Read Online Murder on the Blackboard by Stuart Palmer - Free Book Online Page A

of stock in those things up where I come from, in Boston,” Miss Withers reminded him. “Janey, what did you do this afternoon?”
    The girl blinked. “Me? Why—just nothing. I sat around home, that’s all. I was going to a gym class, but Anise promised she’d hurry home and go with me, and so I waited for her until it was too late. She hasn’t been looking at all well lately, and I argued her into doing something about it. And now—”
    “And now she’s in the Morgue,” Miss Withers observed. “It’s too late to do anything about that—but we can find out who did it. Can either of you offer any suggestions?”
    “I didn’t know her so very well,” Stevenson admitted. “This is her first year at Jefferson School, and mine, too. I’ve seen her around the building, and thought how nice looking she was—and then of course since I’ve been coming here to see Janey, we’ve got to be quite friends.”
    Miss Withers looked at Janey Davis. “And you?”
    “We’ve just roomed together this month,” Janey admitted. “I had this place alone, and I thought it would be nice to cut the rent in two. Anise didn’t like the place she was living in, because they frowned on boy friends, and so she moved in with me. I don’t know much about her except that she came from somewhere in the middle west. Chicago, I think. She told me her parents were both dead.”
    Miss Withers was busy making shorthand notes. “And the ‘boy friend,’ as you call it—the one they objected to in Anise’s last place. I suppose he’s been here often?”
    Janey hesitated. “Often? No, not at all—unless someone came when I was out. I never thought of it before, but maybe it is funny. Anise had lots of dates out, but I didn’t know her well enough to ask her where she was going, and she never seemed to want to tell me. She’s been strange lately … worried, and thin looking.”
    “Worried about what?”
    “Her health, I guess. She complained that she wasn’t ever hungry.”
    Miss Withers nodded. “I’d like to look through her room before the muddling detectives get here,” she suggested. “Will you help me, Janey?”
    “Of course!” Janey stood up. “But she didn’t have any room. There’s only this room, and the kitchen-dinette over there. That’s her closet, and the little chest of drawers holds her things.”
    “I’d better be running along,” said Bob Stevenson. “Unless there’s something that I can do?”
    Miss Withers appreciated his delicacy. There was something a little indecent and irreverent about unfolding the personal belongings of the dead girl in front of a man’s alien eyes.
    Stevenson paused at the door. “I wonder—you don’t happen to know if school keeps tomorrow or not, do you?”
    Miss Withers had her own ideas, but she did not expose them. “I’m going down there at the usual time in the morning,” she said. “I think it would be best if we all did.”
    “Right!” He crossed the room and took Janey’s hand. “This is tough for you,” he said. “Good night.”
    Miss Withers watched Janey’s blue eyes follow the young instructor as he went out. Unless she was very much mistaken, Janey Davis saw Sir Galahad, Rudolph Valentino, and H.R.H. Prince Charming incarnate in that well-muscled figure.
    The two women stood for a moment facing each other, and then they set to work. A search of the closet and the chest of drawers brought nothing to light that should not have been there. Just a few clothes and dozens and dozens of shoes, the latter well-worn on the inside of the heel.
    Strangely enough, there were no keepsakes, no letters, no personal photographs. “Anise told me she threw them all away when she moved,” Janey confided. “She wanted to start over again, I guess.”
    Miss Withers nodded. With sure, deft fingers she refolded the silken garments that had covered and warmed Anise Halloran’s round young body only a few hours before. She stood the pairs of high-heeled shoes