A Pint of Murder by Charlotte MacLeod Read Free Book Online

taller, and at least fifty pounds heavier. They made an attractive pair. Annabelle always claimed she’d married Bert for his looks instead of his money, and Bert always said it was a darn good thing she had, though in fact the farm was doing pretty well thanks to his hard work and expert management. It would be a crime to cause him any more grief than he’d had already.
    He reached into the cupboard for the rum bottle. Bert was no great drinker, but this one tot before supper was a ritual. As he went to get a tumbler, he stopped short.
    “Say, what were you doing down to Druffitt’s, anyway? That operation isn’t giving you any trouble, is it?”
    “Oh no.” She had her lie all thought up. “It’s just that I’m supposed to have somebody take a look at the scar and make sure it’s all right. I know darn well it’s healing fine, so I thought he’d do as well as anybody. You’d better go wash up if you intend to. Supper’s almost ready.”
    “Okay. Give me five minutes. Oh hi, Sam. Come on in.”
    The hired man had manifested himself in the kitchen doorway without sign or sound, as was his wont. Automatically Bert poured another tot, and Janet began to set another place. Sam took the rum but shook his head at the food.
    “Don’t bother for me, I ain’t got time. Ben Potts needs me to lend a hand down at the funeral parlor. She wants Hank laid out there.”
    Bert looked surprised. “Not in his own parlor? It’s not like Elizabeth Druffitt to go against custom.”
    Neddick looked around, as if for a place to spit, couldn’t find one, and politely refrained. “Guess the bitch don’t want nobody wearin’ out ’er carpets.”
    Even though Sam Neddick punctiliously did chores for the Druffitt household every week, there was open enmity between him and the mistress. Sam claimed Elizabeth owed him back wages for some extra work he’d done; she vowed she wouldn’t pay because he’d never finished it to suit her. The incident had occurred before Janet left for business college, but the grudge was good as new on both sides.
    “Understand it was you that found ’im, Janet.”
    “Yes, I did.” She turned to the stove and became very busy prodding the potatoes.
    “Let her alone, Sam. She’s none too happy about it, as who would be?” said Bert.
    Neddick set down his empty glass. He knew Bert wouldn’t offer him another, and clearly Janet wasn’t going to gratify his curiosity. “Well, I better be goin’. You want me tomorrow, Bert?”
    “If you can spare the time. We’ve got to fix those rotten fenceposts in the upper pasture before we can put the cows to graze there.”
    Sam Neddick’s shrug might have meant anything or nothing. “By the way, Bert, Fred Olson wants all the Owls down to the meetin’ room tonight. Hank bein’ a Past Grand Supreme Regent, we got to march in solemn procession behind the casket. Fred says we better practice so’s we don’t go makin’ damn jackasses of ourselves in church.”
    “Oh gosh, Bert,” said Janet, “I took your Owl tunic over to the dry cleaner’s last week. Annabelle told me to. She said you’d spilled something down the front at the Dominion Day parade. Beer, most likely. I’ll have to drive over tomorrow and pick it up.”
    Her brother was none too pleased. “Why couldn’t you wash it yourself?”
    “And have those darn fool chicken feathers molting all over the gizzard of Annabelle’s new washing machine?”
    “You could have done it in the sink.”
    “And clogged the drain.”
    Sam knew the Wadmans never had really exciting arguments; they were too good-natured a family. He eased himself out without waiting to hear who won. Bert went to wash and change for the meeting. Janet began banging the pots and pans around, furious at Fred Olson. Here he was with a murderer running loose, and all the fool could think of was putting on a show at the current victim’s funeral.
    Bert, scrubbed and handsome in a clean flannel shirt and fresh chino