She shoved him back with a meaty hand, blocking him with her body, the gun held behind her. He could not read her expression. When she spoke, her voice was flat and without feeling, no longer strident: "I heard it all, Raymond—all the conniving ... how you hate me ... that monster's scheme to steal his wife's fortune...."
Horning shrugged, not bothering to answer. Squatting down, he began gathering together the tools spilled from the workbench.
"Raymond...."
Horning glanced up, then stiffened.
Myrtle had brought round the pistol. She was pointing it at him.
In the same flat voice she said: "Put on that outfit, Raymond. That transdimensional whatever-you-call-it."
Horning let the tools fall. "Are you out of your mind, woman? In this shambles, with two corpses...." He choked, unable to go on.
Myrtle said: "Put it on." Her face was a mask, an enigma. Her voice stayed low, completely devoid of emotion. "I'll kill you if you don't."
Horning stared into his wife's eyes. They were inscrutable, hard and blank and black as twin balls of polished onyx.
Myrtle's lips parted. Her jowls quivered. She steadied the pistol.