A Room to Die In Read Online Free

these
questions?”
    Tarr grinned as
if Ann had made a joke. To her surprise, he tossed the pencil in the air with
one hand, caught it with the other. Detectives were supposed to be grim and
incisive. Tarr said, “There’s still the matter of blackmail.”
    “He and Pearl
were married a year and a half ago. She was a widow with a good deal of
money—which may or may not have persuaded him.”
    “Were you at the
wedding?”
    “No.”
    “But you did
meet the new Mrs. Nelson?”
    “About a month
after they were married she invited me to dinner. They had a beautiful
apartment in Sausalito. After meeting Pearl, I felt that my father was very
lucky.”
    “But they
separated. When she died—since there was no divorce and she had no close
relatives—he came into her estate. Is that correct?”
    “So far as I
know. I wasn’t even aware Pearl was dead till my mother told me.” “And how did
she find out?”
    “I have no idea.
It’s something I wondered about myself.”
    Tarr leaned
back, his eyes quite blank. “And now you’ll inherit.”
    Ann laughed
humorlessly. “If you’re suggesting that I killed my father for his money . . .”
    “Did you?”
    “Would you
believe me if I said I did?”
    “I’d like to
know how you arranged it.”
    “Just for the
record,” said Ann with a curling lip, “I did not shoot Roland.”
    Tarr asked
carelessly, “You weren’t blackmailing him?”
    “I neither
murdered nor blackmailed my father.”
    “What about your
mother?”
    “What about her?”
    “Do you think
she might have been blackmailing him?”
    “No. I really
don’t.”
    Tarr frowned,
put the pencil definitely aside. “You saw her when?”
    “The early part
of March—the first or the second.”
    “Which would be
shortly after your father came into the estate. Did she tell you of her
intentions?”
    “She wanted
money from him. I told her she was wasting her time, but she paid no attention.”
    “Wouldn’t that
suggest that she had some sort of hold over him? In other words, blackmail?”
    “It seems
utterly fantastic.”
    “You have the
same reaction to the idea of suicide,” Tarr pointed out, “which is demonstrable
fact.”
    “It hasn’t been
demonstrated to me yet.”
    “Very well,”
said Tarr. He rose. “I’m going out to Inisfail now to check through your father’s
papers. You can come along if you like; in fact, I’d appreciate your help. I
believe I can also demonstrate the fact of suicide.”
    “Very well,”
said Ann with dignity. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

CHAPTER 3
    Tarr conducted
Ann to an official car and gallantly assisted her into the front seat. He drove
out of town by the Lagunitas Road, which took a preliminary dip to the south,
then wound westward over the flanks of Mount Tamalpais, eventually meeting the
Pacific at Horseneck Beach.
    “I spoke to your
father’s landlord last night,” said Tarr. “He hasn’t been too happy. Your
father apparently failed to do some work he had promised.”
    Ann made no
comment. The fact was of no interest to her.
    Tarr glanced at
her sidewise. “What do you do for a living?”
    “I’m a
schoolteacher.”
    “You don’t look
like any of my old school teachers,” said Tarr. “I might still be in school.”
    “You don’t look
like any of mine, either,” said Ann wearily.
    After a moment
Tarr asked, “Since you’re Miss Nelson, you’re not married?”
    “Not now.”
    “I guess we all
have our problems,” said Tarr—a remark over which Ann puzzled for several
minutes.
    San Rafael fell
behind. The road passed through a scrofulous district of housing developments,
then veered off across a rolling countryside of vineyards, copses of oak and
eucalyptus, and old clapboard farmhouses. The hills became steeper and wilder;
fir and pine appeared beside the road.
    Ten miles out of
San Rafael the road swung across an ancient timber bridge and entered the village
of Inisfail. The main street housed the usual assortment of