Free The Hamlet Trap by Kate Wilhelm Page B

to leave at the crack of dawn.”
    It was raining very hard when they left the house. Ginnie drove down Pioneer Street and turned into the alley by the side of the theater. The rain drummed on the car.
    â€œI’ll take the stuff inside,” Peter said. “I have to get out at my apartment, anyway. No point in both of us getting soaked.”
    â€œYou’ll need a key, and there’s Gray’s raincoat on the backseat. He left it there a few days ago. You know where the office is?”
    He nodded and dragged the raincoat over the seat, struggled to get it on and couldn’t in the car. He draped it over his head and took the portfolio and key from her.
    â€œDon’t put it on his desk,” she said. “Just leave it on the table. He’s sure to see it first thing there.”
    â€œRight.” He opened the door and dashed out into the driving rain. Ginnie watched him enter the theater through the stage door, then turned off the windshield wipers and headlights to wait for him. If this kept up into the morning, she thought, it would be one hell of a hike in the woods. Maybe he would call it off, do something more sensible, like curling up in her house before the fireplace and napping all day. She smiled slightly. Peter had had her out in all kinds of weather. He didn’t seem to notice if it was raining or not. Like Christopher Robin, she thought, he didn’t care what it did just as long as he could be out in it.
    She was content, satiated with good food and good wine, warm, and sleepy. Not only did she not eat often or properly when she was working hard, she also did not sleep on schedule. She tried to remember the past ten days, when and how long she had slept at a time. It was a blur. Not enough, she decided, yawning.
    She was not sure how long she had been waiting for Peter when she realized that it was taking him too long. If Spotty had cornered him, she thought, she would be out here waiting forever. She gave him another minute or two, then got out of the car and ran to the stage door. She expected it to be closed and locked, but Peter had not pulled it to, and she pushed it open and went inside. There was a dim light on in the backstage area. It cast a feeble glow down the hallway to Uncle Ro’s office, where she could see a brighter light outlining the partly open door. She went down the hall to the office and pushed that door open.
    â€œPeter?” she called, and then she saw him, and she screamed.

NINE

    Gus Chisolm had been the chief of police for eleven years, and during that time there had been murder done, robberies, whatever mayhem people found to commit against other people and property. His first act when he arrived and saw a body was to call the sheriff’s office. All murders were handled by that office. He was glad it was like that. Now he surveyed the office from the doorway glumly. Burglar caught in the act? More than likely. One of his men was at the door, another was checking the other entrances of the theater. A search would have to wait for more personnel. He went back to Spotty’s room where Ginnie sat like a marble statue, with just about that much color in her face. She stared straight ahead, exactly as he had left her. She needed a doctor, he thought, and wished the officer he had sent out to find Ro Cavanaugh would hurry on with it before the sheriff’s detective got there. He knew Steve Draker would want to question Ginnie right now, and to his eyes she was not fit to answer even one question.
    On the table by her chair was the coffee that Spotty had poured for her, placed in her hands. Gus picked it up and said, “Ginnie, drink some of this. You’ll have to answer a few questions.”
    Obediently she took the cup and sipped from it and returned it to the table.
    Gus sighed and pulled a straight chair around to face her and sat in it. “Ginnie, didn’t you see anyone at all? Someone come out the door and run,