Read Friends till the End Online

Authors: Gloria Dank

Friends till the End

A Friend Indeed

“Bernard,” said Maya, “did you hear what Snooky just told me?”

“What is it?”

“The hostess of the party he went to last night—well, she died. They say she was
poisoned.

Bernard looked up from his desk. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“That’s horrible.” Bernard felt strangely offended. Murders, he felt, should not happen in Ridgewood, Connecticut.

“Well, he’s pretty upset.”

“Mmmm-hmmm. Do you think he did it?”

“Bernard, please. It’s not like he
knew
any of those people, really. He just met them last night. I mean, Snooky is always getting into some kind of trouble, but he never actually ran afoul of the law before.”

“Sweetheart, your brother did not murder his hostess. The police must know that. All the same—”

“What?”

“All the same, I wonder who did,” said Bernard.

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FRIENDS TILL THE END
A Bantam Book / October 1989

All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1989 by Gloria Dank.
Illustrations by Laura Hartman Maestro.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.

eISBN: 978-0-307-81868-3

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103.

v3.1

Contents
Cast of Characters
THE FAMILY

Laura Sloane
—Walter Sloane’s wife and stepmother to his two children—the party she gave was to be her last, but other than that it was, like all her parties, a great success.…

Walter Sloane
—a thorough curmudgeon, made wealthy by his wife’s death, he was hated by nearly all his friends—and his family.…

Isabel Sloane
—Walter Sloane’s beautiful daughter from his first marriage, who chose to stay at home and cook and clean for everyone.…

Richard Sloane
—Walter Sloane’s son from his first marriage—spoiled and sulky, he fought often and violently with his father.…

THE FRIENDS

Sam Abrams
—Walter Sloane’s business partner, who enjoyed taking over while Walter was away.…

Ruth Abrams
—Sam’s dithery, slow-witted wife.…

Harry Crandall
—emeritus professor of biology and an expert on slime molds, he could paralyze an entire room of people just by talking.…

Heather Crandall
—Harry’s wife, she was obsessed by health—her own and everyone else’s.…

Freda Simms
—an eccentric widow who was jealous of the people she loved.…

THE OTHERS

Snooky Randolph
—a wealthy young man with no particular occupation and a fantastic got for crossword puzzles.…

Maya Woodruff
—Snooky’s older sister, who strongly disapproved of his choice of girlfriends.…

Bernard Woodruff
—writer of children’s books and armchair detective, he trusted no one except his wife Maya—and himself.…

Detective Jim Voelker
—his habitually melancholy expression deepened as one murder inevitably followed another.…

1

It was a lovely party. Everyone said so; even Harry Crandall, emeritus professor of biology, who ordinarily spent the whole evening talking about his beloved slime molds. This evening he had been cajoled into discussing the Late Beethoven Quartets, quite a departure for him. He was an authority on the subject, as everyone expected he would be. He only held forth on subjects on which he was an authority. The host, Walter Sloane, and his wife Laura circulated among their guests. It was a small party: just the Sloane family and a few friends. There was only one stranger present, a young man with a very odd name, something like Snoopy or Ucky. Walter Sloane’s daughter had brought him along as her date. He was not one of the usual crowd so everyone ignored him; by far the easiest way.

It was a lovely, lovely party; everyone said so. It would have been just about perfect if the hostess had not died. As it was, everyone enjoyed themselves very much.

“Naked masses of protoplasm,” Harry Crandall was saying, diverted momentarily by a question concerning his favorite subject. “That’s all they are. Fascinating creatures, I tell you. Slime molds belong to a class of extremely peculiar organisms,
Myxomycetes
 …”

Freda Simms gave her distinctive loud cackle. “He’s off again. Good old Harry.”

Ruth Abrams looked worried. She always looked worried. She was a short heavy-set woman with the mild-mannered face of a not very intelligent sheep. “Freda,” she said reproachfully. “He’ll hear you.”

Freda Simms smiled. Her hair tonight was red; a distinctive shade of brilliant red. It looked as if it had been painted on her head by an industrious child with finger paints. It stuck out wildly in all directions and bobbed as she talked. She spoke constantly, nervously, gesturing with a cigarette.

“I’ve convinced Eddie to show me how he does his makeup,” she said.

Ruth Abrams looked doubtfully at Freda’s boyfriend.

“Clown makeup is an art form,” Freda continued. “Isn’t it, Eddie?”

Eddie seemed to agree. Eddie was a silent creature; a man of few words, thought Ruth. She glanced around nervously and hoped someone would rescue her soon. Freda was a dear friend, but honestly, a
clown
 …

Although perhaps a clown was better than Freda’s last boyfriend, who had been introduced at a party much like this one. His name had been Charlie and he had been a professional skydiver. The romance had blossomed until one day Charlie had had a minor technical difficulty with his parachute.

Harry Crandall was back on the Late Beethoven Quartets again. Ruth could hear his voice droning on. Usually the host, Walter Sloane, found some minor point that he could disagree with and picked a fight—more than one party had been broken up by the women because Harry and Walter were at each other’s throats over the prospects of the local baseball team, or the merit of some obscure work of literature, or that forbidden topic, politics. But tonight Harry was droning on undisturbed. That probably meant that Walter Sloane didn’t know a thing about the Late Beethoven Quartets.

Ruth looked over at Walter. Tonight he seemed to be having a decent time, although the sight of his closest friends eating his food and drinking his liquor usually made him apoplectic. Rich as he was, he saved every
dime. She had been with him once in a restaurant when he called the manager over because he had put a quarter in the jukebox, which then refused to play his selection. “I want ‘Old Man River,’ ” he had roared, to the delight of the other patrons.

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