A Lack of Temperance by Anna Loan-Wilsey Page B

talked about. I had all my dusting left to do.” A note in Mrs. Trevelyan’s calendar had listed a name beginning with M, but that was on Sunday, not Friday.
    “Why do you want to know all this? Do you think the man has something to do with the lady’s murder?”
    “I don’t know, Mary, but I intend to find out.”

C HAPTER 11
    “W hat was that all about, Davish?”
    Miss Lucy and her sister, who had been waiting for me in the lobby, watched Mary Flannagan dart down the hallway. I wanted to slip away too. My knee hurt and my head was spinning from all that had happened. I wished nothing more than to be left alone to organize my thoughts at my typewriter.
    “And shouldn’t you be in bed?” Miss Lucy held her hand up before I could answer or protest. She seemed none the worse for the tragedy. “Since you’re already up, let’s eat.”
    “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.
    “Thank you, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “It’s all been such a shock.”
    “Yes, I still can’t believe it. We worked like beetles pushing dung up a hill and still lost the vote! You did hear, didn’t you, Davish,” Miss Lucy said, “that Proposition 203 was voted down for the seventh time! And then Edwina, murdered! I don’t know if the coalition can take another blow.”
    I was stunned that Miss Lucy placed the same emphasis on the loss yesterday at the polls as on the death of her friend. It was an exemplification of an organization putting their cause before individual people. Had I misjudged these kindly old ladies?
    We entered the dining room and ordered tea. It was difficult to act casually but I tried. We chatted about small matters—the mild weather, Harper’s newest fashions, where to buy the cheapest notions—until the waiter served us. I poured. As usual, Miss Lucy was the first to broach the subject foremost on all of our minds.
    “Talk, Davish. Tell us everything you know.”
    “Oh, Lucy, leave the poor girl alone,” Miss Lizzie chided her sister while licking her fingers. Cheese biscuit crumbs littered her plate. I was surprised she even had an appetite. I couldn’t eat a bite.
    “Hattie, dear, we were concerned about you. I’m glad to see you looking more rested, though I notice you haven’t touched your food.” She took a bite of a tongue sandwich from Miss Lucy’s plate.
    “Dr. Grice said she’s fine, Lizzie. Now, we’re here to talk about Edwina, aren’t we?”
    “Poor Edwina, murdered!” Miss Lizzie used her napkin to dab her eyes. She took a deep breath that sounded like a stifled sob. “And for you to have seen her like that. How awful.”
    “It was awful, Miss Lizzie,” I said. “I can’t stop wondering who would do such a thing.”
    “Well then, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Miss Lucy drained her tea and set her cup down deliberately. “If Davish isn’t going to, I’ll start.”
    The elderly sisters, almost relishing the moment, were keen to give me their versions of the afternoon’s events, as well as details they had gleaned from Officer Burke.
    “Dr. Grice carried you himself, dear. He’s such a gentleman,” Miss Lizzie said, blushing. Then she bit into an apple tart. “He said you were lucky to land on that pile of dresses. Not wanting to take any chances, he attended to you himself.”
    “Where is Dr. Grice now?” I said.
    “He went with the police, dear. Something about an autotopsy ?”
    “Not an autotopsy, Lizzie, an autopsy, a postmortem examination,” Miss Lucy said.
    “Does he know how Mrs. Trevelyan died? Or when?” I asked.
    “We don’t know, Davish. Dr. Grice didn’t tell us a thing,” Miss Lucy grumbled. “At least that policeman Burke was thoughtful enough to tell us they were taking Edwina’s remains to be examined and that Dr. Grice went with them. As far as we know, they’re all still there.”
    “Did the police say anything else?” I said. “Do they have any ideas who did this?” Miss Lucy bristled at the question.
    “No,