Some Deaths Before Dying
“The moment it beeped she pressed the button and said “Hi,”
“Mrs. Pilcher?” said a man’s voice—the wrong man.
“Sorry. I can’t talk now. I’ve got a call coming. And if you’re selling something, no thanks. Bye.”
In a few seconds the handset beeped again. This time she answered more cautiously.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Pilcher. This is important—it’s about your pistol—“ “It’s not mine, and it’s not for sale. Goodbye.”
Brusquely she prodded the buttons. How the hell…? They’d promised the thing was absolutely confidential, no addresses passed on, no telephone numbers, not even names. And he was bound to try again. Yes.
“Hello.”
“That doesn’t sound very welcoming.”
“Oh, hi, darling, thank God it’s you. I’m being persecuted by some dimwit.
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