"Of course, you understand that that estimate is unofficial, and must
remain so, until I have completed the autopsy--"
Dundee stared down at the upturned face of the dead woman with startled
incredulity. Between thirty and thirty-four years old! That tiny,
lovely--But she was not quite so lovely in death, in spite of the
serenity it had brought to those once-vivacious features. Peering more
closely, he could see--without those luminous, wide eyes to center his
attention--numerous fine lines on the waxen face, the slackness of a
little pouch of soft flesh beneath her round chin, an occasional white
hair among the shoulder-length dark curls.... Dundee sighed. How easy it
was for a beautiful woman to deceive men with a pair of wide, velvety
black eyes! But he'd bet the women had not been quite so thoroughly
taken in by her cuddly childishness, her odd mixture of demureness and
youthful impudence!
Back in the living room, whose occupants stopped whispering and grew
taut with suspense, Dundee seated himself at a little red-lacquer table,
notebook spread, while Strawn settled himself heavily in the nearest
overstuffed armchair.
"Now, Miss Crain, I am quite ready, if you will forgive me for having
kept you waiting."
In a very quiet voice--slightly husky, as always--Penny began her story:
"I think it lacked two or three minutes of one o'clock when you drove
away.
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