hours before she got there, or hours after she left, Meg has little to be afraid of," Barbara said slowly, "even if someone saw her there. And that's still an unknown."
"There's another issue," Wally said, holding Meg close. "When I was in the stir years ago, Meg worked in a restaurant and she wrote some children's books and got them published. There was a television special once, with reruns now and then. Not a fortune, but a little coming in now and then. We lived on it a couple of years. And last November an editor who was having a fit of nostalgia recalled the books. He had loved them, apparently, and he's in a position where he can do something about it.
They've been out of print for years, but he got in touch with the agent who handles the residuals, and now there's a new contract in the works to reissue them with new illustrations, and he wants more to go along with them. That's why we decided it was time to settle down, give her space and a real study, put the old girl back to work."
Meg smiled. "There was never much time when we were moving around a lot. I just put them out of mind after Wally came home, but I want to do more. Over the years I seem to have accumulated a lot of ideas."
"She can't afford to have her name mixed up in a theft rap, or a murder case," Wally said. "I think certain people would say she's not fit to speak to children."
Barbara sank back against the chair. "Did you use your name?"
"No. Margaret Waite. I thought it was appropriate, since I was waiting for Wally. But in this day and age I don't think that would be a secret for long."
Barbara felt a faint memory stir. "What were the books?"
"They're about a baby dragon," Meg said. "For four- to seven-year-olds, that age group."
"Good God! I loved those books! I think I memorized them all!" A vivid memory surfaced of sitting in her mother's lap, watching her slender finger trace the words as she read about the baby dragon.
Meg dimpled and Wally flashed his big grin. "That's my girl," he said. "And, Barbara, remember, she's to be kept all the way out of whatever comes next. I won't even have her name breathed by the cops."
Chapter 7
Barbara sat on Frank's porch on Sunday afternoon, waiting for him to finish in the garden. She had brought out a glass of ice water for him. He would be as hot as she had become walking over.
Both cats came to her looking for a handout. She showed them the water glass and they walked away with disdain. Frank joined her. He took off his gardening shoes and put on house slippers, then sat in another rattan chair.
"Ah," he said, picking up his water. "Thank you."
"You work too hard."
"Noted. What's new?"
"Jay Wilkins died between two and four hours after his last meal, and take-out food was delivered at seven."
"Ah," he said again, and drank some of the water.
"Meg was there at about nine forty-five," she added.
"Ah," he said again. "I've been thinking about that." He took another drink. "You realize that the day's coming when you'll have to fess up. Material evidence in a murder case can't be concealed by an attorney, not if she expects to keep her license."
"I can't," she said. "Wally's prepared to lie to hell and gone to keep Meg out of it. If she contradicts him, he'll make it look like she's trying to save his neck. And his word would carry more weight than mine. They much prefer a confession to anything a lawyer might have to say."
"You think he'd lie under oath?"
"Dad, would you lie under oath to save my life?"
Gruffly he said, "That's a different question." He finished the water.
"And you have your answer. Also," she continued, "the insurance investigator called to let me know they found the boat. Just a little mistake, a bit of absentmindedness.
He's happy to be out of it, he said. It can be messy when someone accuses a guest of theft. Messy! He doesn't know the half of it."
"Well, keep in mind two things —the widow is still out of sight, and someone else was present that night, and
"There's another issue," Wally said, holding Meg close. "When I was in the stir years ago, Meg worked in a restaurant and she wrote some children's books and got them published. There was a television special once, with reruns now and then. Not a fortune, but a little coming in now and then. We lived on it a couple of years. And last November an editor who was having a fit of nostalgia recalled the books. He had loved them, apparently, and he's in a position where he can do something about it.
They've been out of print for years, but he got in touch with the agent who handles the residuals, and now there's a new contract in the works to reissue them with new illustrations, and he wants more to go along with them. That's why we decided it was time to settle down, give her space and a real study, put the old girl back to work."
Meg smiled. "There was never much time when we were moving around a lot. I just put them out of mind after Wally came home, but I want to do more. Over the years I seem to have accumulated a lot of ideas."
"She can't afford to have her name mixed up in a theft rap, or a murder case," Wally said. "I think certain people would say she's not fit to speak to children."
Barbara sank back against the chair. "Did you use your name?"
"No. Margaret Waite. I thought it was appropriate, since I was waiting for Wally. But in this day and age I don't think that would be a secret for long."
Barbara felt a faint memory stir. "What were the books?"
"They're about a baby dragon," Meg said. "For four- to seven-year-olds, that age group."
"Good God! I loved those books! I think I memorized them all!" A vivid memory surfaced of sitting in her mother's lap, watching her slender finger trace the words as she read about the baby dragon.
Meg dimpled and Wally flashed his big grin. "That's my girl," he said. "And, Barbara, remember, she's to be kept all the way out of whatever comes next. I won't even have her name breathed by the cops."
Chapter 7
Barbara sat on Frank's porch on Sunday afternoon, waiting for him to finish in the garden. She had brought out a glass of ice water for him. He would be as hot as she had become walking over.
Both cats came to her looking for a handout. She showed them the water glass and they walked away with disdain. Frank joined her. He took off his gardening shoes and put on house slippers, then sat in another rattan chair.
"Ah," he said, picking up his water. "Thank you."
"You work too hard."
"Noted. What's new?"
"Jay Wilkins died between two and four hours after his last meal, and take-out food was delivered at seven."
"Ah," he said again, and drank some of the water.
"Meg was there at about nine forty-five," she added.
"Ah," he said again. "I've been thinking about that." He took another drink. "You realize that the day's coming when you'll have to fess up. Material evidence in a murder case can't be concealed by an attorney, not if she expects to keep her license."
"I can't," she said. "Wally's prepared to lie to hell and gone to keep Meg out of it. If she contradicts him, he'll make it look like she's trying to save his neck. And his word would carry more weight than mine. They much prefer a confession to anything a lawyer might have to say."
"You think he'd lie under oath?"
"Dad, would you lie under oath to save my life?"
Gruffly he said, "That's a different question." He finished the water.
"And you have your answer. Also," she continued, "the insurance investigator called to let me know they found the boat. Just a little mistake, a bit of absentmindedness.
He's happy to be out of it, he said. It can be messy when someone accuses a guest of theft. Messy! He doesn't know the half of it."
"Well, keep in mind two things —the widow is still out of sight, and someone else was present that night, and
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