Read Online A Room to Die In by Jack Vance, Ellery Queen - Free Book Online

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occasion she found herself in San Francisco. Jehane Cypriano promised to do so,
and Ann drove away.
    In her rearview
mirror she caught a final glimpse of the woman looking after her: wistful,
fragile, lonely.
    Ann drove down
the hill slowly. At Lagunitas Road she paused, then turned left, and drove into
Inisfail—for no active reason other than her vague conviction that there was
still much to be learned about her father’s death.
    She turned down
Neville Road. Her father’s nearest neighbor, she noticed, occupied an old white
stucco house in a flourishing vineyard. The name on the mailbox was Savarini.
Ann weighed the idea of calling at the house. But what could they tell her?
That her father was unfriendly, eccentric, a recluse, without visible means of
support, of dubious morals and questionable politics? All this she already
knew.
    A car was parked
at her father’s house. Drawing near, she saw the car to be the green pickup.
Martin Jones was in the front yard, guiding a roto-tiller. Ann turned into the
driveway. Jones ignored her. He started the clattering machine on another
furrow.
    Ann compressed
her lips. “Mr. Jones!” she shouted.
    Martin Jones
glanced at her sharply and frowned. He turned off the engine. The silence was
sudden and vehement.
    “Well? What am I
doing that’s so damned humorous?”
    Ann shrugged. “You’re
working so intently.”
    “What of it?”
    “There’s no need
to shout, now that the roto-tiller is off.”
    Martin Jones
blinked. “If you’ve come to clear out the house, I’ll let you in.”
    “The thought
hadn’t entered my mind.”
    “As I told you
yesterday, the sooner the better.”
    “I’ll have to
wait till I have the authority to act.”
    “When will that
be?”
    “I don’t know.
Monday I’ll see an attorney, who I believe must have the will probated. I don’t
know very much about these things.”
    The builder
grunted and reached to start the engine. “I’ve just had lunch with the
Cyprianos,” said Ann.
    “So?” His hand
hovered and stopped.
    “Since I was in
the neighborhood I thought I’d drop by.”
    He studied her
for a moment, the muscles in his flat cheeks twitching. “You knew the Cyprianos
before?
    “I never saw
them until yesterday.”
    “What do you
think of them?” His voice was sardonic.
    Ann considered. “I
don’t know. They’re rather puzzling people.”
    Martin Jones
nodded, smiling grimly. Once again he made as if to start the engine.
    Ann blurted, “I
just can’t believe my father killed himself.”
    This time he
leaned on the handle. “What do you think happened to him, Miss Nelson?”
    “I don’t know.
But he just wasn’t the suicide type. He had too much vitality.”
    Jones gave a
snort of amusement. “In certain ways, no doubt about it.”
    “What do you
mean by that?”
    “This garden,
for instance. Nelson gave me to understand he was the world’s most enthusiastic
gardener. He painted a glowing picture—flowers, shrubs, hedges, lawn—”
    “Oh, come now,” Ann
scoffed. “I know he never promised you all that.”
    Jones had the
grace to grin. “Well, he said he’d put me in a nice garden. Otherwise I’d have
charged him more rent. I could get a hundred and thirty for this house any day
of the week.”
    “How did you
happen to rent to him in the first place?”
    “He was working
for me and needed a place to live. I let him have the old shack down the road.”
    “He was working
for you?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “As what?”
    “A laborer. Union
scale is over three bucks an hour. Last year I didn’t do that well myself.” He
straightened up, looked impatiently at the roto-tiller. “Roland Nelson wasn’t
much of a laborer, either. He didn’t have enough ‘vitality.’ I fired him.” He
reached for the starting cord to the motor, gave it a yank. The motor caught.
The blades spun, kicking up a shower of dirt. Ann jumped back, yelping her
indignation. But Martin Jones either did not hear or did not