Read Online The Resurrection Man by Charlotte MacLeod - Free Book Online Page B

cold by what they found in the hall. Sarah had no desire to go out and watch what they were doing, it was bad enough listening to their voices and the sounds of their feet. They’d have to take out the spear, most likely, in order to fit George into the ambulance. Was that what all the scuffling was about?
    Perhaps Anora had slipped partially back into her earlier fugue state; she drank a second cup of tea under Phyllis’s pleading that she had to keep up her strength and even managed a bite or two of toast. That small victory attained, Anora allowed herself the grace of a short nap with two of the sofa cushions temporarily laid aside. Once she was settled, Sarah decided this was a good time to slide out to the kitchen and see for herself whether Cook was in any real trouble.
    She found her old friend relatively free of palpitations and in a quandary about the luncheon menu. It was a relief to stand there debating whether the consommé ought to be served heated or jellied. The weather forecast was on the jellied side but it could not be gainsaid that, no matter what the temperature, hot foods were more comforting in time of trouble. Unless the trouble happened to be tonsillitis or fever, in which cases Cook pinned her faith to lemon sherbet. Mrs. Protheroe didn’t have fever on top of everything else, did she?
    Sarah was able to assure Cook that she didn’t. Anyway, it was too late now to freeze lemon sherbet for lunch; what about a nice baked custard? Foods that slipped down easily stood the best chance of getting past the lump in a new-made widow’s throat, Sarah knew that from past experience. She’d better go back to the morning room and see whether Anora was awake yet.
    “Wouldn’t you like to sit down and have a cup of tea first?” It was plain to see that Phyllis, having served her mistress, was now ready for one herself. “Oh, there’s the doorbell. I have to go.”
    “I’ll get it,” said Sarah. “Sit down, Phyllis, you’ve earned a rest. That’s either more police or Dr. Harnett.”
    It was the doctor. George was having his picture taken now, preparatory to being taken away. The spear was still in his chest, they must be leaving it for the pathologist to cope with. Dr. Harnett was too much a professional not to stop and take a look.
    “God! Right through the heart. That thing must be sharp as—it’s a wonder Anora didn’t drop dead too instead of just going into shock. Where is she—ah—Sarah Kelling, isn’t it?”
    “Sarah Bittersohn, actually. I’ve remarried.”
    Five years ago, but the doctor wouldn’t remember. Dr. Harnett’s wife came to Anora’s parties but he hardly ever did, he always had patients to see. They lived nearby and raised tropical fish, as a child Sarah had been taken to see their aquarium. There’d been one huge gourami who’d had a tank all to himself, Mrs. Harnett had said his name was George. She hadn’t explained whom they’d called him after, but Sarah had noticed a resemblance. Her eyes stung with sudden tears. She hustled Dr. Harnett into the morning room.
    “Anora, Dr. Harnett’s here.”
    Anora already had a man with her, standing next to the chaise, looking as if he could use a good night’s sleep, wearing a summer-weight tan suit that could have done with a pressing. A plainclothes policeman, Sarah assumed. He scowled as she and the doctor approached.
    “Sorry, miss. I’ll have to ask you—”
    “Oh, shush.” Sarah wasn’t a bit afraid of policemen; she’d had too many dealings with them, one way and another. “This is Dr. Harnett, he’ll tell you when she’s ready to talk. I’m Max Bittersohn’s wife, Sarah.”
    “Oh. Okay, Mrs. Bittersohn. Levitan, Homicide.”
    Anora ignored the policeman but managed to raise the ghost of a smile for the doctor. “Hello, Jim. Sarah, you’re getting to be more like your Granny Kay every day of your life.”
    “Save it, Anora, I want to take your temperature.” Dr. Harnett stuck a thermometer under