Mildred Pierced Read Online Free

the trowel, took off her gloves, and laid them all neatly on a table near the back door.
    “Nice,” I said, rinsing my hands and looking for a towel.
    “Thank you. To your right, on the rack.”
    There were two clean white hand towels. I dried my hands and started to put the towel back.
    “No,” she said sharply. “Under the sink. There’s a bin for used towels.”
    I opened the door under the sink, found the bin, and dropped the towel in. Then I turned. Dr. Peters was ready for surgery. I felt like holding up my hands and waiting for her to put rubber gloves on me the way the nurses did for Lew Ayres in the Dr. Kildare movies.
    “This way,” she said, turning and walking out of the kitchen into the dining room.
    “Please,” she said pleasantly. “Have a seat.”
    I sat. So did she. She pulled an unopened pack of cigarettes from her apron, opened it, lit one, and pulled a clean ashtray toward her from the center of the table.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “Would you like some coffee?”
    I felt like asking if she planned to throw the cup away after I drank from it, but settled for a simple “No, thanks.”
    “Fred said you are an honest man and that you have some questions for me,” she said. “I have one for you. Ask your questions. Then I’ll ask mine.”
    “Okay,” I said. “This is about the woman you saw killed in Lincoln Park yesterday.”
    She looked at the ceiling and sighed. “So everyone knows. I was afraid of that.”
    “Everyone doesn’t know. You gave the name ‘Billie Cassin’ when you were interviewed by the police,” I said. “But Shelly Minck recognized you, or thinks he did.”
    “Shelly …?”
    “The fat little man in the park with the crossbow. Your real name is not on the report.”
    “Not yet.” She shook her head. “Cassin was my stepfather’s name. I was called Billie when I was a young girl. I didn’t even know it wasn’t my real name.”
    “Can you tell me what you saw yesterday?” I asked. “I know you told the police. I read the report, but they’ve already decided they have their killer.”
    “The funny-looking little bald-headed fat man with the thick glasses?” she asked.
    I nodded.
    “Why are you …?”
    “Sheldon Minck is a dentist. I share office space with him.”
    “Fred said you’re a private investigator.”
    She was smoking nervously now.
    “I sublet an office from Shelly,” I said. “I’ve known him a long time. I can’t see him committing a murder.”
    “It was his wife, I understand?”
    “Mildred,” I said.
    “That’s a coincidence,” she said.
    “Coincidence?”
    “I’ve just been offered the lead in a movie called Mildred Pierce. Wonderful script. It’s about a woman who confesses to killing her philandering husband.”
    “Did she do it?”
    Crawford laughed.
    “See the movie when it comes out,” she said.
    “Mildred Minck was a philanderer, too,” I said.
    Crawford looked serious now. “That doesn’t help your dentist.”
    “I know. Mildred was no great beauty and not much in the way of charm, either. But she was determined.”
    “All right.” She put out what was left of her cigarette and folded her hands on the table. “Yesterday. About eleven in the morning. I was going to meet Phil, my husband, for an early lunch.”
    “Where?”
    “I had it with me in a paper bag,” she said. “He was getting off work at the airplane factory in order to try out for a part in a film. Mr. Peters, it wouldn’t be difficult for you to find out my husband is working in an airplane factory while his agent tries to find him roles. We have no servants. We use only half the house to keep expenses down. I make his lunch and dinner and take care of the house and children. They are out this afternoon at a birthday party.”
    My look must have given away something about what I was thinking.
    “Yes, Joan Crawford is, at the moment, only a housewife. But that is about to change.”
    “ Mildred Pierce? ”
    “Exactly,” she