pets."
"You should make the time, Rennie," he advised with the remonstrative tone of a parent.
"My horses--"
"Not the same. They don't live with you. You need a pet at home. One can make all the difference in a person's outlook. People with pets live longer, did you know that? I couldn't do without Oscar," he said of his poodle. "A dog or cat is best, but even a goldfish or a parakeet can ward off loneliness."
"I'm not lonely, Mr. Williams. Just very busy. Nice talking to you. Bye."
She hung up immediately, and not just to curtail a lecture on the benefits of pet ownership. She was alarmed. She wasn't imagining the roses, and they hadn't simply materialized on her coffee table. Someone had been here and left them.
She quickly checked the front door. It was locked, just as it had been that morning when she'd left for the hospital. She dashed down the hallway into her bedroom and checked under the bed and in the closet. All the windows were firmly shut and locked. The window above her bathtub was too small for even a child to crawl through. Next she checked the second bedroom, which she used as a study. Same there: nothing. She knew that nothing in the kitchen had been disturbed.
Actually, she would have been relieved to find a broken window or a jimmied lock. At least that element of this mystery would have been solved.
Returning to the living room, she sat down on the sofa. She had lost all appetite for the wine, but she took another drink of it anyway in the hope it would steady her nerves. It didn't. When the telephone rang on the end table, she jumped.
She, Rennie Newton, who at fourteen had climbed the narrow ladder to the very top of her hometown water tower, who had put herself in peril by visiting practically every danger spot on the globe, who loved a challenge and never backed down from a dare, who wasn't afraid of the Devil, as her mother used to tell her, and who daily performed surgeries that required nerves of steel and rock-steady hands, nearly came out of her skin when her telephone rang.
Shaking spilled wine off her hand, she reached for the cordless phone. Most of her calls were work related, so she answered in her normally brisk and efficient
"Are the police any closer to catching the killer?"
"I wouldn't know."
"Weren't you questioned?"
"Everyone who was at Dr. Howell's house that night was asked for possible leads. To the best of my knowledge nobody had anything to offer." Instead of relaxing her, the wine was giving her a headache.
"Mr. Williams, did I receive a delivery today?"
"Not that I know of. were you expecting one?"
He was the only neighbor who had a key to her house. She had been reluctant to give him one, and it wasn't because of mistrust. The notion of someone coming into her home when she wasn't there was repugnant. As with rhythms and routine, she was a stickler for privacy.
But she had felt that someone should have a spare key in case of an emergency or to let in repairmen when necessary. Mr. Williams had been the logical choice because of his proximity.
To Rennie's knowledge he had never abused the privilege.
"I was on the lookout for a package," she lied. "I thought it might have been delivered to you since I wasn't at home."
"Was there a notice on your door? A yellow sticker?"
"No, but I thought the driver might have forgotten to leave one. You didn't see a delivery truck parked at my curb today?"
"No, nothing."
"Hmm, well, these things never arrive when you're looking for them, do they?" she said breezily. "Thanks anyway, Mr.
Williams. Sorry to have bothered you."
"Did you hear about the Bradys' new litter of puppies?"
Damn! She hadn't hung up fast enough.
"Can't say that I have. As you know I've been out of pocket for a couple of weeks and--"
"Beagles. Six of them. Cutest little things you ever saw. They're giving them away. You should speak for one."
"I don't have time for pets."
"You should make the time, Rennie," he advised with the remonstrative tone of a parent.
"My horses--"
"Not the same. They don't live with you. You need a pet at home. One can make all the difference in a person's outlook. People with pets live longer, did you know that? I couldn't do without Oscar," he said of his poodle. "A dog or cat is best, but even a goldfish or a parakeet can ward off loneliness."
"I'm not lonely, Mr. Williams. Just very busy. Nice talking to you. Bye."
She hung up immediately, and not just to curtail a lecture on the benefits of pet ownership. She was alarmed. She wasn't imagining the roses, and they hadn't simply materialized on her coffee table. Someone had been here and left them.
She quickly checked the front door. It was locked, just as it had been that morning when she'd left for the hospital. She dashed down the hallway into her bedroom and checked under the bed and in the closet. All the windows were firmly shut and locked. The window above her bathtub was too small for even a child to crawl through. Next she checked the second bedroom, which she used as a study. Same there: nothing. She knew that nothing in the kitchen had been disturbed.
Actually, she would have been relieved to find a broken window or a jimmied lock. At least that element of this mystery would have been solved.
Returning to the living room, she sat down on the sofa. She had lost all appetite for the wine, but she took another drink of it anyway in the hope it would steady her nerves. It didn't. When the telephone rang on the end table, she jumped.
She, Rennie Newton, who at fourteen had climbed the narrow ladder to the very top of her hometown water tower, who had put herself in peril by visiting practically every danger spot on the globe, who loved a challenge and never backed down from a dare, who wasn't afraid of the Devil, as her mother used to tell her, and who daily performed surgeries that required nerves of steel and rock-steady hands, nearly came out of her skin when her telephone rang.
Shaking spilled wine off her hand, she reached for the cordless phone. Most of her calls were work related, so she answered in her normally brisk and efficient
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