Free Death by the Light of the Moon by Joan Hess Page B

from the ceiling of the apartment below, and that was four, maybe five days later. It was summer, too, and the dude didn’t have an air conditioner.”
    Stanford gave him a sharp look, then resumed his discussion with Phoebe. “I don’t know if the doctor would cooperate with us on this or not. He may be able to tell that there’s water in her lungs. As Claire was so eager to point out, no one drowns in bed.”
    â€œThat junkie did,” protested Keith.
    â€œJust hush!” Phoebe snapped at him. “Your father and I are trying to determine how best to deal with this problem. Your drug-induced fantasies are not worthy of notice, much less serious consideration.”
    â€œHey, it really happened. The guy punched holes in the plastic mattress with his needle, and then passed out.”
    I had had enough. I urged Pauline to her feet and put my arm around her trembling shoulders. “Stanford, you stay here with Miss Justicia’s body. Pauline is in shock and needs a cup of tea. Phoebe, you can see to that while Keith lets Maxie and Ellie know what happened.”
    â€œAnd you, dear cousin?” Phoebe said.
    â€œI am going to telephone the police and tell them about the accident. They’ll want to examine the scene before they write an official report.”
    Stanford assessed me for a moment, then conceded with a shrug. “All right, all right. I don’t see why that should take a whole lot of time. What’ll they say, anyway? The fact that Miss Justicia had these urges to overindulge in beverages of an alcoholic nature, then go whipping all over God’s green earth in her wheelchair is…why, I’d say it was a legend in the parish. The whole state, for that matter. Pauline can just remind them of a few unfortunate incidents from the past, and we’ll be done with the police before we know it.”
    â€œIt seems we have no choice,” Phoebe said as she took Pauline’s arm and tugged her forward. “Come along, Cousin Pauline. We’ll pour a pot of tea into you, with a nice slug of brandy. You’re going to have to pull yourself together so that you can relate all that to the police.”
    â€œBut it’s so…” Pauline said dully. “I don’t know if I can remember all…”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” I began. Despite the fact I was holding Pauline’s other arm, Phoebe managed to dig a hard leather heel into my bare foot. I bit back a snarl, took a breath, and said, “No one’s going to pressure you to tell the police anything.”
    Phoebe gave the older woman a smile meant to be sympathetic. “That’s correct. No one’s going to pressure you, Cousin Pauline.”
    The slight emphasis on the you gave the reassuring words quite a different message. It was received, but not appreciated any more than the incipient bruise on my foot.
    We moved slowly toward the back door of the house. Stanford remained beside the body, his hands on his hips. Keith caught up with us as we guided Pauline through the back door and down the hall to the dining room. Phoebe briskly demanded the kitchen key, and after a few moments of fumbling, Pauline took it from her robe pocket and handed it over.
    Once Phoebe had departed to make tea, I asked Keith where I might find a telephone. He mumbled a response and turned to study the dark oil paintings of dead, featherless fowl and mottled fruit. I once again patted Pauline on the shoulder, then went down the hall toward the parlor, which seemed as good a possibility as any.
    As I entered the foyer, Ellie stepped out of the parlor and carefully closed the door. Devoid of makeup and with her hair hidden by a turban, she looked appreciably less glamorous. She hurried over to me, her satiny pink robe rustling, and grabbed my arm. “I was just coming outside to help you find Miss Justicia, but I discovered the most amazing thing in the