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Authors: Virginia Rich
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wonder?”
The other two assured her they were, out of politeness and also perhaps from awareness of the occasional blank drawn in place of a familiar word or name.
“So we all lock our doors, and Helen even has a security system that rings at the police building,” Gussie said. “She wouldn’t have a gun in the house, of course, after what happened to Les, but I think the rest of us all have one stuck away somewhere that we refuse to admit and would be afraid to shoot.”
“Ozzie doesn’t lock
his
doors,” Beth remarked. “I told you I was there late yesterday afternoon? When he didn’t come to the door, I just shouted upstairs to him from the kitchen and left the comfrey.”
The telephone rang. “Answer it, will you, Genia?” Gussie asked. “I want to get this round of muffins out of the oven for you and Beth.”
Helen Latham’s voice was calm and controlled. “Oh, yes,
Genia
. Yes, I can speak with you just as well. You both must know by now about poor little Edie Rosborough, and I wanted you to know they were wonderful at the hospital. Arnold was called in at once, and he tells me the girl apparently had a violent allergic reaction to some sort of vegetable matter, possibly one of the herbs at the salad bar.”
Mrs. Potter expressed dismay, but Helen cut her short. “What I really called about is that I’m here at the hospital again now for an early conference with the administrator, and there’s even more shocking news. At least shocking to all of
us
. Ozzie deBevereaux died last night. At home. Apparently a sudden heart attack. Arnold stopped by his house about nine to tell him about their not being able to do anything for Edie. Of course, he thought Ozzie knew about her dying, and I expect he did, although I tried to phone him earlier and the line was always busy—phone probably off thehook. Anyway, Arnold found the lights on, went upstairs, and there he was, in his big chair in front of the fireplace. I suppose it wasn’t entirely unexpected, in Ozzie’s state of health, although the heart trouble hadn’t shown up before. Terrible, isn’t it?”
Beth declined a third muffin as soon as Mrs. Potter relayed the news to the two at the breakfast table. She rose decisively, retrieved her fur-collared storm coat and her bright wool hat from the coatrack in the back hallway, and pulled on her warm gloves.
“Maybe I was there when he was having the attack, maybe even when he was dying,” she said sadly. “I wonder if he ever found my comfrey. I think I’ll go by his house now and see if there’s anything I can do.”
“But Ozzie doesn’t have any family,” Gussie protested. “You know his wife died years ago, when they still lived on Long Island, and their daughter even before that—when she was in her early teens, I think. There won’t be anything you can do, Bethie, or anybody in the house now. Have another cup of coffee.”
Beth’s firm round chin was resolute. “I’ll just see,” she said. “Maybe there’s
something
I can do.”
7
“I wonder if Beth remembers it’s our day for Meals on Wheels?” Gussie said after she had left. “Too late to catch her—she’ll be halfway to Ozzie’s by now. If she forgets, you can do the rounds with me, Genia—it’s a lot easier with two. Sometimes parking is almost impossible on some of the narrow little one-way streets, so we take turns, one to drive and the other to carry in.”
“Love to,” Mrs. Potter assured her. “Even if Beth shows up, as I’m sure she will—I don’t think she’s half as forgetful as she pretends to be—I’d like to go along for the ride, and maybe see some old friends. Is Jimmy Mattoon on your list? He used to be our old handyman, and I think he still lives alone, down on one of those little streets off Orange.”
“Ozzie is one who
should
have been on our list,” Gussie said soberly. “I expect he ate miserably, although of course not for lack of money. We accept donations now, you know, from
The other two assured her they were, out of politeness and also perhaps from awareness of the occasional blank drawn in place of a familiar word or name.
“So we all lock our doors, and Helen even has a security system that rings at the police building,” Gussie said. “She wouldn’t have a gun in the house, of course, after what happened to Les, but I think the rest of us all have one stuck away somewhere that we refuse to admit and would be afraid to shoot.”
“Ozzie doesn’t lock
his
doors,” Beth remarked. “I told you I was there late yesterday afternoon? When he didn’t come to the door, I just shouted upstairs to him from the kitchen and left the comfrey.”
The telephone rang. “Answer it, will you, Genia?” Gussie asked. “I want to get this round of muffins out of the oven for you and Beth.”
Helen Latham’s voice was calm and controlled. “Oh, yes,
Genia
. Yes, I can speak with you just as well. You both must know by now about poor little Edie Rosborough, and I wanted you to know they were wonderful at the hospital. Arnold was called in at once, and he tells me the girl apparently had a violent allergic reaction to some sort of vegetable matter, possibly one of the herbs at the salad bar.”
Mrs. Potter expressed dismay, but Helen cut her short. “What I really called about is that I’m here at the hospital again now for an early conference with the administrator, and there’s even more shocking news. At least shocking to all of
us
. Ozzie deBevereaux died last night. At home. Apparently a sudden heart attack. Arnold stopped by his house about nine to tell him about their not being able to do anything for Edie. Of course, he thought Ozzie knew about her dying, and I expect he did, although I tried to phone him earlier and the line was always busy—phone probably off thehook. Anyway, Arnold found the lights on, went upstairs, and there he was, in his big chair in front of the fireplace. I suppose it wasn’t entirely unexpected, in Ozzie’s state of health, although the heart trouble hadn’t shown up before. Terrible, isn’t it?”
Beth declined a third muffin as soon as Mrs. Potter relayed the news to the two at the breakfast table. She rose decisively, retrieved her fur-collared storm coat and her bright wool hat from the coatrack in the back hallway, and pulled on her warm gloves.
“Maybe I was there when he was having the attack, maybe even when he was dying,” she said sadly. “I wonder if he ever found my comfrey. I think I’ll go by his house now and see if there’s anything I can do.”
“But Ozzie doesn’t have any family,” Gussie protested. “You know his wife died years ago, when they still lived on Long Island, and their daughter even before that—when she was in her early teens, I think. There won’t be anything you can do, Bethie, or anybody in the house now. Have another cup of coffee.”
Beth’s firm round chin was resolute. “I’ll just see,” she said. “Maybe there’s
something
I can do.”
7
“I wonder if Beth remembers it’s our day for Meals on Wheels?” Gussie said after she had left. “Too late to catch her—she’ll be halfway to Ozzie’s by now. If she forgets, you can do the rounds with me, Genia—it’s a lot easier with two. Sometimes parking is almost impossible on some of the narrow little one-way streets, so we take turns, one to drive and the other to carry in.”
“Love to,” Mrs. Potter assured her. “Even if Beth shows up, as I’m sure she will—I don’t think she’s half as forgetful as she pretends to be—I’d like to go along for the ride, and maybe see some old friends. Is Jimmy Mattoon on your list? He used to be our old handyman, and I think he still lives alone, down on one of those little streets off Orange.”
“Ozzie is one who
should
have been on our list,” Gussie said soberly. “I expect he ate miserably, although of course not for lack of money. We accept donations now, you know, from
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