Her husband didn’t answer, but kept his gaze on Elizabeth’s face, his eyes narrowed and wary.
“Well, I won’t keep you long.” Elizabeth met his gaze steadily. “I just dropped by to let you know about the sudden death of Clyde Morgan. Your wife tells me you’ve already heard about it.”
Not a flicker of expression changed in the man’s gray eyes. “Yes, we did. Can’t say I’m sorry.” He ignored his wife’s gasp of dismay. “As far as I’m concerned, the skunk got what he deserved.”
“I can understand your bitterness, Mr. Redding.” Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, Elizabeth got to her feet. “I imagine most people would feel the same way in your shoes.”
“That’s not to say I killed him.”
Marion uttered another distressed cry. “I’m sure her ladyship didn’t mean-”
“Oh, I think she did,” Bob Redding said, his voice harsh and threatening. “Isn’t that why you’re here, your ladyship? To accuse me of murdering Clyde Morgan?”
CHAPTER 10
“For heaven’s sake, Clara! Get a move on, will you?” Marge stopped for the umpteenth time and waited for her friend to catch up with her.
Panting and puffing, Clara trudged down the lane toward her, her face red and sweaty. “I’m hot,” she announced unnecessarily as she drew even with Marge.
“One minute you’re freezing, the next you’re roasting.” Marge jabbed a finger in her direction. “Take off your cardigan, you twit. No wonder you’re so hot.”
“I feel the cold.” Clara swept a critical gaze up and down Marge’s body. “I don’t have no fat to keep me warm, like some people.”
Marge bristled at that. “Hey, are you saying I’m fat?”
All the fight went out of Clara. “No, silly, of course not. I’m just tired, that’s all. Let’s forget about the Germans and go home.”
“Forget about the Germans!” Marge’s voice was shrill with disbelief. “Are you daft? We came all this way, didn’t we? What if the place is running alive with Nazis? If we don’t warn the village, they could be all over us by tonight.”
Clara’s face lost its ruddy glow. “Well, if there
Marge swung around. “Gawd, I didn’t realize we were that close.” She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “We’d better duck down out of sight.”
Clara immediately dropped to a crouch. “How are we going to sneak up there without them seeing us? There’s no trees around here to hide us.”
“There’s trees on the other side of it. We’ll work our way around and come in from that side.”
“I still think we should have gone to the police station for help.”
“We’ll go when we’re sure they’re there,” Marge insisted. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I can’t walk like this.” Clara stuck her foot out and tried to waddle forward in the crouch.
Marge muffled a giggle. “You look like a crab.”
Clara shot to her feet. “I’m going home.”
Grabbing her arm, Marge said quickly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Look, let’s just walk normal until we get past the windmill. Even if they see us, they won’t know we’re looking for them. They’ll just think we’re out for a stroll. Then, once we get past them, we can duck back.”
“What if they shoot us while we’re going past?”
Marge hadn’t thought of that. She felt a sudden urge to pee. “Don’t be silly,” she said, more in an effort to convince herself than anything. “Of course they’re not going to shoot us. They don’t want everyone to know where they are, do they? How are they going to take everyone by surprise if we all know they’re there?”
Clara didn’t look too sure of herself, but she trotted along by Marge’s side, looking as if she were ready to bolt at the slightest sound.
Marge wasn’t about to admit that her heart was pounding hard enough to come right through her chest by the time they’d reached the far side of the windmill. Any minute she’d expected to hear a bullet or two whine over her head, and it was a bit of an anticlimax when all remained quiet and peaceful.
For several minutes they stood there, waiting to get their breath back while they stared at the rickety wooden walls of the dilapidated windmill. No branches stirred in the midday sun. No birds twittered, no squirrels chattered, no inquisitive field mouse or rabbit rustled through the tall grass. Nothing but a tall, dark, forbidding windmill with silent sails and darkened windows. It seemed as if everything were waiting for something to happen. Something bad.
Marge shivered as the creepy feeling crawled down her back. “I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Like someone’s in there, watching us.”
Clara uttered a whimper of fright. “I want to go home.
She started to walk away, but Marge grabbed a stretchy sleeve of her cardigan and dragged her to a stop. “Wait a minute! Let’s just take a quick peek and then we’ll get out of here. I swear.”
“I’m not going in there!”
Clara’s wail sounded loud in the hushed silence of the woods and Marge winced. “All right then. You wait here and I’ll go. Then if they shoot me, you can run back and tell George and Sid that you let me go in there alone and now I’m dead.”
Tears formed in Clara’s eyes, but to Marge’s relief, she stammered, “All right, then. I’m coming in there with you. But if I get shot I’ll never forgive you.”
“If you get shot, silly,” Marge said grimly, “you won’t be around to forgive me, so what’s it matter? If you hear the slightest sound, you run like hell. Got it?”
Clara nodded, her eyes wide with fright.
Marge wasn’t feeling too chipper herself, but she’d come this far and she wasn’t about to turn back without taking a quick look inside that windmill. A large part of the force driving her was the anticipation of seeing Rita’s smug face turn sour when she found out they’d helped catch a bunch of Germans.
Armed with this vision, she crept forward, bending over as low as she could before the fleshy folds of her stomach got in the way. Although their footsteps made no sound on the soft grass, she could hear her friend right behind her. Clara’s teeth were chattering so loudly it was a wonder they didn’t fall out.
They reached the door without seeing or hearing any movement from inside the dark, towering building. Very carefully, Marge pushed the door open. A loud creak made her jump nearly out of her skin. Clara muffled a shriek and Marge shot a warning look at her, her finger over her lips.
Braced to flee at the slightest provocation, she took one step inside, then two. It smelled musty and damp, and there was another odor she didn’t want to analyze. A narrow beam of sunlight, with specks of dust swirling and dancing in its glow, slashed through the darkness from the high window above. The floor was uneven, with several of the floorboards missing or broken. Blinking to adjust to the shadows, Marge took a quick look around. Nothing. They were alone.
Clara crept up beside her and put her mouth to Marge’s ear. “I can’t hear nothing.”
Her hair tickled Marge’s nose and she backed away, fiercely shaking her head and pointing to the floor above them. There was another floor where somebody could hide, though if the Germans were up there, there wasn’t room for more than a half dozen or so. That made her feel a little better.
The two of them stood absolutely still, barely breathing, while the silence thickened about them. Then Clara spoke in her normal voice, spiking Marge’s nerves.
“There’s no one up there. Let’s go home.”
“Shh!” Marge hissed at her, then froze as a sharp snap sounded overhead.
All color drained from Clara’s face. “What’s that?”
Marge swallowed. “Could be old wood. You know how it creaks. Or maybe a rat.”
Clara squealed. “I hate rats.”
So did Marge. What’s more, her body ached with tension, and her chest hurt from not breathing deeply enough.
