Read Online The Cradle Will Fall by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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and
grandchildren to care about her. She had her own lonely times,
but it wasn't the same as it was for Edna. She'd lived. She had
something to look back on.
She could swear Dr. Highley had known she was lying when she
said Edna had called in sick. But suppose Edna hadn't been drinking?
Suppose she was sick or something? She'd have to find out.
She'd drive over to her house right now.
Her mind settled, Gertrude left the office briskly and drove the
six miles to Edna's apartment. She parked in the visitors' area and
walked around to the front. As she neared Edna's door, she heard
the faint sound of voices. The television set, of course.
Gertrude rang the bell and waited. There was no familiar voice
calling "Right with you." Gertrude firmly pushed the bell again.
Maybe Edna was sleeping it off.
By the time she'd rung the bell four times, Gertrude was thoroughly
alarmed. Something was wrong. The superintendent, Mr.
Krupshak, lived across the court. Hurrying over, Gertrude told
her story. The super was eating dinner and looked annoyed, but
his wife, Gana, reached for the keys. "I'll go with you," she said.
The two women hurried across the courtyard together. "Edna's
a real friend," Gana Krupshak volunteered. "Sometimes in the
evening I pop in on her. Just last night I stopped over at about
eight. I had a manhattan with her, and she told me that one of her
favorite patients had killed herself. Well, here we are."
They were on the small porch leading to Edna's apartment. The
superintendent's wife inserted the key into the lock, twisted it and
pushed open the door.
The two women saw Edna at the same moment: lying on the
floor, her legs crumpled under her, her graying hair plastered
around her face, her eyes staring, crusted blood making a crimson
crown on the top of her head.
"No. No." Gertrude's voice rose, high and shrill. She pressed
her knuckles to her mouth.
In a dazed voice Gana Krupshak said, "It's just last night I was
sitting here with her. And she was talking about a patient who
killed herself. And then she phoned the woman's husband." Gana
began to sob. "And now poor Edna is dead too!"
CHRIS Lewis stood next to Vangie's parents at the right of the
coffin, numbly acknowledging the sympathetic utterances of
friends. When he'd phoned her parents about her death, they had
agreed that they would view her body privately and have a memorial
service the next morning followed by a private interment.
Instead, when he'd arrived in Minneapolis, he found that they
had arranged for a public viewing that night.
"So many friends will want to say good-by to our little girl," her
mother sobbed.
Our little girl. If only you had let her grow up, Chris thought,
it might all have been so different.
Vangie's parents looked old and tired and shattered with grief.
They were plain, hardworking people who had brought up their
unexpectedly beautiful child to believe her wish was law.
Would it be easier for them when it was revealed that someone
had taken Vangie's life? Or did he owe it to them to say nothing,
to keep that final horror from them? He wanted badly to talk to
Joan. She'd been so upset when she heard about Vangie. "Did she
know about us?" He'd finally had to admit to her that Vangie
suspected he was interested in someone else.
Joan would be back from Florida on Friday, two days away.
He was going to return to New Jersey tomorrow right after the
funeral. He would say nothing to the police until he had warned
Joan that she might be dragged into this. The police would be
looking for a motive for him to kill Vangie. In their eyes, Joan
would be the motive.
Chris glanced over at the coffin, at Vangie's now peaceful face,
the quietly folded hands. He and Vangie had scarcely lived as
man and wife in the past few years. They'd lain side by side like
strangers, he emotionally drained from the
grandchildren to care about her. She had her own lonely times,
but it wasn't the same as it was for Edna. She'd lived. She had
something to look back on.
She could swear Dr. Highley had known she was lying when she
said Edna had called in sick. But suppose Edna hadn't been drinking?
Suppose she was sick or something? She'd have to find out.
She'd drive over to her house right now.
Her mind settled, Gertrude left the office briskly and drove the
six miles to Edna's apartment. She parked in the visitors' area and
walked around to the front. As she neared Edna's door, she heard
the faint sound of voices. The television set, of course.
Gertrude rang the bell and waited. There was no familiar voice
calling "Right with you." Gertrude firmly pushed the bell again.
Maybe Edna was sleeping it off.
By the time she'd rung the bell four times, Gertrude was thoroughly
alarmed. Something was wrong. The superintendent, Mr.
Krupshak, lived across the court. Hurrying over, Gertrude told
her story. The super was eating dinner and looked annoyed, but
his wife, Gana, reached for the keys. "I'll go with you," she said.
The two women hurried across the courtyard together. "Edna's
a real friend," Gana Krupshak volunteered. "Sometimes in the
evening I pop in on her. Just last night I stopped over at about
eight. I had a manhattan with her, and she told me that one of her
favorite patients had killed herself. Well, here we are."
They were on the small porch leading to Edna's apartment. The
superintendent's wife inserted the key into the lock, twisted it and
pushed open the door.
The two women saw Edna at the same moment: lying on the
floor, her legs crumpled under her, her graying hair plastered
around her face, her eyes staring, crusted blood making a crimson
crown on the top of her head.
"No. No." Gertrude's voice rose, high and shrill. She pressed
her knuckles to her mouth.
In a dazed voice Gana Krupshak said, "It's just last night I was
sitting here with her. And she was talking about a patient who
killed herself. And then she phoned the woman's husband." Gana
began to sob. "And now poor Edna is dead too!"
CHRIS Lewis stood next to Vangie's parents at the right of the
coffin, numbly acknowledging the sympathetic utterances of
friends. When he'd phoned her parents about her death, they had
agreed that they would view her body privately and have a memorial
service the next morning followed by a private interment.
Instead, when he'd arrived in Minneapolis, he found that they
had arranged for a public viewing that night.
"So many friends will want to say good-by to our little girl," her
mother sobbed.
Our little girl. If only you had let her grow up, Chris thought,
it might all have been so different.
Vangie's parents looked old and tired and shattered with grief.
They were plain, hardworking people who had brought up their
unexpectedly beautiful child to believe her wish was law.
Would it be easier for them when it was revealed that someone
had taken Vangie's life? Or did he owe it to them to say nothing,
to keep that final horror from them? He wanted badly to talk to
Joan. She'd been so upset when she heard about Vangie. "Did she
know about us?" He'd finally had to admit to her that Vangie
suspected he was interested in someone else.
Joan would be back from Florida on Friday, two days away.
He was going to return to New Jersey tomorrow right after the
funeral. He would say nothing to the police until he had warned
Joan that she might be dragged into this. The police would be
looking for a motive for him to kill Vangie. In their eyes, Joan
would be the motive.
Chris glanced over at the coffin, at Vangie's now peaceful face,
the quietly folded hands. He and Vangie had scarcely lived as
man and wife in the past few years. They'd lain side by side like
strangers, he emotionally drained from the
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