Snow Shadow by Andre Norton Read Free Book Online Page A

denial.
    She followed me up the stairs apparently on some errand of her own. I jerked open the door of my room. Another door down the hall matched mine in a second creak. Irene came out. She was not wearing a dingy robe this time, but a trim black suit—though that, on her, accented just those points of figure better concealed. Her mousy blond hair had been pinned up and lavish makeup (especially blue eye shadow) applied with not the most fortunate results.
    Sighting Miss Elizabeth she paused, her too-red lips pulled into a wry grimace. Aunt and niece-by-marriage, they might have been defending rival barricades. Miss Austin lobbed the first grenade.
    “You are going out, Irene? I thought that Stuart—”
    Irene interrupted, her voice shrill. “Maud promised to sit with him.”
    “Maud was to have the afternoon off. Tomorrow—”
    “I know very well what will happen tomorrow, Aunt. In the meantime I have important business of my own!”
    “I did not know that the hospital had extra visiting hours—”
    Irene Frimsbee scowled defiantly. “I’m not going tothe hospital.” She shaped each word distinctly, as one might to a child or a deaf person. “And I’m paying Maud for her time. She’s satisfied.”
    She brought her right hand from behind her back. In it was a clutch purse of black, a gaudy rhinestone “I” on it. Her banner of revolt so displayed, she faced Miss Elizabeth. I guessed her defiance was shaky.
    “I can’t help it!” She protested in answer to something which had not been spoken. “I can’t pretend I’m sorry she’s gone. You can’t expect me to, knowing what she did!”
    “I expect nothing, Irene.” Miss Elizabeth’s voice was even more remote.
    Irene Frimsbee pushed past to the stairs. I was suddenly conscious I had been a witness to a scene which did not concern me, and hurriedly shut my door.
    The next hour I spent unpacking and inspecting my room. But I was haunted by the feeling I should be doing just the opposite. At last I dropped into a chair by the window. The winter dusk had already begun to close in, and I could see the wink of car lights along the street.
    A small foreign car swung into the drive. It did not disappear under the portico but passed on. I was curious enough to go to watch it through the garden window. A man had gotten out, was talking to someone still within, as if he were loath to go. Then he started down the walk leading to the carriage house. Gordon Cantrell—
    My watch told me it was a little past five, not too early to hunt a restaurant. But I was to witness a second burst of family fireworks before I left. As I wasputting on my boots in the lower hall there was a steady peal of the doorbell. Being closest, I automatically answered.
    A taxi was pulling away, while outside stood a woman muffled in a fur coat, smart but scuffed luggage piled to one side. She stared at me appraisingly.
    “And who might you be?” she demanded abruptly.
    “Erica Jansen.” I was startled into answering before her rudeness awakened my resentment.
    Just as I had been attracted to Miss Elizabeth at our first meeting, so was I repelled by this newcomer. She crossed the threshold and looked about the hall peevishly, making no move to bring in her luggage. Since I certainly did not intend to do so, and the wind was cold, I closed the door.
    “Anne!” Miss Elizabeth appeared from the back of the house, holding out her hands in welcome. But Anne Frimsbee ignored her gesture. Instead, she eyed the closed door of the parlor.
    “So she’s dead at last.” There was no mistaking a satisfied note in that.
    “Anne!” Miss Elizabeth repeated in shocked reproof.
    Anne Frimsbee rounded on her elder sister. “You don’t expect me to shed tears—not after the way she’s treated Charles. She was as money-mean as they come. And you know as well as I do that’s true. My bags are out there—I’ve had a hellish trip, and I’m going to rest until dinner.” She mounted the stairs