"Nancy Springer - Silent End" - читать интересную книгу автора (Springer Nancy)

"But -- how can it be? Plastic would have vaporized."
"Exactly. But it's only melted. It appears to be one of a pair of dice. Do
you have any idea how it got in there?"
"No!"
"Would you agree that it must have been put in afterward?"
"Um, yes. Monday night, probably. Once the kiln gets down to a
hundred and thirty degrees, you can open it -- "
"Is that what you did, Judy? Opened it and put this in? Part of your
game, maybe?"
"It's Judith," she said icily, "and I will not answer any further questions
without a lawyer."
***
"But he must be absolutely obsessed," she bleated to Phyllis the next
Tuesday at Scrabble Club. Judith herself felt obsessed; all week she had
been missing sleep, missing meals, unable to think of anything except:
Why? Why me, why my kiln? And who? Who was the victim? Who was the
murderer, if not It?
Phyllis prompted, "Obsessed?"
"Yes, or insane." Judith herself felt half insane, what with the articles in
the newspaper, the cops suspecting her, everybody talking about her; she
felt the plastic Jesus on top of the piano watching her. The Scrabble timer
flashed its red warning light like a police cruiser's beacon. She covered it
with her hand, telling Phyllis earnestly, "He must have come back later to
throw a die in the kiln. But why?"
"Something to do with the victim? Have they identified her?"
"No. How can they? All that's left is bits of bone and a jewel stone and
that stupid die. Why would he throw a die in my kiln? Kill, I mean."
Die. Kill.
The words hung in the air. Staring at Phyllis, Judith breathed, "Oh my
God."
 "What?"
Judith whispered, "Nothing." She darted a panicked glance around
her. Dick and Doug sat two tables away in utter silence, heads bowed,
intent on an epic Scrabble contest. Other players, less serious, chatted over
their games. But Judith did not see the member she was looking for. The
one who gloated. The one who showed off. The one who always wore lots
of jewelry, including, Judith seemed to remember, a large oval aquamarine.
She hissed at Phyllis, "Where's Eloise?"
"Huh." Phyllis glanced around, mildly curious. "I don't see her. You'd
think she would have been here last week, too, bragging about her trophy."
Without even excusing herself, Judith staggered up and ran to look for
a phone. The church office was locked, but way down a dark hallway by the
boiler room she found a pay phone on the wall.
"Yeah?" a barking voice answered her at the township police station.
Yes, the big-nosed detective was there, as she expected. The paper
had said the police were working around the clock on this one, and even
though the guy was a potato-faced misogynist, Judith could not wait to talk
with him, help him out, get herself off the hook.
Standing in the darkest corner of the church basement, she told him
eagerly, "I think I know who the victim was. A woman named Eloise