Free A Pinch of Poison by Frances Lockridge

voice was unshaking and quiet.
    â€œYes, sir?” She said it to Randall Ashley, but Weigand answered.
    â€œI’m a police lieutenant, Anna,” he said. “I want to ask you a question or two.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Anna’s voice was still quiet.
    â€œI want to know what Miss Winston did this afternoon and evening,” he explained. “When she came home, what she did, anything you remember she said.”
    Anna told him. Miss Lois had come home a little before six, spoken to Mr. Randall and his friends in the living-room and gone to her own room, after telling Mary that she wanted Anna. Then she had bathed and rested for perhaps an hour and then Anna had helped her dress to go out with Mr. McIntosh, who came for her about half-past seven. She remembered nothing of importance.
    â€œI wanted to talk to her, Anna, don’t you remember?” Randall said. “And she was dressing or something?”
    Yes, Anna remembered that. It was not, she indicated, of importance. And nothing else? She could think of nothing else. The last she had seen of Miss Lois was when the girl left the room to join Mr. McIntosh.
    â€œI stayed and—turned down her bed,” Anna said. Her voice hesitated for a moment as she spoke, but regained its soft steadiness.
    â€œYou were very fond of Miss Winston, weren’t you, Anna?” Weigand said.
    â€œYes, sir,” Anna said. She did not amplify, or need to.
    â€œBy the way,” Weigand said, “this copy of the Encyclopædia. It wasn’t usually kept here, I suppose? Did she read it today, do you know?”
    Anna remembered and seemed surprised.
    â€œWhy, yes,” she said. “She had me get it for her a few minutes after she came in. I had forgotten.”
    â€œDid she read it, do you know?”
    Anna thought she must have. It was lying on the bed, open and face down, when she straightened up after Miss Winston had left. Anna had picked it up and closed it, and put it on the table. Weigand said, “Um-m-m.
    â€œYou didn’t,” he asked, “happen to notice what page it was opened to? Or what subject?”
    Anna shook her head.
    â€œIt was open about the middle,” she said. “I didn’t notice exactly.”
    â€œNo,” Weigand said. “There was no reason why you should. Probably it doesn’t matter.”
    He turned to Ashley.
    â€œWe’ll be going, now,” he said. “I’ll send a man in for the papers in your sister’s desk—he’ll be right in. And I’ll want to see your mother when she gets in tomorrow. You’ve got in touch with her, I suppose?”
    Ashley had. He had persuaded her not to come in tonight, but to wait until morning. Weigand nodded, and led the way out of the bedroom. Downstairs, the maid who had admitted them waited in the foyer to show them out.
    â€œA drink or something?” Ashley said. Mullins looked hopeful, but Weigand shook his head.
    â€œNo, thanks,” he said.
    Ashley turned into the living-room and the maid opened the door. But then she stepped through after them and closed it behind her, so that the latch just failed to catch. Weigand looked down at her. She was a slight, pretty thing, now pale and agitated.
    â€œYes?” he said.
    She spoke rapidly, excitedly.
    â€œI’ve got to tell you,” she said. “You ought to know. They’re married. I heard them tonight when they thought I wasn’t around and they’re married. He said, ‘Now that we’re married.’”
    â€œWho is this?” Weigand said. “Mr. Ashley?”
    â€œHim,” she said. “Buddy. And that singer girl. They’re married, only nobody is supposed to know.”
    She spoke breathlessly.
    â€œI tell you they’re married!” she said. “And all the time he was—”
    She broke off and looked up at Weigand. She was obviously about to cry.
    â€œAll right,” he said.