Lady in Peril by Lester Dent

Author:Lester Dent [Dent, Lester]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-9258-7
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-11-26T21:54:00+00:00

SIX

THE MORTICIAN ON THE TELEPHONE was apologetic to Loneman. The mortician’s name was Lunberry, the Lunberry Funeral Home. He said Mrs. Loneman had telephoned him an hour ago, engaging his services for the body of her brother, David Stanley Jones. But there were problems, Lunberry explained. The deceased, David Stanley Jones, was the Senate committee witness the newspapers had dubbed Grocer Jones, and the police felt the death might not be suicide or accident. The police were investigating indications of murder. They were going to post the body. Did the family wish to oppose the post, although it might do no good?

Loneman’s lean face was pale. He said, “We’ll have to discuss this later, Mr. Lunberry. Right now, I have another matter.”

“Of course, Mr. Loneman. Tomorrow morning, perhaps.”

Loneman made a telephone call to the state patrol office. Sheffey had charge of the case, he learned. Sheffey had already left for the Ploughman Building. Loneman went downstairs.

“Sheffey.” Loneman’s voice was scared. “I found my wife’s dog loose on the street. She wouldn’t turn him loose. Something happened to her.”

“You told me that on the phone.” Sheffey looked tired, he had been called from his report writing. “Gabe went to walk the dog. You went to hunt her. How long in between there?”

“Forty to forty-five minutes,” Loneman said. His eyes were haunted. “I didn’t expect trouble. She usually takes ten to fifteen minutes to walk the dog.”

“This dog,” Sheffey said. “Would this dog just run away from her?”

Loneman said, “Not Alf. Not that pooch.” He got in the police cruiser. “Let’s drive around the neighborhood. We might find something.” He had forgotten his hat.

They traveled two blocks south. A city police car cut to the curb ahead of them, four patrolmen got out. The patrolmen went different directions, the driver stayed put. “The town law,” Sheffey said. “They’re getting on the job.”

“It looks that way,” Loneman said.

Sheffey said, “I’m going to see what kind of a description they have of your wife.” He brought the state police car to a stop near one of the city patrolmen. “I’m Sheffey. Got a minute?” he called to the patrolman.

“I’m Bowles.” The city man came over. Bowles was a heavy, white-haired man with pug nose, pinkish skin. He said, “Sheffey, eh. You would be the one we are supposed to clear with.”

“That’s me,” Sheffey said. “What description they give you?”

Bowles said, “Subject is female, name Mrs. Gabriella Loneman. Five-two, one-ten, white and thirty. Honey blonde, light brown eyes, attractive. Black suit dress and black accessories. Dressed for mourning. Only no veil.”

Sheffey looked questioningly at Loneman.

“Close enough,” Loneman said. “Any trace of her yet?”

Bowles shook his head, said, “But we ain’t hardly got going.”

The radio called them to a spot three blocks south and one block west of the Ploughman Building. The radio said, “Contents of woman’s purse.” That was all.

Loneman followed Sheffey out of the cruiser. This was a business street; two blocks on west were theater lights, but here it was lonely night except for a sober knot of police.

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