The Year's 25 finest crime and mystery stories by Breen Jon L. 1943-

Author:Breen, Jon L., 1943-
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery & Detective - General, Detective and mystery stories, Mystery/Suspense, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Fiction, FIC, American, English, Mystery and detective stories, Short stories, English Mystery & Suspense Fiction, FIC022000
Publisher: New York : Carroll & Graf
Published: 1992-01-14T23:00:00+00:00

She said aloud on a note of despair, "Oh, no —why me?" and backed away from the window.

Now the gate definitely clicked and steps came up the path. Mrs. Bloomfield fingered the silver crucifix at her throat. She didn't propose to discuss her beliefs with anybody, let alone a stranger. She would not go to the door. Let him give up and go away, whatever he wanted.

The doorbell chimed its two disarming notes.

There was nothing to show she was at home. The car was in the garage with the door closed.

The chimes sounded again. And again, several times over.

The caller's persistence undermined Mrs. Bloomfield's resolve a little. She had a safety chain on the door. She could always ask what he wanted and tell him to go away. That was the reasonable thing to do. First, she needed another look at him to make absolutely sure it was nobody she knew. If it turned out to be an acquaintance who had come on an unexpected visit she couldn't very well slam the door in his face.

The curve of the bow window gave a narrow view of the porch. All she had to do was make a space between the edge of the curtain and the window frame.

She sidled closer and eased the curtain aside with a fingertip. The man wasn't at the door any longer. In her agitated state she had failed to notice that the chimes had stopped. Had he given up? She bit her lip and shut her eyes and willed him to get in his car and drive off. Her strength of will must have been less than his, for when she opened her eyes she was looking straight into his face. He was only a yard away from her, standing right up to the window, gesturing, jabbing his finger toward the door. Mrs. Bloomfield rocked back in a paroxysm of alarm, her hand to her heart. She backed right against the wall, beside the piano, where she couldn't possibly be seen from outside.

It was a monstrous intrusion, staring in at someone's window like that. No one had any right. She tried to slow down her breathing and get control of her nerves. Outrageous behavior. He must have been standing on the flowerbed to have got so near. Well, she simply had to wait for him to go away. The) alwavs ^i\e up in the end, however persistent the\ seem, ihc told henell as it she weie thOTOUghl) M C nstomed to getting rid ot unwanted

( alien. She had an innei vok e that sometimes surprised her In coming to hei res< ue in moments oi stress a firm, dec isive voice that quite overrode

Nn

PETER LOVESEY

the weaker tendencies of her personality. It was telling her to dismiss the visitor from her thoughts.

Unclenching her hands, she moved into the hall and stood in trout ot the thermometer hanging on the wall above her husband's collection ot miniature ceramic houses. It was mounted on wood and shaped like a guitar, with the glass tube along the narrow part.

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