Margaret Millar - Fire Will Freeze

“One thing sort of puzzled me until I talked to Sergeant Mackay. Why didn’t Crawford drive the bus? Well, Mackay said Jeanneret didn’t trust Crawford an inch. Crawford was always sort of wild, and I guess Jeanneret figured he’d handle everything himself as far as he could. And it turned out he was right,” Gracie added grimly. “You never get anywhere trusting people. You got to look out for yourself.”

“You said that before,” Isobel said dryly. “So you went to Floraine’s room.”

“I went to her room,” Gracie said. “You were sleeping. You’d been up for a long time snooping...”

“That’s why you wouldn’t go with me, wasn’t it? You didn’t want anyone to get suspicious about you.”

Gracie nodded. “You were sleeping pretty well and didn’t hear me. Floraine’s room was right next door so I went out by the balcony and rapped on her window. I could tell she thought it was Crawford because she came to the window all smiles and opened it. I said I wanted to talk to her and she said we couldn’t talk inside the house, she’d get a coat and come out.

“When she came out I told her I knew who Crawford was and what the two of them were doing, and without any warning she grabbed me by the throat. She was crazy about Crawford, she would have done anything for him. I guess a lot of women would.”

“Yes,” Isobel said.

“Well, she started to choke me. I wasn’t very frightened because I’m strong. I can do a one-arm handstand. I didn’t even scream.”

“You pushed her off,” Isobel said.

“She was going to kill me. I had to. She just screamed once, very faintly, as she was going over. I waited as long as I could out there and when I didn’t hear anything more I figured — well, I figured she was dead and I better get back to my room. I came in our window just as Mrs. Vista began to shout. You were just waking up and you were too sleepy to notice that my feet were wet from the snow. Anyway, nobody caught on and if I acted funny, well, the rest of you were acting a little funny, too.

“Then poor Miss Rudd began pounding on her door. It’s funny how the rest of you kept thinking she killed Floraine when all the time she was locked in her room, and the windows locked, too. Well, I thought it would be a good idea if the rest of you kept thinking that, and a good idea to keep Crawford confused. He was so scared of her, and I figured she could be a sort of bodyguard for me if Crawford caught on to me. And I also felt sorry for her, naturally, on account of my aunt, so I let her out.”

She stubbed her cigarette. “I’m kind of sorry I did it now. I didn’t want her to be murdered.”

“Such delicacy of feeling,” Isobel said.

“I’m very soft-hearted,” Gracie said. “I’m always letting my heart run away with my head.”

“But not very far.”

“But I guess she’s better off this way,” Gracie added, more cheerfully.

“He’s dead, too.”

“Is he? My, things are certainly working out, especially for me. Though it’s no job for a girl like me, being a waitress practically.” She let out a sigh. “Well, I guess that’s all.”

“And you really think you can get away with it?” Isobel said.

“Well, my goodness, I didn’t actually murder anybody. It was pure accident. Besides, nobody knows but you and me.”

“It’s my duty to tell the authorities. I’m sorry, but it’s my duty.”

“They won’t believe you,” Gracie said calmly. “That nice policeman thinks I’m cute, and I bet when they open her up they’ll find she died of heart failure. I read about how they find things out like that and how people’s hearts may fail when they’re falling.”

Isobel said nothing.

“Anyway,” Gracie added, “I think I should even get a medal. They were a nasty bunch of crooks, if you ask me.”

“It’s my duty to tell...” Isobel began again, but she knew how useless it was to go on. She went out into the corridor and walked slowly towards the elevator.

When she reached the lobby she saw that Monsieur Roche and Mr. Grube were in earnest and worried conversation. She approached the desk, and Mr. Grube looked at her with a feeble smile.

Monsieur Roche smiled, too, but he seemed very pale.

Isobel said, “I want you to telephone for the police.”

“The police?” Monsieur Roche said with forced gaiety. “The police. Ah, yes. May I ask — that is, may I ask, why?”

“I have information about a murder,” Isobel said.

Mr. Grube and Monsieur Roche exchanged sickly smiles.

“Ha, ha,” said Mr. Grube. “The joke again. Such a one you are for jokes!”

“Ha, ha, ha,” said Monsieur Roche. “We are on to you! We perceive!”

“This is no joke,” Isobel said sternly. “I said I have information about a murder and it is my duty to...”

“Ho, ho, ho!” Monsieur Roche doubled over, his hands clasping his stomach in mirth.

Every eye in the lobby had turned towards the desk and the orange ski suit with the dangling price tag. Roars of laughter began to echo through the room.

Isobel turned and ran wildly towards the steps.

Monsieur Roche sobered instantly.

“Every year we get such a one,” he said gloomily. “Me, I do not understand it.”

“Also me,” said Mr. Grube.

At the first bend in the steps Isobel paused to catch her breath. Through the window on the landing she saw a cutter go past with a flutter of snow and bells.

A voice behind her said, “I have quite a way with horses.”

Isobel turned and regarded Mr. Hunter.

“How nice for you,” she said. “And them.”

“I was wondering,” Mr. Hunter said, undeterred by a certain coldness in Isobel’s eye. “I was thinking perhaps you and I could go for a cutter ride.”

“No doubt Joyce is behind this invitation?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. But I concur.” He leaned towards her and looked almost wolfish for a moment. “I violently concur.”

“Well,” Isobel said faintly, “in that case, I don’t mind if I do.”