A Pint of Murder by Charlotte MacLeod Read Free Book Online Page B

him with me tonight. I thought I’d feed him and get him straight to bed before I go over to Ben’s. It’ll be early for Bobby, but he’s worn out. It’s tough enough on him losing his grandfather all of a sudden without having to put up with Mama slobbering over him, too.”
    The Wadmans walked Gilly out to the worn-out Ford Dr. Druffitt had passed on to her ages ago, and watched her off down the road.
    “Damned shame it couldn’t have been Elizabeth instead of Henry,” Bert grunted. Back in the kitchen, he headed for the rum again. “After that little episode, I don’t know but what I could use another snort. What about you, Jen?”
    “That’s not such a bad idea. Oh blast! I forgot to turn off the oven. That meatloaf must be like shoe leather.”
    Janet was sipping at her drink and dishing up the meal when they had yet a third visitor. This time it really was Marion.
    “I was wondering if you could spare a pinch of tea. Oh haven’t you eaten yet? I thought you’d be finished long ago.”
    Janet shrugged and began filling the plate she’d meant for Gilly. Bert fixed another tumbler of rum and water without bothering to ask Marion if she wanted it.
    “Wasn’t that Gilly I saw driving away just now?” The question was purely rhetorical. Marion knew the Wadmans knew she’d been peeking around the curtains over at the Mansion, waiting for Gilly to leave because she didn’t quite have the brass to come barging in while her cousin’s daughter was still present.
    “She came to ask if we’d take Bobby till after the funeral,” said Janet. “He’ll be here in the morning,” she added firmly.
    “Now that her old man’s gone, I suppose Gilly figured she had to find somebody else she could sponge on fast,” said their uninvited guest, holding out her quickly-emptied glass for a refill. “Henry can’t have had much to leave her, between the way his practice has been going downhill and his delusions that he knew how to play poker, and you can bet she won’t get a cent out of Elizabeth unless she toes the mark. It’s high time that little doll-baby learned the facts of life. She’s been spoiled rotten since the day she was born.”
    “I wouldn’t say she looked spoiled this evening,” said Bert, ignoring the stretched-out tumbler.
    “Oh Gilly puts on that ‘poor little me’ act and everybody falls for it. If she’d had to scratch for a living like I have, she’d know enough to grab what she can get and be damned glad of it. I don’t know what she’s got to bellyache about. Elizabeth would give her the moon with a pink ribbon tied around it if she’d only ask for it decent.”
    “If she’d only turn herself into a human doormat, you mean,” snapped Janet. “Quit swilling that rotgut and eat your supper, Bert. You’d better get a move on pretty soon, hadn’t you?”
    Her brother gobbled with an eye on the clock. Marion slowly and deliberately stuffed her long, lean frame as full as possible.
    “Jason Bain was up again this afternoon,” she remarked between mouthfuls. “He keeps yowling that he’ll take me to court unless I give him that patent by Thursday. Can he do that, Bert?”
    “How do I know? I’m no lawyer. Save the pie till I get home, eh, Jen.”
    “Aren’t you even going to drink your tea?”
    Bert’s notable good nature must have cracked at last. He was slamming the kitchen door behind him before Janet got the words out of her mouth. She set the pie back in the fridge, not offering to cut a slice for Marion. At this point, Janet was disliking that woman very much.
    Thick-skinned as she was, Miss Emery couldn’t help noticing the frost in the air. “That was great, Janet. Thanks a lot. Now I’d better get back and hunt some more before Bain calls out the militia. I don’t suppose you’d—”
    “No, you needn’t suppose anything.” The tag end of Janet’s endurance was worn clean through. “I’ve had a rough day and I’m not lifting a hand again