He wondered what he ought to do about her. It seemed to boil down to two choices: he could tie her up, finish robbing the house, and make his getaway, or he could finish his tea and leave, just as if he had been an ordinary-what was it?-first footer.
He leaned back in his chair, considering the situation, and felt a sharp jab in his side. A moment’s reflection told him what it had been: the tail of the pheasant salt shaker. He had stashed the pair in the pillowcase, now concealed under his coat. He couldn’t think of any way to get rid of his loot without attracting suspicion. Then she might realize that he was a burglar; then she might panic, and try to call the police; then he would have to hit her to keep himself from being captured. It was not an appealing scenario. Louis decided that the kindest thing to do would be to tie her up, finish his job, and leave.
Flora was prattling on about Scottish cakes and homemade icing, but he hadn’t been listening. He thought it would be rather rude to begin threatening his hostess while he still had a mouthful of cake, but he told himself that she had been rather rude, too. After all, she hadn’t asked him anything about himself. That was thoughtless of her. A good hostess ought to express a polite interest in her guests.
Flora’s interminable story seemed to have wound down at last. She looked up at the kitchen clock. It was after one. “Well,” she said, beaming happily at Louis. “It’s getting late. Can I get you a wee doch and dorris?”
Louis blinked. “A what?”
“A drink, lad. Wee doch and dorris is a Scottish expression for the last drink of the evening. One for the road, as you say over here. Scotch, perhaps?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “I do have to be going, but I’m afraid I will have to tie you up now.”
He braced himself for tears, or, even worse, a scream, but the old lady simply took another sip of her drink, and waited. She wasn’t smiling anymore, but she didn’t look terrified, either. Louis felt his cheeks grow hot, wishing he could just get out of there. Burglars weren’t supposed to have to interact with people; it wasn’t part of the job description. If you liked emotional scenes, you became an armed robber. Louis hated confrontations.
“I hope this won’t change your luck for the new year or anything,” he mumbled, “but the reason I came in here tonight was to rob the house. You see, I’m a burglar.”
Flora nodded, still watching him closely. Not a flicker of surprise had registered on her face.
“I really enjoyed the cakes and all, but after all, business is business.”
“In Scotland, it’s considered unlucky to do evil after you’ve accepted the hospitality of the house,” the old lady said calmly.
Louis shrugged. “In America it’s unlucky to miss car payments.”
She made no reply to this remark, but continued to gaze up at him impassively. At least she wasn’t being hysterical. He almost wished that he had given up the whole idea.
Louis cleared his throat and continued. “The reason I have to tie you up is that I have to finish getting the stuff, and I have to make sure you can’t call for help until I’m long gone. But I won’t beat you up or anything.”
“Kind of you,” she said dryly. “There is some spare clothesline in the bottom drawer of the left-hand cabinet.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “Don’t try anything, okay? I don’t want to have to do anything rough.” He didn’t carry a gun (nobody was supposed to be home), but they both knew that a strong young man like Louis could do considerable damage to a frail old lady like Flora with his fists… a candlestick… almost anything could be a weapon.
Keeping his eyes on her, he edged toward the cabinet, squatting down to pull out the drawer. She watched him steadily, making no move to leave her seat. As he eased the drawer open, he saw the white rope clothesline neatly bundled above a stack of paper bags. With considerable relief at the ease of it all, he picked up the rope and turned back to the old lady.
“Okay,” he said, a little nervously. “I’m going to tie you up. Just relax. I don’t want to make it so tight it cuts off circulation, but I’m not, like, experienced, you know? Just sit in the chair with your feet flat on the floor in front of you.”
She did as she was told, and he knelt and began winding the clothesline around her feet, anchoring it to the legs of the chair. He hoped it wasn’t going to be too painful, but he couldn’t risk her being able to escape. To cover his uneasiness at the silent reproach from his hostess, Louis began to whistle nervously as he worked. That was probably why he didn’t hear anything suspicious.
His first inkling that anything was wrong was that Flora suddenly relaxed in her chair. He looked up quickly, thinking, Oh God! The old girl’s had a heart attack! But her eyes were open, and she was smiling. She seemed to be gazing at something just behind him.
Slowly Louis turned his head in the direction of the back door. There was a short, blond woman of about thirty standing just inside the door. She was wearing a dark blue uniform and a positively menacing expression. But what bothered Louis the most about the intruder was the fact that her knees were bent, and she was holding a service revolver in both hands, its barrel aimed precisely at his head.
Louis looked from the blond woman to Flora and back again, just beginning to make the connection. A jerk of the gun barrel made him move slowly away from the chair and put his hands up.
“This is my daughter Doris,” said Flora calmly. “She’s a policewoman. You see, you were lucky for us, Louis. I’m sure she’ll get her promotion after this!”
REMAINS TO BE SEEN
WHEN THE TWO elderly ladies from the Craig Springs Community for Seniors saw the mummy on the top shelf of the army surplus store, one of them gasped, “Where did it come from?” The other one opened her purse and said, “How much?”
George Carr, the owner of the Craig Springs Army Surplus Store, decided to answer the first question before he worried about the second.
Every Thursday the van from Craig Springs brought a group of its sprier residents on a shopping trip downtown. There wasn’t much that anyone actually needed to buy-toothpaste, maybe, or the new Cosmopolitan-but they enjoyed the outing, and the chance to exercise and window-shop at the same time. George Carr was used to seeing some of the old gentlemen in his establishment. The World War II veterans loved to come in and reminisce about the old days, using his merchandise as visual aids for their war yarns. This was the first time, though, that any of the Craig Springs ladies had paid him a visit. George thought it was strange that they had.
“We were tired of the usual round of drugstores and dress shops,” said the dumpy one in the black dress.
Since he had just been wondering that very thing, George laughed and said, “You read my mind!”
She turned triumphantly to her friend. “There, Lucille! I told you I’d been working on it. A dab of chicken blood behind each earlobe, and that Latin phrase I learned.”