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about it, dump it out in the sink,'' Bartholomew chided. |
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"The old fool oughten' to be messin' around with that silly jar," Gladys Ann groused. "He'd be doin' somethin' far more valuable if he'd get yer head sewed up." |
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Linda was standing up now. She didn't need a radio to tell her the storm had intensified. The Gull House was actually shaking under the constant buffeting of the winds. The tiny light behind the bar flickered off and on, and the thunder was continuous. She took several halting steps toward the jar, still curious. |
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Freeman wasn't the least bit hesitant. When he twisted the top off for the second time, the metal lid clattered noisily into the stainless steel sink. Even across the room Bartholomew could smell the foul stench. He saw the old man tip the jar and heard the contents plop unceremoniously into the bottom of the sink. Freeman looked up and then back at them, his round, fat face twisting into a mask of surprise and disgust. |
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"Well, what is it?" Gladys Ann grunted. She was curious enough that she had gone over to the bar and was standing on her toes, peering over the edge. |
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Freeman's voice had lost some of its authority. "You got any idea who sent this to Ruthie?" |
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