An Impartial Witness by Charles Todd Read Free Book Online Page A

least we haven’t been told.”
    “It seems so—odd. You would think Marjorie’s death would receive top priority.”
    “Indeed.”
    I glimpsed Serena’s eyes as she looked up briefly at her friend. There was angry denial there. It was a pity the police had had to tell her about the unborn child. It had only added to her distress. Any indiscretion on Marjorie’s part should have died quietly with her. But this was murder, and there were no secrets in cases of murder.
    And then Serena was saying, as if unable to stop herself, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything. You knew Marjorie, Cynthia. So did you, Patricia. Those last months in London—what did she do? Where did she go? I wasn’t in London often, I seldom saw her. When the police asked me if she had met any new friends, I had no idea. Or if she was worried about something. I was so out of touch, I couldn’t give them an answer.”
    Patricia, a quiet woman with dark hair, said, “These past few months—well, since late winter for that matter—I saw her hardly atall. A few memorial services, and once at a morning church service. I asked Helen Calder if Marjorie was all right. Helen replied that she was probably worried sick about Meriwether. Let’s face it, pilots don’t have very long lives, do they?”
    Juliana said, “Well, I can vouch for the fact that she didn’t spend much time with her usual friends. I invited her to several parties, and she declined.”
    “Which could mean,” Cynthia commented dryly, “she must have made new friends.”
    “Still, you must have seen her somewhere. Dining out, volunteering somewhere, the theater.” Serena looked around the room, inviting comment.
    Cynthia, sitting by the window, peered over her glasses. “Well. Since you ask. There must have been a man.”
    Serena bristled. “That’s disgusting!”
    “Is it?” She ran her fingers through her fair hair. “Look, we’re not the innocent lambs we were in 1914, are we? If Marjorie stopped seeing her friends and family, there’s probably a good reason. She had new friends—or she had something to hide. And what would she have to hide, if it wasn’t a man?” Cynthia added bitterly, “She’s not the first, Serena, and nor will she be the last. You’re fortunate, you know where Jack is, even if he’s not at home. He isn’t off in France or God knows where, being shot at, and his letters coming in bunches or not at all, and you’re left wondering if he’s dead or wounded or missing. You can’t stand in judgment of Marjorie, you haven’t lived with her fears.”
    Serena said, “She never said anything to me about any fears.”
    “No, I’m sorry. But you’re Meriwether’s sister, you had your own worries there. I expect she didn’t want to add to them.”
    Mary said, trying to pour oil on troubled waters, “There’s been nothing more in the newspapers. Have the police made any progress at all?”
    Serena gave her a cold, hard look. “The inquest was adjourned atthe request of the police, citing the ongoing inquiry into her murder by person or persons unknown.”
    Mary answered mildly, “I was in France, Serena. I didn’t know.”
    Nor did I.
    Cynthia held her ground. “There’s no use asking us about Marjorie. Talk to her sister. It’s possible she knew more about what was going on. Marjorie may have confided in her.”
    “I doubt it,” Patricia interjected. “My impression was that they didn’t get on.”
    Serena turned to Cynthia. “You seem to feel there was something to hide. No one else does. It must mean that you know something you aren’t willing to tell me.”
    “If you’re asking if I know who murdered her, I don’t. She avoided all of us these past few months. Even you, if you think about it. One doesn’t advertise adultery, Serena, but the signs are there. If you haven’t noticed them, I’m sure the police have. If the man she was seeing killed her, then she threatened him