Read Online Murder in a Hurry by Frances and Richard Lockridge - Free Book Online

her, but now he spoke softly, for her ears only—And Liza stood, her eyes wide, looking up the room at them, feeling all security crumble around her.
    Then the woman, this Mary, stepped back out of Brian’s arms and looked up at him, and spoke in an odd, carrying voice.
    â€œBut why?” she said. “You’re so—excited, my dear. It wouldn’t have brought him back to life. Why was it so—?” He was looking down at her and there was, apparently, something in his eyes which answered her question. Because now she stepped still farther back and said, “Brian! You can’t! Why you—”
    Then Weigand, who had been watching the two, stepped forward and interrupted.
    â€œNow,” he said, and allowed his voice to carry, as the woman’s had done, “now I think we’re all here, at last. Your son’s been anxious to find you, Mrs. Halder. So have we.”
    â€œBut—” she said. “Who are you?”
    Weigand told her; his identity seemed to astonish her.
    â€œYes, Mrs. Halder,” Weigand said. “We’re investigating your husband’s death. Because he was murdered, Mrs. Halder.”
    But then, Liza thought, and something which had been like an iron band around her chest relaxed, was suddenly gone—but then, she’s Brian’s mother! Not somebody else!
    It was easier to realize this as, with Weigand and the Norths, with Brian Halder’s arm around his mother’s shoulders (but it didn’t matter, now; it was all right, now) they came down toward the others by the tall windows. Mrs. Mary Halder was young to be Brian’s mother; she was slender and quick as a girl. But she wasn’t a girl; she must, Liza thought, be about forty. As old as that!
    Then Brian was introducing them. “Liza, this is my mother. Mary, Liza.” Mary Halder was looking at her, looking at her slowly, carefully—at her body, her dress, most of all at her face. The gaze was not hostile; it was not even, or did not quite seem to be, appraising. And yet, Liza thought, it must be that only it’s so—so impersonal. But then Mary Halder smiled and held out her hand.
    â€œShe’s sweet, Brian,” she said. “And so pretty, isn’t she?”
    Yet even the praise was somehow impersonal.
    â€œShe—” Brian began, and Liza found she was waiting, waiting anxiously, to hear what Brian would say. But he was not allowed to finish.
    â€œMary,” Jennifer Halder said. “My dear. It’s all so dreadful! They say he was—was killed!” Then she said, and this was to the scrubbed blond man, “Isn’t it awful, Piney?”
    â€œTragic,” the man called Piney said, as if he had been rehearsing the word in his mind. He shook his head, seemingly to give emphasis to the word. Then he repeated it, in a slightly deeper tone. “Tragic.” Then he turned to Liza and said, again as if he had formed the words earlier in his mind, “Nobody will remember to introduce us, Miss O’Brien. I’m Sherman Pine.” He held out a well-shaped, well-cared for, hand. Liza looked quickly to Brian as she took Pine’s hand, but Brian was not looking at her, not looking at Pine. He was looking around at the others—at his brother, his brother’s Jennifer; at the Whitesides, lieutenant colonel and lady.
    â€œNow that you’re all here,” Lieutenant Weigand said, “I wish you’d sit down. I want to talk to you for a moment—to all of you. About what has happened.”
    He waited, expectantly; the others found chairs, the Norths outside the circle; Mr. North, she thought, hesitantly, after some passage of the eyes between him and Weigand, between both of them and Mrs. North. Liza herself stood for some seconds uncertainly, feeling more than ever strange among these people—these people of Brian’s—and yet, because they were Brian’s, and he was one of