The Ambiguity of Murder by Roderic Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page A

sat, reached down and opened the sideboard to bring out a tumbler. He poured himself a generous brandy. ‘Didn’t you get some ice?’
    â€˜No.’
    It was obvious that Jaime had foregone ice in order to avoid a face-to-face confrontation with his wife. Man or mouse? Alvarez wondered sarcastically.
    Dolores began to sing once more.
    Singing could indicate many moods and it might be dangerously mistaken to assume that she was expressing contentment. He listened to the words, but although her voice was true, her enunciation was not and it took him time to understand that a young lady in Seville had looked down into the street from her protected eyrie and meeting the gaze of a handsome young man had felt the strings of her heart plucked … Was the handsome young man honourable or heartless? Nothing annoyed Dolores more than men who took advantage of emotionally helpless women … She did not finish the song.
    He looked at his glass, then at the bead curtain. A warm brandy was preferable to no brandy, but less welcome than a cold one. Yet to go through to the kitchen for ice might well provoke her annoyance, especially if the song would have ended with betrayal …
    The strings of beads parted as she looked into the room. ‘So you’re both back!’
    Nervously, they nodded.
    â€˜Where are the children?’
    â€˜I haven’t seen them,’ Jaime muttered.
    â€˜They won’t be far away. Lunch will be in a few minutes.’ She withdrew.
    Her tone had been warm and she had not condemned their drinking. Alvarez stood. ‘If you won’t get some ice, I will.’ He went through to the kitchen. ‘I thought Madonna must be in here,’ he said, as he opened a cupboard and brought out the small ice container.
    â€˜What are you talking about?’ she asked.
    â€˜When I heard the singing, I reckoned it had to be her.’
    â€˜Must you say such stupid things?’ she asked, clearly flattered.
    He opened the refrigerator and brought out a plastic tray of ice, pressed out the cubes. ‘What’s for lunch?’
    â€˜Conill amb ceba.’
    â€˜A feast!’
    â€˜Perhaps.’
    â€˜When you do the cooking, nothing less.’ He replaced the tray in the refrigerator, picked up the ice bucket, returned to the dining room. As he sat, he said: ‘Lunch is conill amb ceba.’ He dropped four cubes of ice into his glass.
    Jaime drained his glass. ‘This morning her tongue was like a knife, now she cooks one of my favourite dishes.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘I tell you, I’ll be dead and buried and still not begin to understand her. How do you ever know where you are with a woman?’
    â€˜You don’t, which is why they’ve got us by the short and curlies.’
    â€˜If we changed our minds as often as they do, we’d be dizzy.’
    The front door banged and there was a clatter of feet on the tiled floors. Juan ran into the room, followed by Isabel. ‘What’s grub?’ he asked loudly, as he came to a stop.
    Dolores stepped through the bead curtains. ‘Lunch is almost ready, so you two can lay the table.’
    â€˜That’s a girl’s job,’ Juan said.
    â€˜Boys always help.’
    â€˜Dad and Uncle never do.’
    Jaime stared angrily at his son.
    â€˜When men work hard, they need to have time to rest.’ She withdrew.
    Jaime leaned forward until the table pressed into his stomach. ‘It’s weird!’
    Alvarez nodded. However, the circumstances being what they were, they should heed the old Mallorquin saying, When the almond crop is heavy, eat all you can because next year there may be none. He drained his glass, refilled it.
    *   *   *
    Carrer Magallanes was a narrow road on the outskirts of Cardona, and number seventeen was on the eastern side, one of a line of terrace houses that directly fronted the road. From the outside it looked