Chapter 13 #2
She answered Ryker’s tersely worded questions calmly and rationally, keeping her voice level, and in the end he was forced to concede defeat.
He hadn’t been able to make her cry, as he’d all too obviously wanted, and blurt out the truths of all her so-called crimes. She stared across the desk stonily.
“All right, that will be all for now, Mrs. Winters.” He leaned back in Patrick’s chair affably. “But I suggest you stay close to home for the time being.”
“It seems to me that home is about the most dangerous place for me right now,” she said in a cool voice. “But I suppose I really have no choice in the matter.”
“No, I suppose you don’t,” he answered. “Could you ask William Winters to come next please, Stroup? I don’t think we’ll be bothering Mrs. Winters any more today.”
Thank God for that, she thought as she left the room, brushing unshed tears of anger and humiliation from her eyes.
The only consolation in the miserable affair was that Willy and Ermy would have to go through the same thing.
Though there was always the chance Ryker would behave toward them with at least a trace of charm.
She saw him before he left, his arms full of little bottles and packages, Stroup’s beefy arms similarly encumbered. “We’ll be leaving now, Mrs. Winters,” he said coolly, his colorless eyes distant and unfathomable.
“What are all those?”
“Samples, samples. We want to see how the poison is being administered, if, indeed, it is. According to your information and that of your relatives, these are things only you could have eaten and drunk in the past four days. We should come up with some answers pretty soon.”
“And in the meantime...?”
“In the meantime, I’d be careful, if I were you, Mrs. Winters. Very careful.”
Molly wandered into the living room and poured herself a glass of ginger ale.
If ever she needed a stiff drink now was the time, and she wondered wistfully when her ban on alcohol would be lifted.
There was no one in sight—she thought she could hear a heated discussion in the kitchen, and she had no desire to join in.
One of these people was trying to kill her, had tried three times.
Once with the poison, twice with her so-called accidental falls.
She wondered if Ryker found those accidents suspicious.
He’d been far too quick to dismiss them—doubtless he thought she imagined them as well.
Dinner that night was an uncomfortable affair. Toby stayed and stayed, far longer than anyone wanted him to, watching out of pale, brooding eyes, and helped polish off the roast chicken and tomato casserole Mrs. Morse had fixed, with Molly’s help.
She didn’t for one moment suspect Mrs. Morse. She simply wasn’t taking chances on letting any of the food out of her sight for even one moment.
Apparently Lieutenant Ryker hadn’t been any more tactful with Aunt Ermy’s dignity, for she spent the entire evening in a state of towering indignation. Of all the possible suspects, Molly would have preferred Aunt Ermy to be the guilty one.
Except that the poisoning had begun before Ermy returned home. So had the fall down the cellar hole in the burned-out stable. No, it didn’t seem as if Ermintrude was the villain, even if she was patently unlikable.
It seemed forever before Toby was ready to leave.
In desperation Molly walked him to the front door.
One of her many mistakes. Before she knew what was happening his arms were tight around her and his hot, whiskey-laden breath was in her ear, urging her to do all sorts of things, including leave the house and spend the night with him.
The very thought disgusted her, not from an actual dislike of Toby, but more because of her helpless longing for last night and for Patrick.
Who’d made love to her, finally, and then left her.
She pushed Toby away with an unnecessary vehemence. “Please, Toby,” she said angrily, straightening her clothes.
“Please, Toby,” he mimicked bitterly. “You used to care about me. You used to say I was your only real friend. Remember when we’d talk about going away together?
Leaving here, leaving Patrick and all those others.
I don’t know what’s happened to you. I’m only trying to help you.
I just don’t think you should be alone here tonight with them. ”
“I thought you decided that Patrick was the guilty party,” she said. “In that case I’m perfectly safe with Aunt Ermy and Willy.”
“There’s no way of knowing who’s to blame,” he said darkly, making a grab at her. She dodged him neatly.
“Listen, Toby, of course you’re my friend. I like you very much,” she said wearily, backing away from him. “But I’m too tired to play post office in the hall of my husband’s house. I think you should go home and go to bed and try to get over this...infatuation or whatever it is.”
“It isn’t an infatuation. I love you!” he whispered urgently, obviously affronted. “You promised me...”
“Toby, I don’t remember,” she said, desperation creeping into her voice. “Whatever I said, whatever I did, whatever I promised. I simply don’t remember it.”
He stared at her, his face shrouded with hurt. Without another word he turned and left, slamming the heavy door shut behind him.
Molly leaned against the door in exhaustion, and if it wasn’t for an odd impulse she would have left it at that.
But, for some reason she drew back the little curtain beside the door.
Toby was standing by his car, staring up at the house, and there was the oddest expression on his face.
A look of strange intensity that was illogically frightening.
. And then it was gone, and he climbed into his car. It must have been a trick of the light, or a figment of her imagination, Molly told herself, moving back from tire window.
But she was unable to shake the eerie feeling that danced over her shoulder blades, as she pictured Toby’s face.
The bitch would die. Not tonight, much as she deserved it. Tomorrow, when there was time to plan.
She’d die in pain, struggling, calling for help. The life would be choked out of her, and no one would come to her rescue. They would find her body the next morning, eyes open and staring. She would be punished.
And she would accept that punishment, that sentence of death, gratefully.