Curiosity Didn't Kill the Cat Read Online Free Page B

Anyway, I don’t know what happened last night, and the only evidence I have is my knowledge of my husband. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s as concrete as a fingerprint.”
    He nodded. “All right, Nel, go on. I’m listening.”
    “Well, that’s more than the police would do.”
    “They’re used to working with more concrete evidence—such as fingerprints.”
    “I know, and I can see their reasoning. Harold was seen walking down Front Street in the general direction of the beach access—”
    “Who saw him?”
    “Alma Crane, our neighbor across the street.” Her tone was briefly cold. “Who else? The all-seeing eye of Hollis Heights.”
    Conan knew Alma Crane and understood Nel’s coldness. He made no comment, waiting silently for her to continue.
    “Anyway, a few hours later, he was found washed up on the beach. So the police, quite naturally, I suppose, assumed he went for a walk on the beach and got caught in a high wave.”
    “But you have another explanation?”
    “No. All I know is that explanation is wrong. It sounds reasonable enough, and would be—for anyone but Harold. I knew my husband, Conan. I know it’s inconceivable that he would voluntarily go out on that beach last night—or any night. And if he didn’t go voluntarily, he was taken there forcibly, and he died there. That doesn’t add up to ‘accidental drowning.’”
    He walked back to his chair and sat down, frowning as he stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.
    “What makes you so sure he wouldn’t go to the beach voluntarily?”
    She hesitated as if she were trying to find the right words.
    “You see, Harold had many…eccentricities, and one of them was his strange—well, I suppose you’d call it a fear of the sea. It was strange. He spent most of his life on or near the ocean, and in a way, he loved it; at least he loved his life on the sea. But at the same time, he was deathly afraid of it. I think it started when he lost that ship. That was in the Korean War. He never talked about it much, but I understand there weren’t many survivors. At any rate, his attitude toward the ocean was…ambivalent, at the least. Fear, is the only word I know for it, and it was getting worse with time.”
    She sighed and leaned back in her chair, gazing out the window.
    “I never did really understand it. I was only grateful he was willing to live here on the coast. That was a concession to me; he knew how I loved it. But when we decided to move down here, there was one thing he was adamant about: he would not live on the beachfront. We had a chance to buy the Adams house—you know, that nice place down on the front next to Mrs. Leen’s?”
    He nodded. “Yes, I know the one.”
    “It was a real bargain then, but Harold wouldn’t have anything to do with it. He paid twice as much for the house we have now, and it isn’t nearly as nice. And he was always…extremely careful with his money. Penurious, to be quite frank.” She leaned forward, emphasizing her words. “But the important thing to him was that our house is up on Hollis Heights, a good three hundred feet above the beach level. He didn’t seem to mind so much being within sight of the ocean, but he literally couldn’t stand being—well, within reach of it.”
    She sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes.
    “And Harold did not take walks on the beach, day or night. In all the time we lived here, nearly ten years now, he only set foot on the beach three or four times, and that was at my insistence, and always on mild summer days. He used to get quite upset when I went down to the beach, and he never wanted me to go alone.”
    She looked up, a troubled, reminiscent expression clouding her gray eyes.
    “And those few times he did go with me, he insisted on waiting until low tide, and all the time he was nervous as a cat. You’d think he was expecting a tidal wave. The longest time he ever stayed on the beach with me was about half an hour. Then he just grabbed my