Something for the Sweeper | Page 8

her kid's writing?"
Jones held up the thick glasses. "Morganwaite thought of that, too. He
stole Mrs. Boone's glasses. Look at 'em. They're an inch thick. Mrs.
Boone couldn't read anything without 'em. Some neighbor read the note
to her, or else the messenger did. Of course, she didn't question the
writing. She went right down to the house on Twelfth. Morganwaite

was waiting there for her. He hit her on the head as she came in, before
she saw him, and left her there. The set-up was supposed to look as if
Sarah had planned to kill her father and mother, but that, when she got
to the point of actually doing for her mother, she had an attack of
remorse and killed herself, instead.
"I was pretty sure of the set-up, but I didn't have any proof. So I went
around and told Morganwaite Sarah wasn't dead--that she was here.
Well, that upset his whole apple cart. Sarah knew he shot her, and, if
she told, why there he'd be in the soup. So he came down to finish the
job. This time he dressed up in Mrs. Boone's clothes to keep from being
identified. He knew Mrs. Boone wouldn't be suspected, actually,
because she was in a rest-home and would have an airtight alibi."
Jones looked around. "If you've got any more questions, we'll have to
go somewhere where I can sit down. My feet are killing me."

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