Miss Lizzie by Walter Satterthwait Read Free Book Online

lying at the curve of one chiseled cheekbone. Still, it was an extremely good-looking face, a face that one would be most gratified to see smiling stalwartly down as its owner, with a single deft sweep of his pocket blade, sheered the coils that bound one to the cold train tracks, already humming now to the vibration of the fast-approaching and relentless 9:05.
    The owner of the face said to me, “My name is Officer Medley.” Then, as though embarrassed by the formality, he grinned. Sheepishly, engagingly, charmingly. “But you can call me Tom. Most folk do, hereabouts. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
    I looked at Miss Lizzie, who stood off to one side, her hands folded Mandarin style into the loose sleeves of her black dress. Her lips were set in a thin suspicious line. Older and wiser, she was no doubt less susceptible to the allure of looks and charm; and perhaps especially, given her background, when they were being demonstrated by a representative of the Law. But, fractionally, she nodded.
    I looked back at Officer Medley. “Amanda,” I said. My voice still sounded distant, alien; but, warming to the man, I could feel myself begin, slowly, to rise up from the depths into which I had tumbled.
    He nodded, smiling. “And your last name is Burton,” he said, “and you’re from Boston. Isn’t that right?”
    I nodded. “But how did you know?”
    He smiled his stalwart smile. “We’re supposed to know stuff like that, it’s all part of our job. Boston, eh? It’s a lovely city, even for such a great big place. I’ve been there many times myself. Sometimes I’ll sit at one of the benches along the grass and watch the boats go sculling up the Charles. Did you ever do that, Amanda?”
    I nodded. “With Father.”
    â€œThat would be Mr. Burton, the stockbroker.”
    I nodded.
    â€œAnd I suppose he’d be back in Boston now? For the week, that is?”
    I nodded.
    â€œWell,” he said, and tapped me gently on the knee, “we’ll be in touch with him directly, sweetheart, and I know he’ll be here as soon as he can.”
    Miss Lizzie said stiffly, “I have already made arrangements to apprise Mr. Burton of the situation.”
    Officer Medley looked at her and smiled his charming smile. “Very good, ma’am. Thank you. That was considerate of you.”
    Miss Lizzie gave him a curt nod.
    He turned back to me and thoughtfully pursed his lips. “Now, Amanda,” he said, “I know you’re upset right now, and believe me, I feel very bad for you. But I understand there’s been a terrible accident next door, at your house, and it’s also part of my job to ask you some questions about it. Do you think that’d be all right?”
    I said, “No accident.”
    He nodded, his handsome face serious. “Of course not, sweetheart. Your mother?”
    I shook my head. “Stepmother.”
    â€œDo you have any idea, Amanda, who might’ve done this thing?”
    I shook my head.
    He nodded. “I wonder if you saw anyone about the house today, on the lawn or in the street, who was acting strangely-like?”
    Again, I shook my head.
    â€œAnd you were where, yourself, this morning, Amanda?”
    â€œUpstairs. Sleeping. The heat.”
    He nodded. “Didn’t you have breakfast, then?”
    â€œEarlier.”
    â€œAnd your stepmother ate with you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd when might this’ve been?”
    I was about to answer when suddenly more footsteps, heavy and hurried, came pounding on the carpet, and then another policeman, cap still perched atop his head, exploded into the parlor. Shorter than Officer Medley, he was a heavyset man in his late forties with a round shining face and a bulbous nose. His skin would normally (I later learned) be florid with the ruptured veins and shattered capillaries of the valiant drinker, but now only two spots