Pushing Murder Read Free

”
    â€œSal!”
    â€œI was going to save the Hartley for your birthday but—but nothing’s too good for you now.”
    She bit her lip and gulped, and Dwight looked at her anxiously.
    â€œWill you please quit that?” I said. “I’ll be out of here in a couple of days and—”
    â€œâ€”and on a plane to Florida with me,” said Sadd.
    â€œNow you’re talking!” Dwight was his jovial self again.
    â€œWell, we’ll see about Florida.” I was feeling very mellow. “I sort of hate to spend Christmas away from the kids. Now, how’s business, and who’s minding the store?”
    Sal and Dwight both started to talk at once, and it was lovely and garbled and enthusiastic. There had been seventy—count ’em—seventy persons in already that day, sales had been brisk, and telephone orders above expectation. There was to be an article about them in some magazine and … I was conscious of growing tired. Sal sensed it at once.
    â€œWe’re going.” She stood up. “If I can get in again—”
    â€œDon’t you dare,” I said. “You stay in that store and make money.”
    She leaned over and hugged me hard. “Take care of your dear, darling self.”
    I simply could not fathom this emotional parting. Dwight said, “Chin up!” and Sadd went out with them. I lay wondering what on earth …
    Sadd came back and stood looking out the window. He said, “It’s snowing. I haven’t seen snow in five years.”
    I poured myself the last of the champagne and said, “Sadd, what’s bugging everybody? Am I in worse shape than I’ve been told?”
    â€œNo, you’re in good shape actually.” He turned. “You’re going to be fine.”
    â€œThen why is everybody acting like—”
    â€œActing as if. Clara, really, that is the most deplorable—”
    â€œOh, for God’s sake, tell me what’s wrong!” I pulled off the bed jacket, which was tickling my chin unbearably. “Why is everybody acting as if I’m in mortal danger?”
    â€œBecause you are.” He picked up my glass and drained it. “Whoever tried to kill you at that party … tried again last night.”

3
    I remember looking sideways at the residue of bubbles in the plastic champagne glass as Sadd set it down on the bedside table.
    I presume I said, “How?” because Sadd said, “Poison again. Your supper tray.”
    A nurse came in with a pill in a paper cup. She looked disapprovingly at the champagne bottle, then said, “I guess we’ll wait on the medication, Mrs. Gamadge. Would you like something to eat?”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    She went out, and I took a deep breath. Impossible. Just plain impossible. Some mistake.
    Sadd came back to the bed and picked up one of the books. “A first edition of Hartley—what a treasure. May I borrow the Rumpole? Er … we’re taking you home. Tina and Paula will be here presently to help you dress. Dr. Cullen is against it, but we don’t want you to spend another night on Bald Mountain.”
    â€œSadd, listen to me—”
    â€œNo, you listen to me. ” He pulled up a plastic armchair and sat down leaning his elbows on the bed. “I’m the designated breaker-of-the-bad-news. Your children can’t bear to tell you. So ‘listen up,’ as the current expression goes—although why the addition of a mere preposition gives any more force—” He must have noticed my frozen face. “Clara, your accidental victim bit is out. Somebody has tried to kill you twice in one week, and we have to find out who and why. Who and why. That’s what you’d say to anyone coming to you in a similar predicament.”
    He started to put the books back in the tote. “We decided not to bring in the police till we could talk it over with you.