Read Online Call After Midnight by Mignon G. Eberhart - Free Book Online Page A

polite murmur sat down again. It was like waiting in a dentist’s reception room, only worse. It was so much worse that Jenny didn’t think she could bear it and had to.
    It wasn’t so bad when it actually happened, at least not at first. The pallid light was filling the room, dulling a lamp which Jenny had no recollection of having turned on, when a knock came at the door again. This time a man came in. He was swarthy, short and authoritative, with black eyebrows and heavy eyelids. He gave the young policeman some kind of signal, for the young policeman whipped out a notebook and pencil. “For the record,” said the swarthy policeman. “If you don’t mind.” He introduced himself. “I’m Captain Parenti. Now don’t be upset. Just take your time.” But he glanced at the watch on his thick brown wrist.
    “The—she—” Jenny moistened her dry lips. “Where shall I begin?”
    “At the beginning. When your former husband phoned to you and asked you to come here.”
    That was the part of it which was not so bad. It was merely a recital of facts. When she reached the point where there had been some discussion over calling a doctor she paused and Captain Parenti said, “Go on,” and moved to a more comfortable position in one of the deep, velvet-covered chairs.
    She went on, but carefully now, making it very clear that Fiora had not been seriously hurt that first time.
    Captain Parenti said shortly, “So nobody called a doctor until after you and Calendar arrived. I know that. It was then reported to the police. A little late. Go on.”
    Yes, they had reported it and the police came. Then Fiora had asked her to sit with her that night.
    “Why?”
    “Because—” It began to grow more and more difficult. The fact was that Fiora was not entirely sure in her mind that Peter hadn’t shot at her. Jenny had a notion that Captain Parenti noted her hesitation. “Because she wanted me,” she said, “so I did.”
    She went on and now she was choosing her words with great caution. When it came to Peter entering the kitchen, telling her he had needed her and then abruptly taking her in his arms, it was as if a red light, far away but warning of danger, flashed. There must not be anything to suggest a quarrel between Fiora and Peter. Peter was safe; he could not have shot Fiora. Yet when a woman was murdered didn’t the police automatically suspect the husband? She skipped that part of it entirely. “Peter came in while I was heating the milk. Then Cal and Blanche, I mean—”
    “Miss Fair, yes.”
    “They came in, Blanche thought she’d, heard someone. Then they went back upstairs and Peter—”
    “Picked up a stocking.” He had of course questioned Peter minutely. He had questioned Blanche and Cal. She was instinctively thankful that Peter had had the wisdom, and Cal and Blanche the friendliness, to omit describing the incident in the kitchen, of Jenny and Peter in each other’s arms.
    She said, “Yes. Then we talked a moment and heard Fiora scream. We ran and there were two shots—”
    “Where were you then?”
    “In the dining room. Peter ran out into the hall, I could see him, the hall light was on—”
    “After the shots?”
    “Yes. I ran out, too. Cal must have reached Fiora’s room first. Peter ran down the hall and Blanche fainted, that is she sort of collapsed, and—I sat down on the stairs. Then Cal phoned—”
    “Yes. Let’s go over it again, please. The whole thing. Try to remember every detail you can.”
    This took longer. Again she skipped the moment in Peter’s arms. But this time she remembered the fact that she had found the back door with the bolt off and had put it on.
    “You didn’t tell me that.”
    “I didn’t think of it.”
    He glanced at his watch. “Let’s go over it all again.”
    I can’t, Jenny thought, but she did, carefully.
    Her voice died away at last; Captain Parenti looked at his watch, rose and said in an offhand way, “You’ll be willing to swear to