Free A Pint of Murder by Charlotte MacLeod Page B

talk private.”
    That would teach her to judge not. “That’s sweet of Molly,” she said aloud. “And tell her how much Annabelle enjoyed all those lovely cards from the Sunshine Circle. She’s going to drop a note to the minister’s wife when she feels a little more like sitting up. By the way, I might be down to see you myself. The handle on one of our old iron skillets is working loose and I thought maybe you could rivet it or something.”
    “Why don’t you give it to him now, eh, and save yourself a trip?” Bert called out like a typical older brother.
    “Because I stuck it away somewhere so I wouldn’t make the mistake of using it and dumping your supper on the floor,” she lied, “and can’t recall offhand where I’ve put it. What’s the sense of keeping Fred standing here missing his dinner while I go hunting? Sit down and eat your own, can’t you? It must be ice cold by now.”
    Gilly took the hint and shepherded her party back to the Mansion. They made a cute trio, Janet thought, the woman so little and the man so big and the elflike Bobby skipping beside them. She only hoped none of the three had got into the habit of killing people, or was related to someone who had. A person could be guiltless as a newborn babe and still be used as an accomplice, and be charged as one when the case came to trial.
    But what if the case did not come to trial? What if the killer was never found? What if he or she or possibly they simply went on living in Pitcherville with nobody the wiser? Would anybody in town be safe then? Wouldn’t the murderer feel confident that he could do away with anyone he chose, any time he took the notion?
    Janet gave the tea kettle a nervous jerk at the wrong moment, and sent a stream of boiling water coursing across her hand.
    “For God’s sake, watch what you’re doing!”
    Bert grabbed his sister’s arm, gazing in horror at the rising blisters.
    “Let go, Bert. That hurts.”
    It did more than hurt. The pain was making her sick. Her knees felt wobbly. Janet walked very carefully to the rocking chair by the window and sat down.
    “There’s some salve in the medicine chest.”
    That was what she meant to say, but she had trouble forming the words. The next thing she knew, Bert was sloshing at her face with a wet dishrag. She tried to push his hand away.
    “Stop it! What are you doing that for?”
    “You almost passed out on me. Jesus, what a time for the doctor to die!”
    “I’m all right. It was just the shock of it.”
    It was too many shocks in too short a time, but how was she to explain all that now? Bert was rummaging in the first-aid supplies, bringing ointment and bandage, trying to cover up the burn and making a ham fist of it.
    “I’d better get Gilly back here.”
    “What could she do?”
    “How do I know?” He was sweating and yelling, angry at his own helplessness. “She’s a doctor’s daughter, isn’t she? She must know what to do in an emergency.”
    “Simmer down, Bert. I’m not going to die of a scalded hand. Eat your dinner so you can get back to work.”
    “You don’t expect me to leave you here alone all afternoon? What if you should faint again? You could fall and crack your skull like Doc Druffitt.”
    That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Janet felt the wave of nausea again, then that wet dishrag slopping her face. Bert scooped her out of the rocking chair, carried her into the front room and plunked her down on the chesterfield.
    “Now stay there and don’t try to move. I’m going next door and get Gilly or Marion.”
    “Please don’t. They’ve got more on their hands than they can cope with already, between Gilly’s troubles and Elmer’s father making all that foofaraw over the patent.”
    “Then I’ll send Sam down for that Fewter woman we had when Annabelle was laid up. She’ll be better than nobody.”
    “Not much,” sniffed his sister. “All right, do that if it’ll make you feel any better. Tell Dot to plan on