The Winter Widow Read Online Free PDF Page B

wanted to underline his authority and rub in a little salt. She hoped the mayor knew what he was doing; Parkhurst was probably a dangerous man to cross. He inclined his head in a brief little bit of servile mockery and left.
    She crushed out the cigarette. When Daniel returned from his unsuccessful trip to find Sophie, something was troubling or puzzling him. What? What the hell could it be? Could he have seen something on the way to Sophie’s? At her place? Whatever it was, it hadn’t been urgent. He told Parkhurst it could wait.
    Sophie Niemen.
    That second phone call. They had been in bed when it came and Daniel was short. “He did, did he?… No more … No … Better be the last.” Then his voice had gotten soft with threat. “I won’t put up with it any more.”
    Better be the last. The last cat kidnaped? Was it Sophie who made that second call?
    Susan pawed through the reports stacked in her in basket. Vehicle damaged by rocks thrown from an open field. Obscene phone call on an answering machine. Flower bed vandalized. Petty theft. Green, Harve Green. Here it was. The cat had been returned or had found its way home on its own.
    She was reaching for her jacket to go find Sophie when the phone rang.
    â€œThey’re waiting for you at the hardware store,” Hazel said.
    â€œHardware store.”
    â€œThey’re taking down the old sign.”
    â€œOld sign.”
    â€œDidn’t Ben tell you?”
    â€œNo, he didn’t. Why are they waiting for me?”
    â€œWell, it’s kind of special. It’s the oldest sign in town and they’re taking it down to put up a new one. Arrangements were all set up for—uh, Dan to be there.”
    â€œI see. Would you get George and tell him to take care of it.”
    â€œWell … uh, you might want to go. Public relations, starting out on the right foot, you know? The photographer will be there and Lucille Guthman to write it up for the Herald. She wants to interview you.”
    Susan replaced the receiver. God help us, a new sign at the hardware store. The mayor was right: Small towns were different. She slipped on her jacket, thinking she had some interviewing of her own she wanted to do with Lucille.
    *   *   *
    A SQUAD car blocked each end of the street, and a large crowd was gathered around Perley’s Hardware. After the cold weather, the temperature seemed almost balmy at forty degrees, and the winter sun felt warm. People laughed and chatted with each other and called out joking remarks to the slight gray-haired man—Mr. Perley, she assumed—standing in the middle of the street, holding a small gong in one hand and a hammer in the other. The work crew lounged against the front of the store, waiting for him to strike gong with hammer as the signal to begin. He was waiting for the reporter.
    Susan stood across the street in front of the bank and collected curious glances, as if she were some exotic animal in a zoo. Several people spoke to her, most with an affable “Good morning,” but some conveyed disapproval. “Never had a lady police chief before.” “Surely do look young.” “Big responsibility. Sure you know what you’re doing?”
    She smiled: polite, confident. Public relations. The photographer, a rangy kid with brown shaggy hair, swiveled through the crowd, snapping pictures.
    â€œWhere’s Lucille?” she asked him.
    â€œHaven’t seen her.” He snapped Susan’s picture and slid away.
    Restlessness drifted over the crowd and the jokes to Mr. Perley got louder.
    A short man with an air of self-importance came out of the bank and strode purposefully over to her. “Morning,” he said.
    She nodded. She’d met him at Daniel’s funeral and remembered he was the bank president, but couldn’t remember his name.
    â€œWe’re all right sorry about Dan,” he said sympathetically.