Read Online Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_05 by Death on the River Walk - Free Book Online Page B

me.” She looked toward the courtyard.
    â€œIf that man comes around again, please leave a message for me at my bed-and-breakfast, La Mariposa. I’m in Room Six.” I glanced toward the fifty dollar bill. “You needn’t leave your name, simply say, ‘The man came back.’”
    As the door closed behind me, the television blared to life.
    I hurried back to the stairs and up to the second floor. I knocked on the door to 24 and noticed that the blinds to the front window were open, though slanted, so it was hard to see inside.
    It took a moment before the door opened slowly.
    Mrs. Wentz must once have been tall. Now she was bent, her spine curved by age. Gnarled hands gripped a walker. A cold intelligence glistened in sharp blue eyes. Iron gray hair curled in tight ringlets. She observed me unsmilingly from a worn, remote face.
    â€œWhat do you want?” Her diction was perfect, her tone commanding.
    â€œWere you a teacher?” I offered a smile.
    Her eyes tried to pluck secrets from my face. I suspect she’d had great success through the years.
    â€œThink you’re clever, I suppose. And if I was?” But her voice, though still crisp, was amused.
    â€œThen you know how to think—and I’m looking for a good mind.”
    â€œI don’t know you.” She made no move to get out of the doorway.
    I pointed at the door to Iris’s apartment. “The girl who lives there—”
    â€œYes. A nice girl. A sweet girl.” She very deliberately didn’t speak Iris’s name. Yes, indeed, I’d found a good mind. “She brings me cookies. She actually makes them. I told her that wasn’t politically correct these days.”
    â€œAnd Iris laughed.”
    Her eyes warmed. “Yes, she did. What do you want with Iris?”
    I told her. “…and no one has seen Iris since Thursday.”
    She maneuvered her walker, gestured for me to enter.
    Bookcases served as a room divider, creating a small living room, a sleeping area and a breakfast room. The filled shelves provided color. The walls were bare, as were the floors. The room could have had an air of proud poverty. Instead, it was bright and airy, and the books piled on end tables, many of them open, promised information and adventure and beauty.
    Mrs. Wentz didn’t waste time, neither hers nor mine. An open book lay on the end table beside her. “I saw Iris Thursday afternoon.” She gestured toward her front window. “I keep my blinds open during the day. I like sunshine. And I like to look out, though there isn’t much to see: the railing, the corridor that fronts the apartments, a portion of the tree in the courtyard. Anyone going to Iris’s apartment.”
    I understood her point at once. “Iris had to pass your apartment, arriving or departing. Unless she chose to walk the long way around.” And there would be no point to that.
    A slight smile. The pupil was to be commended. “Correct. There are two stairways to the second floor, but the shortest route to Iris’s apartment is past my window. I saw her every day. But I haven’t seen her since Thursday afternoon.”
    â€œWas she arriving or leaving?”
    â€œShe arrived at shortly after four. I was a little surprised. That isn’t a usual time for her. And she was walking very fast. Then, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes later, she left. I heard her steps. And again, I suppose I looked more closely than I might because even her steps sounded hurried. I glimpsed her face.”
    She paused and stared thoughtfully out the window.
    I didn’t try to hurry her. I knew that when she spoke, she would speak with precision.
    â€œShe appeared excited. Not so much worried or fearful as intensely absorbed. She walked quickly.” Mrs. Wentz placed her fingertips together. “She had a backpack hanging from one arm.” She gave a short, firm nod. “I’ve