Free Miss Withers Regrets by Stuart Palmer Page A

can’t stand the thought of breakfast.”
    “Never mind breakfast, I didn’t make any. But wake up!”
    She opened one eye. “Midge! It isn’t even light yet!”
    “It’s getting dusk, you mean. Come on.”
    “Midge, listen. I had the damnedest nightmare—”
    Midge Beale had long since lost interest in Adele’s dreams, though she loved to tell them in detail. “Anyway,” he cut in, “it was no nightmare about Huntley Cairns. It happened, all right. Snap out of it. Remember, they kept us up there until all hours, and when we finally got home we killed a bottle?” He shook her shoulder. “Come on downstairs, we got company.”
    Adele sat up suddenly, pushing the hair back from her eyes. “Reporters?”
    He shook his head. “No reporters, so stop primping. It’s a funny old battleaxe in a hat that looks like a fruit salad. She’s trying to dig up some evidence to get Pat Montague out of jail. She says she’s an old aunt of his or something.”
    “Tie a can to her! Tell her—”
    “I tried to, and I couldn’t make it stick.”
    “I don’t think I can stand up,” Adele complained. “And I must look like a perfect fright.”
    Midge nodded. “How much would you charge to haunt a house?”
    “How many rooms?” Adele countered, unsmiling. She ran a comb through her hair, stuck on another mouth over the old one, and slipped into a shapeless pink garment trimmed with maribou. Then, clinging to the banister, she made her way slowly down the stairs. She stopped halfway. “Now don’t tell her anything !” she whispered fiercely.
    “Perish the thought,” Midge agreed.
    In the living room Miss Hildegarde Withers was sitting on one of the wicker chairs, her feet firmly planted on a Navajo rug. “Forgive me, Mrs. Beale, for getting you up at this hour,” she began. “But when murder strikes in a little town like this we are all involved until it’s settled.”
    “If murder did have to strike, it was just as well it landed on Huntley Cairns, who is so easily spared,” Midge said.
    “That’s your opinion!” Adele snapped. “If you knew as much as you think you know …” She caught herself. “Anyway, in my opinion, it was only an accident anyhow, and I’m sure that Midge and I know nothing about it. I don’t see why you came to us, anyway—”
    “That, my dear, was because you two are almost the only ones on the list of sus—the list of material witnesses that I had not had the pleasure of meeting previously.”
    “You’re wasting your time, I’m afraid,” Adele said wearily.
    “Perhaps I am. I have plenty to waste. I’m quite sure that neither of you had anything to do with the murder. But could we please start at the beginning? Did you have any business dealings with Mr. Cairns?”
    The schoolteacher was speaking to Midge Beale, but Adele answered quickly, her eyes flashing. “No, of course not! Why should I—I mean we?”
    “I’m just a test pilot,” Midge went on. “Right now I’m flying a T-square, though. I only knew Cairns to speak to, but Adele—”
    “I knew him slightly years ago. But Helen is one of my nearest and dearest friends.”
    The schoolteacher nodded. “I see. Does either of you, by the way, think that Pat Montague could have murdered Cairns?”
    “Nope!” Midge said quickly.
    “Yes!” cried his wife. “Because if he didn’t, then who did? Oh, I guess that isn’t a very nice thing to say to one of his relatives, but it’s what I think.”
    Miss Withers hesitated. “I’m afraid I should admit to you that I am an aunt to Pat Montague only pro tem and by adoption. But I had to get in to talk to you somehow. Never mind that, Mrs. Beale. You say that you think Pat did it, and a moment ago you said you thought Cairns died by accident.”
    “I only meant—”
    “Never mind. If it was murder, Pat Montague may be guilty, but not for the reasons I thought last night. That is why, since I was responsible for his being dragged away to jail, I am now trying