Free [Oxrun Station] The Bloodwind by Charles L. Grant Page B

it seems awfully damned funny that with all those people around, with Pat right there in her office with the window open, nobody heard anything. A whole car was slammed into the ground and nobody heard a goddamned thing!"

7

    IT was the most obvious question, and not one of them had thought to ask it, and then had no time to respond when Greg suddenly exploded into a paroxysm of laughter that had him coughing and sputtering until Pat, unsure whether to be furious or amused, slapped his back several times. By the time he'd subsided, yanking a handkerchief from his hip pocket to wipe the tears from his eyes, she noticed the waitress standing by the table, her expression puzzled though her lips worked at a nervous grin. Clever you, she thought when he winked at her. Word of Danvers' misfortune would be all over town by morning, and all they needed now was a waitress carrying tales to as many customers and friends as she could get hold of.
    "Nice," Stephen said dryly, seconding her unspoken compliment.
    Greg made a show of exaggerated modesty, then reached across the table and put a finger to Janice's wrist. "The wind," he said.
    Janice leaned away from him, as if distance would bring the words into sharper focus.
    "The wind," he repeated. "If you recall, it came up right after we left for dinner. It's apparent even to us non-scientist types that it carried most of the sound away, and we just plain did not hear the rest."
    "Yes, I suppose . . ."
    "See?" he said. "No problem, once you put a supe rior mind to the task. Besides, it's not our job to worry about it. That little puzzle belongs to Abe Stockton and his band of merry men. They'll find out soon enough who the culprits are, and I'm taking odds right now it was someone like . . ." He hesitated, and Pat tensed. "Like Ollie or Ben."
    "Hey," Pat protested, twisting around to face him more squarely. "Now that's a little much, don't you think, Greg?"
    Greg was startled by her reaction, but he set his jaw to jutting in defense. "Well, maybe not, but you have to admit, Pat, they're hardly the darlings of dear old Hawksted . And lest you forget, I know them fairly well myself. And I just happen to know they're madly in lust with Sue Haslet, who just happened to have been Dan vers' premier actress." He stopped, then, and grabbed for his water glass. He didn't lift it, however; he turned it slowly between his palms. "She was already in one Long Wharf production, and Ford was pushing her hard, very hard, to try her luck in New York over spring vacation. He didn't seem to care if she graduated or not. She was a nervous wreck. I wouldn't blame Ollie if he and his friends ..."
    As his voice trailed into silence, Pat looked to Ste phen for an explanation, saw instead Janice wringing her hands just below the level of the table. It took her several moments to realize that Susan Haslet must have been the woman killed in the crash the night before. And she could see then how Fallchurch might blame Danvers for it. So torn between the lure of Broadway and the tangible result of four years of studying, she might well have lost her concentration for a moment, might have been drinking too much, might have done any number of things that finally, fatally, led her onto Mainland Road.
    "Greg . . . ?"
    He shrugged. "Well, she needed someone neutral to talk to, you see."
    Another silence somewhat awkward and extended until Stephen, lighting a cigarette whose paper was as brown as its tobacco, drolly slipped into a story con cerning one of his own students, a recognized miscreant whose millions were, it was alleged, the only reason he was still permitted on campus. By the time he had finished, Greg was ready with a story of his own, and Janice was clenching and splaying her fingers eagerly, waiting for a chance to cut into the round.
    Pat listened with a dreamy smile for a few minutes, then withdrew into a glum series of speculations cen tered around Greg and his relationship with Susan has let . He was,