The Case of the Poisoned Eclairs: A Masao Masuto Mystery Read Free Page B

stated that she was Mrs. Laura Crombie.
    She was a tall, handsome woman in her mid-forties, with a lean body, a well-defined face, light-brown hair swept back from her brow, and little makeup. She wore slacks and a blouse, and regarded Masuto curiously from behind the chain which held the door half open.
    â€œI’m Detective Sergeant Masuto, Beverly Hills police,” he said, showing her his badge. “I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind.”
    â€œYes—yes, of course. Is it about Ana, poor child? I called the hospital, and they told me.” She unhooked the chain. “Forgive me, but I’m alone in the house. I’ve had no one to replace Ana.” She stood aside for him to enter, closing the door behind him. “You’re Japanese. Forgive me. I don’t usually make personal remarks. I think it’s fine that we have a Japanese policeman here.”
    â€œI’m a Nisei, Mrs. Crombie, which means that I was born here. However, you may think of me as Japanese if you wish. I am not entirely Westernized.”
    â€œYou’re very nice, and that’s a very nice way to forgive my rudeness. Come in and sit down. Can I offer you anything, a cold drink, perhaps?”
    â€œNo thank you, nothing.”
    She led the way through a living room furnished with overstuffed pieces covered in bright printed linen into a library, bookshelves and brown leather chairs and couch. All in good taste, Masuto reflected, a huge and enormously expensive Kirman rug on the floor of the living room and three lovely Degas pastels on the wall of the library. She sat down in one of the leather chairs, and he sat facing her.
    â€œI will have to ask you a good many questions,” he told her. “I hope you will not mind and I hope you can give me the time.”
    â€œNo—I don’t mind and I do have the time. But why?” she wondered, frowning. “I think Ana’s death is a terrible thing—she was so young and alive and bright. But food poisoning happens, and I’ve begged her not to eat those wretched tacos.”
    â€œShe didn’t die from eating tacos or any other Mexican food, Mrs. Crombie. She was poisoned by the éclairs you gave her to take home.”
    There was a long silence. Then Mrs. Crombie whispered, “Oh, my God, no. No!”
    â€œI’m afraid so.”
    The woman sitting across from Masuto shook her head woefully. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œIt wasn’t your fault. I know how you must feel,” he said gently.
    â€œOf course it was my fault. I gave her the pastry.”
    â€œThere was no way you could have known what you were giving her. Did you eat any of the pastry or did you give her all of it?”
    Laura Crombie shook her head, tried to speak, then closed her eyes.
    â€œCan I get you something?” Masuto asked her.
    â€œNo—give me a minute. I’ll be all right.” A moment later, she appeared to have recovered. “Go on, Sergeant.”
    â€œThe important thing is to know where you bought the pastry.”
    â€œI didn’t buy it.”
    â€œYou didn’t buy it? Was it a gift? Did someone bring it?”
    â€œIt was delivered.”
    â€œBut who sent it? Who bought it?”
    She shook her head. “You must think me a totally empty-headed fool. I’ll try to explain. I am divorced, and I live alone in this huge, ridiculous barn of a place. I don’t know why. Inertia, and also some good memories as well as some bad ones. Ana took care of the place. I don’t entertain very much. I don’t go out much and I dislike travel intensely. I have all the money I could possibly need and I find myself bored to distraction. Years ago, I used to play bridge. Last month, I decided to try to put a bridge game together, which would take care of at least one afternoon a week. I had two friends who were interested, and then we found a third. The day