Bertha’s curiosity could stand it no longer. She boldly twisted the screw-driver, put it in the hole at as sharp an angle as she could manage, and using the side of the hole as a fulcrum, pried the picture back and to one side.
She could see a portion of the interior of Mrs. Belder’s bedroom, could see Carlotta sitting in front of a dressing-table, rubbing lotion on her hands, regarding herself in the mirror with the critical appraisal which a woman reserves for her more intimate and cynical moments.
Fascinated, Bertha watched as Carlotta opened a drawer in the dressing-table, groped inside. The mirror reflected the expression on her face. Her eyes held the glittering triumph of one who is about to execute a clever coup.
Carlotta reached for the telephone, twisted the dial three quick times and said, “Information, will you give me the number of George K. Nunnely’s residence. I don’t know the address.” There was a pause. “Thank you.”
She hung up. Bertha saw her fingers flying over the dial of the telephone with the quick precision of one whose hands have developed smooth dexterity, heard her say, “Hello... Hello, is this Mr. Nunnely?... Mr. Nunnely, I have never met you, but this is Carlotta Goldring. I’m Mrs. Belder’s sister... That’s right... I’ve uncovered some very peculiar evidence, Mr. Nunnely. I thought you might like to talk it over with me. It’s about Mabel’s murder. I said murder, Mr. Nunnely... You, who were desperately in need of money, seem to be in a position to profit very handsomely from my sister’s death. You—”
Bertha saw Carlotta’s eyes in the mirror, saw them raise slightly as Carlotta, seeming very certain of herself now, shifted into a more comfortable position. Bertha saw the widening horror in those eyes, and for a moment couldn’t imagine what was causing it. Then suddenly, in a flash of sickening realization, she understood. In the mirror Carlotta could see that the picture was held far off to one side by Bertha’s screw-driver. Bertha cursed herself for a fool for failing to realize how quickly a picture hung on a long wire, and being pushed to one side of the perpendicular, would attract attention.
“Mother!” Carlotta screamed.
Bertha hastily let go of the screw-driver, heard it clatter to the floor of the bedroom. The picture slid along the wall on the other side into a perpendicular position. Bertha turned—
It seemed that a shower of meteors struck her on the head with a terrific blow, then the meteors exploded in all directions, sending out blinding streamers of light. Something cold smacked Bertha on the cheek and stayed there. Vaguely, from some distant and detached part of Bertha’s mind, came the realization that this cold surface was the garage floor.