The Thin Woman by Dorothy Cannell

Author:Dorothy Cannell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Humour, Mystery & Detective, Fiction, Romance, Adult, Traditional British
ISBN: 9780553291957
Publisher: Crimeline
Published: 1984-01-02T02:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

Twelve

Whatever thoughts obsessed the mind of the unseen enemy, he seemed to give up on us for the present. The succeeding weeks passed without another attack. We might be living on false security but I could have been almost content, involved as I was with work in the house and my search for the identity of Abigail Grantham, if only Ben had not turned so aloof. He wasn’t unpleasant, just politely distant. He was fine with Dorcas so I had to assume this attitude was separate from any depression over his book. To give the man his due, he had come to terms with his loss remarkably well, and for that Dorcas was partially responsible. She had refused to let him sit up in his room and mope.

“Sulk,” she had growled, “and you know who will end up doing the cooking. Ellie’s still busy sorting furniture in the attics. Know I should be able to make a tomartichoke quiche or whatever, but don’t know how to crack an egg let alone boil one.”

That night dinner was on the table at the usual time, at the usual gourmet standard. Ben even looked moderately pleased with his raised pheasant pie.

“Well done,” applauded Dorcas. “Tomorrow we will have you propped up back at the typewriter. Know writing isn’t like knitting, you can’t just pick up the dropped stitches but …”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” said Ben. “While I was plucking that bird and wishing like hell I had the enemy in my hands I kept thinking, oh God, if only I had been blessed with a photographic memory—which gave me an idea of sorts. What if I could acquire one through hypnotism? I would need an expert, someone tiptop, not the usual run-of-the-mill nonsmoking types, but where to look? We don’t even have a damn phone book in this accursed house.”

“I think we did, once,” I responded vaguely, still thinking about his idea, “but it got boxed up with Aunt Sybil’s junk and sent down to the cottage. Anyway, it was years out of date. Besides, I can do better for you than thumbing through the H section. Jill.”

“Jill?” Ben eyed me without enthusiasm. “That funny little runt of a friend of yours? She’s not a hypnotist.”

“True, but she’s bound to know one. She’s into reincarnation and regression and all that stuff. If she can produce someone who is in the business of taking people back to former lives, your case—a matter of months—should be child’s play. I’ll write to Jill tomorrow.”

I did. And I must say Ben was properly appreciative. It wasn’t until later that he grew cool, I think. The change was so gradual it was hard to say when it began.

Fortunately in other respects I had some good moments. While lifting aside a pile of rugs in the attic I found the oak overmantel. Abigail’s overmantel, the one mentioned in her ledger. I had Jonas polish it for me. Scowling, he rolled up his shirt sleeves. “Proper shameful this is, men being put to women’s work.

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