Free A Stranger in My Grave by Margaret Millar

earlier than usual. Daisy’s car was miss­ing from the garage, and the mail was still in the postbox. It meant that Daisy had been away since noon, when the mail arrived. The house seemed lifeless without her, in spite of the noise of Stella vacuuming the downstairs and singing bits of sad songs in a loud, cheerful voice.
    He sorted the mail on the dining-room table, and was surprised to come across a bill from Adam Burnett for services rendered Mrs. James Harker, February 9, $2.50.
    The bill was surprising in several ways: that Daisy had been to see Adam without telling him about it, that the fee was so small, less than minimal for a lawyer’s, and that the timing was unusual. It had been sent directly after Daisy’s visit instead of being postponed until the end of the month like ordinary bills for professional services. He concluded, after some thought, that sending the bill was Adam’s way of informing him about Daisy’s visit without actually breaking any code of ethics involving the confidences of a client.
    It wasn’t quite five o’clock, so he called Adam at his office. “Mr. Burnett, please. Jim Harker speaking.”
    â€œJust one second, Mr. Harker. Mr. Burnett’s on his way out, but I think I can catch him. Hold on.”
    After a minute Adam said, “Hello, Jim.”
    â€œI received your bill today.”
    â€œOh yes.” Adam sounded embarrassed. “I wasn’t going to send you any, but Daisy insisted.”
    â€œI didn’t know until now that she’d been to see you.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œWhat did she have in mind?”
    â€œCome now, Jim, that’s for Daisy to tell you, not me.”
    â€œYou addressed the bill to me, so I presume you wanted me to know she’d consulted you.”
    â€œWell, yes. I thought it would be preferable if you were cognizant...”
    â€œNo lawyer talk, please,” Jim said in a sharp, tense voice. “Did she come to you about—about a divorce?”
    â€œGood Lord, no. What gave you such a crazy idea?”
    â€œThat’s the usual reason women consult lawyers, isn’t it?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, no. Women make wills, sign contracts, fill out tax forms—”
    â€œStop beating around the bush.”
    â€œAll right,” Adam said cautiously. “I met Daisy by accident on the street early Monday afternoon. She seemed bewildered and anxious to talk. So we talked. I’d like to think that I gave her some good advice and that she took it.”
    â€œWas it concerning a dream she had about a certain day four years ago?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd she didn’t mention a divorce?”
    â€œWhy, no. Where did you get this worm in your wig about a divorce? There was absolutely nothing in Daisy’s attitude to indi­cate she was contemplating such a move. Besides, she couldn’t get one in California. She has no grounds.”
    â€œYou’re forgetting, Adam.”
    â€œThat was a long time ago,” Adam said quickly. “What’s the matter with you and Daisy anyway? A more lugubrious pair—”
    â€œNothing was the matter until she had this damned dream on Sunday night. Things have been going smoothly. We’ve been married eight years, and I honestly think this last year has been the best. Daisy has finally adjusted to the fact that she can’t have children—maybe not adjusted, but at least reconciled—and she’s looking forward eagerly to the one we’re going to adopt. At least she had been, until this dream business cropped up. She hasn’t mentioned our prospective child for three days now. You’ve had eight children, and you know how much preparation and talking and planning goes on ahead of time. I’m confused by her sudden lack of interest. Perhaps she doesn’t want a child after all. If she doesn’t, if she’s changed her mind, God knows it wouldn’t be fair for