Free Murder Comes First by Frances and Richard Lockridge

Bill had asked Lynn.
    â€œI knew where he was,” Lynn had said, and then her mother had said, “Why Lynn!” in a tone which had seemed that of surprise.
    And with that, unexpectedly, Bill had ended it for the evening—ended the part, at least, about which Pam knew. The Norths had gone out of the Logan house with Bill, leaving the Hickeys there with Paul, and the Norths had gone home. Bill, probably, had not. Pam wondered what he had done.
    The telephone rang then and Pam jumped. So, indignantly, did Martini. The cat landed four feet away and her tail magically enlarged. Then she spoke nastily to Pam and went out of the room.
    But Gin, who had been out of the room, now dashed into it, rushing to the telephone, talking with the quick emphasis of an aroused Siamese cat. Sherry loped after her sister, moving slightly sidewise; doing what Pam always thought of as overtaking herself. She sat down to observe Gin, who stood by the telephone and spoke to it angrily; turned to Pamela and spoke sharply.
    â€œI don’t think it’s for you, Gin,” Pam told the animated little cat, and Gin said “Yow-AH!” in a tone apparently of disagreement. “Unless you were expecting a call,” Pam told the junior seal point, and herself picked up the receiver. Gin leaped to the table to help, rubbing against the receiver in Pam’s hand, speaking into it. Over this, Pam North said “Hello?”
    â€œMrs. North?” a man’s unknown voice said, and Pam admitted it. “This is Barton Sandford,” the voice said. “Mrs. Logan’s nephew.”
    Pam said, “Oh” and then, after a second, “Yes, Mr. Sandford?”
    Sandford said that this was an imposition and Pam said, conventionally, “Not at all,” not knowing whether it was or not.
    â€œIt’s about that man you saw following me,” Sandford said. “It’s got me worried. I thought—I wondered if I could talk to you about it?”
    â€œWell,” Pam said, “I don’t know anything, Mr. Sandford. Nothing more than that a man was.”
    â€œI know,” Sandford said. “I realize that. But—sometimes things come back to people. You know what I mean? I thought if we talked about it there might—well, there might be something that would help you remember more than you realize you do.” He paused. “Frankly,” he said, “it’s got me worried.” He sounded worried.
    Pam thought it would do no good. She said so.
    â€œMaybe not,” Sandford said. “Still, I’d appreciate it. Could you possibly have lunch with me somewhere?” He paused. “I realize it’s a good deal to ask,” he said.
    â€œOh, as for that,” Pam said. “Not at all. Only—”
    â€œYou will?”
    Pam hesitated a moment, thought “Why not?”, her interest aroused. After all, she told herself, they are my aunts and realized she had spoken aloud only when Sandford said, “Sorry?”
    â€œAll right,” Pam said.
    â€œFine,” he said. “I know a little place in the East Fifties I think you’ll like. Unless you’ve got—?”
    â€œOf course,” Pam said. “Wherever you like, Mr. Sandford.”
    He named the little place, and Pam had not heard the name; he gave the address and they agreed on one o’clock.
    â€œOr a little after,” Pam said.
    â€œYah-OW!” Gin said, this time directly into the receiver.
    â€œOne of the cats,” Pam said. “Please, Gin!”
    She was told it was good of her, and was appreciated; said “Oh, not at all,” which seemed the only thing to say. As a matter of fact, she added, replacing the receiver, absently scratching Gin behind the ears, it is good of me. Damn good of me. Then she called the aunts again. Wanamaker’s apparently had engulfed them. Pam showered and dressed and called Jerry, who apparently had been engulfed by