Read Online To Perish in Penzance by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online Page B

found the body, who it was, under what circumstances we found it. Later they’ll ask us a good many questions about when we last saw Lexa, her frame of mind at the time, how well we knew her, and so on.”
    â€œHow well we knew her! That sounds like something you’d ask a suspect.”
    â€œNo, it’s just routine. They have to establish the facts about her before they can even begin to establish whether they’re dealing with a crime or an accident.”
    â€œBut it’s perfectly obvious—”
    â€œNothing is obvious, Dorothy, except that Alexis Adams is dead. She hadn’t been happy; even we could see that. We’ve seen her worried, upset, depressed. This could be anything.”
    â€œAre you saying she committed suicide?”
    Alan didn’t reply for a moment. I looked at him and saw an expression on his face I’d never seen before. When he did speak, his voice was tightly controlled. “I have no idea whether she committed suicide, suffered an accident, or was murdered.”
    It was the sort of voice I’d used, back when I was a teacher, to a fourth-grader who had pushed me almost beyond the limit of endurance.
    I, too, was silent for a time. Long enough to call myself seventeen varieties of idiot. Would I never learn when to keep my mouth shut?
    When I did speak, I tried very hard to sound calm and sensible. “Alan, I’m sorry. That was stupid and insensitive. I’ll leave it alone, I promise.”
    He sighed, but said nothing the rest of the way to the hotel. I was back in the room with a brooding husband, and had changed into clean clothes, before I ventured a question. “Do you think I should go see Mrs. Crosby? I hate the thought of her being alone, but I don’t want to intrude.”
    â€œI can’t see that it would hurt to try.” His voice was neutral; I could gather nothing from it. “If she doesn’t want company, I imagine she’ll tell you so.”
    â€œYes. Well. I guess I’ll call her room and check.”
    An unfamiliar voice answered the phone. I identified myself, said I was an acquaintance and was aware of the tragedy and asked how Mrs. Crosby was feeling.
    â€œNot very well, Mrs. Martin. I’m WPC Danner, and I’m staying with her for a little while, but she did mention your name, and I believe she’d like to see you.”
    â€œShe hasn’t been given a sedative?”
    â€œShe refused one.”
    â€œI’ll be right there, then. What’s the room number?”
    Mrs. Crosby’s room was immediately above ours and was almost identically furnished. It should have been as pleasant as ours, sea view and all. But the draperies had been drawn, shutting out air and sunshine, and the gloom of sorrow made the dim atmosphere even darker and drearier.
    If Mrs. Crosby had seemed ill when we first met her, she looked like death itself now. She was sitting up in the big four-poster bed, very small and somehow naked without her wig. Her scalp was thinly covered with gray down. It would have to grow a lot to be a crew cut. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks pale as wax. In a pair of faded pajamas, she looked more like an old man than a woman. Her hands, fretting at the bedclothes, seemed almost transparent.
    She cried out the moment she saw me.
    â€œMrs. Martin! Do you know what’s happened? No one will tell me what’s happened, only that Lexa’s dead!”
    â€œNow, Mrs. Crosby, you don’t want to upset yourself—” The young policewoman tried to soothe, but Mrs. Crosby’s voice rose in fury.
    â€œGo away! Get out! I don’t want you! I want someone who will tell me something!”
    WPC Danner was really very young. She looked uncertain.
    â€œI think she really does need to talk,” I said quietly. “Would you be disobeying orders if you were to wait in the hall?”
    She bit her lip. “I’m meant to stay here and try to