Read Online Death Likes It Hot by Gore Vidal - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gore Vidal
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of talk. I could hear Mrs. Veering’s voice, indignant and emphatic, while the detective’s voice was stern … what they said, though, we could not hear. We found out soon enough.
Mrs. Veering, her face flaming with anger, appeared in the door of the alcove accompanied by the policeman who looked a bit sheepish.
“Mr. Graves has something to say to us … something so ridiculous that …”
“Greaves, ma’am.” He interrupted her pleasantly. “Please sit down,” he said, indicating a chair. She did as he directed, controlling herself with some effort.
The detective looked at us thoughtfully. He was a sandy-hairedlittle man with red-rimmed eyes and a pale putty face: he looked as though he never slept. But he seemed to have the situation, such as it was, well in hand.
“I hate to come barging in on you like this,” he said softly, apologetically. “I’ve got a list of names and I wish, as I read them off, you’d answer to your name so I’ll know which is which.” He ran through our names and we answered, Miss Lung startling us again with her shrill mouse-in-terrible-agony squeak.
“Thanks a lot,” he said when he’d finished roll call. He was careful not to stare at any one of us too hard or too long. He kept his eyes for the most part on the doorway to the hall.
“Now I won’t keep you in the dark any longer. There is a chance that Mrs. Brexton was murdered this morning.”
Not a sound greeted this news. We stared back at him, too stunned to comment.
He was disappointed not to have made a different effect. I could see he’d expected some kind of a rise, a significant outburst; instead he got deep silence. This gang was smarter than he’d thought, than I’d thought. I glanced rapidly at the faces but could see nothing more than intense interest in any of them.
When this had been allowed to sink in, he went on softly, “We’re not sure of course. It’s a queer kind of case. This afternoon an autopsy was performed and it was discovered that the deceased died by drowning; there was no question of a heart attack or of any other physical failure. Her internal organs were sound and undiseased. She was apparently in good physical condition.…”
“Then how could she’ve drowned like that since she was a first-rate swimmer?” Claypoole’s voice was tense with strain; it came surprisingly clear across the room.
Greaves looked at him with mild interest. “That’s why we’re here, Mr.… Claypoole. There was apparently
no
reason for her to drown so quickly so near shore with three people attempting rescue.…”
“Unless she wanted to.” Miss Lung’s voice was complacent; she was beginning to recover her usual composure and confidence.
“That is a possibility … I
hope
a probability. It is the alternative we’d like to accept. Otherwise, I’m afraid we’re stuck with a murder by party or parties unknown.”
There it was. Mrs. Veering rallied first. “Mr. Greaves, this is all supposition on your part, and very dangerous too. Regardless of what you might think, there is no evidence that my niece wanted to drown herself nor is there the faintest possibility anybody murdered her. She was in a peculiar mental state as the result of a nervous breakdown.… I told you all that a few minutes ago … in her condition she was quite apt to lose her head, to drown in that terrible undertow.” I was surprised at Mrs. Veering’s sharpness. She was completely sobered now and all her usual vagueness and nonsense had been replaced by a steely clarity, and anger.
“An intelligent analysis.” Greaves nodded approvingly, as though a favorite pupil had come through. “That was our opinion too when the death was reported this morning. Almost every day there’s something like this in these parts, a sudden drowning. Unfortunately, the autopsy revealed something odd. It seems that before going in swimming, immediately
after
breakfast, Mrs. Brexton took four sleeping pills … or was
Mrs. Veering, her face flaming with anger, appeared in the door of the alcove accompanied by the policeman who looked a bit sheepish.
“Mr. Graves has something to say to us … something so ridiculous that …”
“Greaves, ma’am.” He interrupted her pleasantly. “Please sit down,” he said, indicating a chair. She did as he directed, controlling herself with some effort.
The detective looked at us thoughtfully. He was a sandy-hairedlittle man with red-rimmed eyes and a pale putty face: he looked as though he never slept. But he seemed to have the situation, such as it was, well in hand.
“I hate to come barging in on you like this,” he said softly, apologetically. “I’ve got a list of names and I wish, as I read them off, you’d answer to your name so I’ll know which is which.” He ran through our names and we answered, Miss Lung startling us again with her shrill mouse-in-terrible-agony squeak.
“Thanks a lot,” he said when he’d finished roll call. He was careful not to stare at any one of us too hard or too long. He kept his eyes for the most part on the doorway to the hall.
“Now I won’t keep you in the dark any longer. There is a chance that Mrs. Brexton was murdered this morning.”
Not a sound greeted this news. We stared back at him, too stunned to comment.
He was disappointed not to have made a different effect. I could see he’d expected some kind of a rise, a significant outburst; instead he got deep silence. This gang was smarter than he’d thought, than I’d thought. I glanced rapidly at the faces but could see nothing more than intense interest in any of them.
When this had been allowed to sink in, he went on softly, “We’re not sure of course. It’s a queer kind of case. This afternoon an autopsy was performed and it was discovered that the deceased died by drowning; there was no question of a heart attack or of any other physical failure. Her internal organs were sound and undiseased. She was apparently in good physical condition.…”
“Then how could she’ve drowned like that since she was a first-rate swimmer?” Claypoole’s voice was tense with strain; it came surprisingly clear across the room.
Greaves looked at him with mild interest. “That’s why we’re here, Mr.… Claypoole. There was apparently
no
reason for her to drown so quickly so near shore with three people attempting rescue.…”
“Unless she wanted to.” Miss Lung’s voice was complacent; she was beginning to recover her usual composure and confidence.
“That is a possibility … I
hope
a probability. It is the alternative we’d like to accept. Otherwise, I’m afraid we’re stuck with a murder by party or parties unknown.”
There it was. Mrs. Veering rallied first. “Mr. Greaves, this is all supposition on your part, and very dangerous too. Regardless of what you might think, there is no evidence that my niece wanted to drown herself nor is there the faintest possibility anybody murdered her. She was in a peculiar mental state as the result of a nervous breakdown.… I told you all that a few minutes ago … in her condition she was quite apt to lose her head, to drown in that terrible undertow.” I was surprised at Mrs. Veering’s sharpness. She was completely sobered now and all her usual vagueness and nonsense had been replaced by a steely clarity, and anger.
“An intelligent analysis.” Greaves nodded approvingly, as though a favorite pupil had come through. “That was our opinion too when the death was reported this morning. Almost every day there’s something like this in these parts, a sudden drowning. Unfortunately, the autopsy revealed something odd. It seems that before going in swimming, immediately
after
breakfast, Mrs. Brexton took four sleeping pills … or was
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