“Looks like a bad sprain, miss, but it should be better in a few days if you stay off of it.” He displayed a reassuring smile and went back to work. Marjorie tried hard to reciprocate, but all she could do was shiver, despite the coarse woolen blanket draped over her shoulders, and watch as uniformed policemen crawled around the property, snapping photos and placing objects in bags. “Think we’re in for rain,” the ambulance driver commented. The August day had grown overcast and a stiff breeze was blowing the leaves so that their silver undersides were visible. Marjorie nodded her reply, but it was not the weather that caused her chill as much as the featureless corpse that lay, just a few yards away, in the cellar of Veronica Carter’s home. She closed her eyes and wondered if she would ever be able to forget what she had seen. When she opened them, she saw Creighton approaching, bearing two paper cups of water and escorting two familiar gentlemen to the crime scene.
