Read Online A Pint of Murder by Charlotte MacLeod - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlotte MacLeod
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have been awfully old to start a family when Elmer was born. If the father had been in any kind of partnership with Charles Treadway, he must have been a grown young man then; in his twenties, anyway; and that would put him up around seventy now. Why hadn’t he laid any sort of claim to this patent before? Even if Mrs. Treadway did hold a lifetime interest in the thing, couldn’t he at least have tried to force her to put it into production? What good was a patent unless something was done about it?
Maybe something had been done, and Mrs. Treadway never knew. What if by some miracle Charles Treadway had managed to think up an invention that actually worked, and Bain had been collecting royalties or whatever they called them for years without ever giving the widow her rightful share? What if she’d finally found out, and demanded that he pay what he owed her? Over a span of maybe forty years, even a small annual sum could mount up to a lot of money. Enough to commit murder for, if a person was as attached to his dollars as Jason Bain appeared to be.
Sam Neddick might know, assuming this wasn’t all moonshine in the first place. Sam was closer than anybody else in the area to being a crony of Bain’s. Sam was clever and Sam was quite possibly buyable. Janet had already faced up to the fact that Sam was as likely a suspect as any when it came to doing the two murders. If he hadn’t a reason of his own, would he turn down a good offer from Bain? Who could say?
Marion’s decision to stay on at the Mansion after her aunt’s funeral must have surprised Sam. He’d no doubt taken it for granted, as the Wadmans had, that she’d either return to her job or at least settle up whatever affairs she might have in Boston before coming back to the Mansion. That would have left him alone here as caretaker, free to rummage for the patent and get it back to Bain. Instead, she’d let everything else drop and stuck to the house like glue. If Sam Neddick was in fact Bain’s agent, Marion Emery might very well count herself lucky that he hadn’t found a way to get rid of her, too.
CHAPTER 6
T HE WADMANS WERE SITTING down to a noontime dinner for which Janet had little appetite when Gilly and Elmer came to the back door wanting to borrow Bert’s posthole digger. Bobby was tagging behind them.
“How long do you need it for?” Bert asked. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to dig for the buried treasure?”
Young Bain flushed crimson. Gilly laughed. “Marion’s handling that end of the show, thanks. We left her on the phone trying to persuade Mama to come up here after the funeral and help hunt for that idiotic patent of Great-uncle Charles’s. I wish Marion would take her up on the roof and shove her off.”
“Now, Gilly,” said Elmer to everyone’s surprise, “that’s no way to talk in front of the kid.”
“I’m sorry,” she replied meekly. “I should know better than to make rotten jokes about people. Shouldn’t I, Bobby?”
Gilly was wearing a pair of worn canvas shoes and a stiffly starched cotton housedress that had been her great-aunt’s instead of her usual tarty getup. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, and her hair was slicked back under a ribbon. Janet hadn’t realized she could look so pretty.
“Grandma wouldn’t come anyway,” the boy piped up. “She says she won’t set foot in the Mansion as long as Elmer’s here. You’re not going, are you, Elmer?”
“Poor Elmer’s getting it right and left,” Gilly laughed. “Between Mama throwing tantrums over the phone and Marion counting every bite he eats, I’ll bet he’s sorry he came. Aren’t you, Elmer?”
She slid one of her thin hands over the young giant’s sleeve and smiled up at him. Elmer looked anything but sorry.
“Elmer thought if you’d lend us the posthole digger for a few hours, we could build a run for the dogs,” she explained. “He found a roll of chicken wire out in the barn.”
Bain struggled with his
Maybe something had been done, and Mrs. Treadway never knew. What if by some miracle Charles Treadway had managed to think up an invention that actually worked, and Bain had been collecting royalties or whatever they called them for years without ever giving the widow her rightful share? What if she’d finally found out, and demanded that he pay what he owed her? Over a span of maybe forty years, even a small annual sum could mount up to a lot of money. Enough to commit murder for, if a person was as attached to his dollars as Jason Bain appeared to be.
Sam Neddick might know, assuming this wasn’t all moonshine in the first place. Sam was closer than anybody else in the area to being a crony of Bain’s. Sam was clever and Sam was quite possibly buyable. Janet had already faced up to the fact that Sam was as likely a suspect as any when it came to doing the two murders. If he hadn’t a reason of his own, would he turn down a good offer from Bain? Who could say?
Marion’s decision to stay on at the Mansion after her aunt’s funeral must have surprised Sam. He’d no doubt taken it for granted, as the Wadmans had, that she’d either return to her job or at least settle up whatever affairs she might have in Boston before coming back to the Mansion. That would have left him alone here as caretaker, free to rummage for the patent and get it back to Bain. Instead, she’d let everything else drop and stuck to the house like glue. If Sam Neddick was in fact Bain’s agent, Marion Emery might very well count herself lucky that he hadn’t found a way to get rid of her, too.
CHAPTER 6
T HE WADMANS WERE SITTING down to a noontime dinner for which Janet had little appetite when Gilly and Elmer came to the back door wanting to borrow Bert’s posthole digger. Bobby was tagging behind them.
“How long do you need it for?” Bert asked. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to dig for the buried treasure?”
Young Bain flushed crimson. Gilly laughed. “Marion’s handling that end of the show, thanks. We left her on the phone trying to persuade Mama to come up here after the funeral and help hunt for that idiotic patent of Great-uncle Charles’s. I wish Marion would take her up on the roof and shove her off.”
“Now, Gilly,” said Elmer to everyone’s surprise, “that’s no way to talk in front of the kid.”
“I’m sorry,” she replied meekly. “I should know better than to make rotten jokes about people. Shouldn’t I, Bobby?”
Gilly was wearing a pair of worn canvas shoes and a stiffly starched cotton housedress that had been her great-aunt’s instead of her usual tarty getup. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, and her hair was slicked back under a ribbon. Janet hadn’t realized she could look so pretty.
“Grandma wouldn’t come anyway,” the boy piped up. “She says she won’t set foot in the Mansion as long as Elmer’s here. You’re not going, are you, Elmer?”
“Poor Elmer’s getting it right and left,” Gilly laughed. “Between Mama throwing tantrums over the phone and Marion counting every bite he eats, I’ll bet he’s sorry he came. Aren’t you, Elmer?”
She slid one of her thin hands over the young giant’s sleeve and smiled up at him. Elmer looked anything but sorry.
“Elmer thought if you’d lend us the posthole digger for a few hours, we could build a run for the dogs,” she explained. “He found a roll of chicken wire out in the barn.”
Bain struggled with his
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