Vanish in an Instant

Vanish in an Instant by Margaret Millar

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Authors: Margaret Millar
Tags: Crime Fiction
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ivy-planted wall brackets dripped with sharp little pings onto the waxed concrete floor.
    Mrs. Hamilton didn’t notice the dripping. She had taken Virginia’s coat and was hanging it in the closet. She han­dled the coat with a kind of nervous tenderness as if it was of great value and she wasn’t sure how to treat it. For the first time Meecham took a close look at the coat. Its bold black and white design dazzled the eye, but the material was cheap.
    Neither of the women made any move to take Meecham’s hat or coat, so he laid them across a chair. He was a little irritated because he was sure that the omission on their part was more than a lapse in manners; it was an unconscious expression of their real feeling toward him. He wondered again why Mrs. Hamilton had invited him in for coffee, and why he had accepted against his will.
    â€œWe should do something to celebrate,” Mrs. Hamil­ton said. “Perhaps a little dinner party tonight. Would you like that, Ginny?”
    Virginia ignored, or didn’t hear, the question. She was gazing at Meecham thoughtfully, part of her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Meecham, I’ve got an idea.”
    â€œMr. Meecham, dear,” Mrs. Hamilton corrected. “Mr. It sounds coarse to . . .”
    â€œMomma, please . I’m talking.”
    â€œThen talk properly.”
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sake, Momma, this is important!” She turned back to Meecham. “I think I’ll sue them for false arrest. I suffered grievous humiliation, didn’t I, my reputation was damaged, I underwent great privations, et cetera. How about that, Meecham?”
    â€œIt’s not such a good idea,” Meecham said.
    â€œIt is, it’s a wonderful idea. Why, I could get a fortune if I won.”
    â€œYou couldn’t win because you haven’t a case. There was no malicious persecution, and the Sheriff had enough grounds to arr—”
    â€œStop.” Mrs. Hamilton spoke quietly but with such force, such cold anger, that Meecham stopped in the middle of a word, and Virginia turned to look at her mother with an air of surprise. “I’m ashamed of you, Virginia. Ashamed.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, Momma, I’ve got my rights and . . .”
    â€œThere’ll be no further discussion of this, ever.” Mrs. Hamilton’s face had changed from white to pink, and now back to white again, as if there was something the matter with her circulatory system and it responded too quickly and too violently to changes in her emotions. “The sub­ject will never be brought up again. Is that clear to you, Virginia? And you, Mr. Meecham?”
    â€œThe whole thing was a pipe-dream anyway,” Meecham said.
    â€œOf course. Of course it was.” She was regaining her composure. “You hear that, Virginia?”
    â€œI heard.”
    â€œNow go and say hello to Carney, like a good girl. She can’t leave the office.”
    Virginia turned obediently and walked away, but not before giving Meecham an obvious we’ll-talk-about-it-later glance. Mrs. Hamilton must have seen the glance and in­terpreted it, but she said nothing about it until she and Meecham were settled in front of the fireplace.
    Between them, so close to Meecham that he could scarcely move his legs, there was an immense three-tiered glass table that looked as though it weighed a ton. The chair that Meecham occupied was deep and low and soft, one of those chairs it was difficult to get out of even with­out a table blocking the way.
    Meecham felt suddenly and inexplicably afraid. The fear passed over him like a wave, accelerating his heartbeat, and left behind beads of moisture on his forehead and a damp cold sensation across the small of his back. He had to control an impulse to kick away the huge table, spilling the coffee from its silver urn, shattering the china cups and the glass tiers. Violence is the instinctive

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