A Share in Death

“I think,” Kincaid measured his words carefully, “that she told him.” Seeing Anne’s incredulous expression, he shook his head before she could interrupt him. “I know it sounds crazy, but Penny…” He searched for words that would make Anne see Penny the way he had seen her, hoping the whiskey hadn’t made him maudlin. “Penny lived with scrupulous honesty—except perhaps in protecting Emma. She wouldn’t have wanted to falsely accuse someone.”

“You think she just walked up to this murderer and said ‘I saw you. What are you going to do about it?’ But that’s—” Anne’s voice rose with righteous indignation, and Kincaid thought he’d hate to be a patient who’d disobeyed a reasonable doctor’s order.

“Foolish. And if Penny saw two people, she picked the wrong one to speak to first.” Kincaid stretched and looked at his watch, took another swallow of the whiskey. “I should be getting back, just in case something turns up. Peter Raskin’s taken some pity on me—if he hears the p.m. results tonight he might let me know. Thanks for letting me sound off.” In spite of his words, he stayed slumped on his stool, swirling the remains of the whiskey in his glass.

“Stay for dinner. There’s plenty. Tim’s out on call so we

122 deborah crombie

won’t wait for him. We never know how long he’ll be.”

“What does he do, your husband?”

“He’s an obstetrician.” She spluttered a laugh at the sight of his face. “Close your mouth. That’s most people’s reaction. But who could be more sympathetic to a doctor’s schedule than another doctor, or a vet? Or a policeman,” she added thoughtfully.

“Now I know where I went wrong. I should have married a doctor. My ex-wife wasn’t sympathetic to my schedule at all.” He finished his drink and stood, finding it a great effort. “I’d love to stay, but I’d better not. Maybe some other time.” They stood, suspended in a brief awkward silence, then Kincaid reached over and rubbed the smudge from her eyebrow with his thumb. Anne caught his wrist and held it for a moment, then turned away.

“I’ll show you out, then.”

The children were arguing intensely over whose turn it was to bandage the doll, their faces rosy in the firelight.

“Goodbye, Molly and Caroline.”

“Are you going to visit us again?” said Molly, curiously.

“I hope so.”

“Come any time.” Anne’s fingers brushed his arm, light as down.

As the door closed behind him Kincaid saw that all the light had gone from the sky behind the hills.

1 Umpteen \g^

 

“I’M THE QUEEN,” Bethany said imperiously, adjusting the white square of cloth on her head, “and this is my crown. You be the baby prince.”

 

“Don’t wanna be the baby prince.” Brian stuck out his lower lip.

“You be the baby prince or I won’t play.”

Brian shuffled his feet, hands in pockets, defeated but not about to give in gracefully. “Why? Why do I always have to be the baby?”

“Because.” Bethany spoke with the certainty of a sevenyear-old’s power over a younger brother, the wisps of brown hair escaping from her braid detracting not a whit from her command. Kincaid stood in the hall outside his door and watched in amusement as Bethany draped a small blanket over her brother’s unwilling shoulders. The children were camped on the broad first-floor landing, illuminated by shafts of early morning sun from the three windows overlooking the drive.

“Once upon a time,” began Bethany, “there was a queen who lived in a castle with her darling baby, the prince.”

“Yuck!” said Brian vehemently. Bethany ignored him.