Do Evil In Return by Margaret Millar Read Free Book Online

purse.”
    “Take a look anyway,” Easter said. He put the manila envelope on Miss Schiller’s desk and opened it. The purse slid out. It was brown but it wasn’t lizard, and instead of a gold clasp it had a plastic zipper and a shoulder strap. It gave off an odor that Charlotte couldn’t immediately identify, a kind of sea-smell.
    “It’s not mine,” she said.
    “But you recognize it?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Your friend did.”
    “Friend?”
    “The old character who calls himself Tiddles. He says this purse belongs to Violet O’Gorman.”
    “Perhaps it does.” She tried to look casual under his curious stare.
    “According to this man, Tidolliani, Mrs. O’Gorman was a friend of yours, in fact you were trying to locate her last night and you couldn’t.”
    “She wasn’t a friend. She came to me yesterday afternoon as a patient.”
    “What was the matter with her?”
    “She was pregnant.”
    “Married?”
    “She’d left her husband.”
    “Did she want you to look after her during her term and delivery?”
    Charlotte looked at him dryly. “Not exactly.”
    “I see.”
    “I refused to help her, in that sense. But I intended to do as much for her as I could.”
    “Intended?”
    “I had a phone call and while I was answering it Violet left by the rear door. That’s why I went to see her last night. She seemed pretty desperate in the afternoon. She wasn’t mature enough to realize that her situation wasn’t particularly unusual or hopeless. People would have helped her, and there are several agencies that…”
    “Look,” he said with a satiric smile. “You’re trying to persuade yourself, not me. I didn’t write the laws dealing with unwanted kids.”
    From inside the office came the sound of Miss Schiller’s voice, strangely different, talking to the baby: “She’s so sweet. Se’s sutz a wee dumpling!”
    Charlotte said, “What happened to Violet?”
    “She’s dead.”
    “How?”
    “She came in with the tide this morning. Or most of her did, anyway. Part of her right arm is gone.”
    “Are you deliberately trying to horrify me?”
    “I’m just telling you. You should be used to that sort of thing.”
    “You never get used to it,” she said simply. “Each time it’s new.”
    He looked away, his face grim. “As for her purse, a couple of kids found it caught on one of the pilings down at the wharf. There was nothing in it but the card with your name on it. Which is odd, considering the number of things women usually carry around. Maybe the kids who found it helped themselves, but I doubt it. They would have dropped the purse back into the water if they’d taken anything out of it, instead of bringing it to us.” He slid the purse back into the envelope. Well, I’ll let you get on with your work.”
    “There’s no rush. Please—I’d like to hear more about Violet.”
    He let out a queer, muted chuckle. “Doctor, there isn’t any more. She was in a spot, she killed herself, she’s in the morgue. End of Violet.”
    Charlotte glanced up at him with dislike. “A neat summing up. Does dealing with death make you so callous?”
    “I hate it. I’m afraid of it, too.” He picked up the manila envelope and put it under his arm. “Have you noticed, by the way, that we look alike?”
    “No.”
    “We do. I hope it doesn’t turn out that we’re long-lost siblings. That,” he added with a long deliberate stare, “would be a damn shame.”
    Charlotte turned abruptly and went into her office. Violet was dead, in the morgue. “People would have helped her and there are several agencies that…” “ Look, you’re trying to persuade yourself , not me.”
    The Hastings baby was lying on the table kicking her legs and waving her arms. Charlotte picked her up and held her against her shoulder—the Hastings baby—or Violet’s baby—or Violet, herself.

7
    The Ballards lived in a canyon below the fogline. By five-thirty, when Charlotte arrived, the fog had already