Killing Cassidy by Jeanne M. Dams Read Free Book Online Page A

here?”
    I was struck dumb, but Alan nodded pleasantly, if a little warily. “Professor Cassidy was a great friend of my wife’s. We came to see his house, by way of pilgrimage.”
    â€œHuh? Hey, where you from, anyways?”
    â€œI’m from England. My wife was born and raised in Hillsburg.”
    The massive head turned my way. “Then how come you talk funny, too? I heard you when I come up.”
    I was getting tired of remarks about my accent. “I’ve lived away from here for several years. My name is Dorothy Martin, by the way. My husband—my late husband—was a professor, too. We used to come and visit Kevin now and then, but I don’t believe we’ve ever met.” I held out my hand. It was ignored.
    â€œY’know, I don’t much like strangers comin’ pokin’ around. I kept an eye on the place when the professor was alive and I’m still keepin’ an eye on it. Don’t want nobody stealin’ nothin’. He was a good man, the professor.”
    I wondered if it would help if I identified Alan as a retired policeman. I decided not.
    In fact, I wasn’t sure what to do. We certainly couldn’t go into the house with the self-appointed guardian there, nor even peer in the windows. And the giant was extremely intimidating. I looked helplessly at Alan.
    He came through in style. “I’m sure all the professor’s friends are very grateful to you, Mr.—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” He spoke very slowly and articulated very carefully.
    â€œJerry’s the name. Pleased to meetcha.” He shifted the rifle and squeezed Alan’s hand. I saw the fleeting expression of pain cross Alan’s face, but he managed not to wring his hand. I got the picture. He would shake Alan’s hand, but not mine. That put me in
my
place!
    â€œMine’s Alan. We’ve been worried, my wife and I, about Professor Cassidy’s house, and of course his animals, but it’s obvious you have everything under control. Though I don’t suppose there’s any danger, really. Certainly there can’t be very much traffic in this out-of-the-way spot.”
    â€œTraffic? Ain’t no traffic. This here driveway don’t go no place.”
    â€œSorry, I meant foot traffic. People coming to call—to visit.”
    â€œMister, ain’t nobody comin’,” said the giant patiently. “Nobody comes to a man’s house when he’s dead. ’Cept you folks.” The suspicion, which had abated, crept back into his voice.
    â€œOf course. I seem to be very stupid today. What I meant to say was, did people come to see him before he became ill?”
    â€œNot many, not no more. I been livin’ over yonder”—he gestured vaguely with the rifle—“gettin’ on for thirty years now. Used to be people comin’ all the time, kids, other professors.” He looked back at me; his gaze sharpened, focused on my bright orange linen hat. “Sa-ay! I think mebbe I do remember you now. Are you the crazy woman who always used to show up in hats?”
    I accepted the adjective. “That’s me.”
    The giant looked at me critically. “You wasn’t so fat then. And your hair wasn’t gray.”
    I judged that it was not a moment to take offense. “Time is cruel, isn’t it? How is it that I don’t remember you at all?”
    â€œNever let myself be seen. Just kept an eye on the comin’s and goin’s, that’s all. The professor, he was good to me, and I reckon he trusted ever’body. Don’t do to trust ever’body. I looked out for him. Hey, how come you want to know so much?”
    Alan opened his mouth, but I poked him in the elbow. I was ready for this one.
    â€œI moved away, you see, a few years ago when my husband died. I’d lost touch with Kevin. And now I feel guilty. I wanted to talk to the people who saw