"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 310 - Death on Ice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

said,
"Well?"
"Well?" He glared at her again. "What's well? This is terrible! Terrible
I
tell you! Think of my hotel... the resort!"
"If you don't mind, I'd rather think of this poor boy here, dead so far
away from home and from all his friends..."
"Tcha! Let the dead bury the dead!" He turned on his heel and ambled off
in his deceptive slouch. He seemed to barely move his feet but he made good
time over the hard snow.
Mrs. de Silbis said, "Now, now... you shouldn't upset him. He has so many
worries, Miss Stone!"
This time the nurse managed to control her anger. She made no answer but
instead turned away. She was so grimly trying for control that she almost
knocked over the tall thin wisp that was Steven Haight.
"Oh," she gasped, "I'm sorry, Steve."
"It's all right. Think nothing of it." Haight looked worried. "What
happened? I was up at the lodge."
With unseeing eyes they looked right through some posters which screamed
in many colors, "Monster Ice Carnival! Come One! Come All! Come Dressed as the
Historical Character You Would Most Like to Be!" Almost hidden by all the
lettering was a very badly drawn scene of what the artist obviously imagined a
Roman orgy would look like on ice.
"It is quite obvious, is it not? Peter was shot. Killed by someone who is
trying to ruin my poor husband and me!" Mrs. de Silbis ran her hand over her
beet red face and muttered under her breath. "Someone is jealous of the little
success that we have... jealousy, that's what!"
Haight put his arm around the nurse. "Hey, take it easy kid. You're
shaking." He led her away from the scene.
Once in the darkness that was the beauty and the majesty of the towering
trees she managed to shake herself back into some semblance of normalcy. "I'm
sorry. Didn't mean to carry on like a two year old."
"I'm afraid," said Haight, "that twenty years investigation into
Americana
and folksay has not equipped me as much as I would like with experience in
violence."
She looked up at him and managed a smile. "Wipe your head off. It has
snow
on it."
With unquestioning obedience he twitched his hand through his hair and
was
not surprised to see snow descend like a veil around him.
"Hmm... wonder how long I've been going around looking like a snowman."
"Probably for days. You'd better have your wife come back again to take
care of you."
"Wish she could. But she has too much to do back in New York."
"Steve," the nurse's voice was serious, "what are we going to do? You
know
Sheriff Bradley. He's a fat oaf."
"I don't know. He can be unexpectedly shrewd despite his bumbling ways."