Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Raisins and Almonds 11
‘What did happen?’ asked Dot, managing to release the
bonds on Mrs. Katz’s ankles. Her wrists had been tied more
tightly, or perhaps she had struggled. Her hands, which were
veined, had swollen alarmingly. ‘I think I’ve got this knot; stay
still for a bit.’
Years of housework had given Dot strong fingers, and a childhood
spent untangling her little brother’s fishing line had made
her supernaturally good at knots. It was a matter of allowing
the line to unravel itself from what she had heard Phryne call a
point d’appui. Dot found the central hitch in Mrs. Katz’s bindings
and the stocking unwound itself from around the arm of
the wooden chair.
‘I should know?’ demanded Mrs. Katz. She stood up, shedding
stockings, rubbing her mistreated wrists. ‘I should understand? I
am about to cook a few fish cakes for my lunch, I just lay them in
the pan, and suddenly there they are, screaming at me, where is the
paper? I tell them what are you doing in my house, is this Russia,
anyway, what paper, I don’t know nothing about no paper. Then
they grab me—see, what bruises!—and tie me here, and then I
hear such noises, everything they must be turning over, breaking,
stealing, and then the tall one comes back says, nothing there, and
they’re gone, I hear the door slam, leaving the pan on the stove
which they should have known would burn, I sit here, I struggle,
the house it will burn down, Maxie when he comes home will
find nothing but smoking ruin, I can’t get free because they tie
me so tight, oy, bandits, gonifs, what have they taken?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dot. ‘We’d better call the police.’
‘No!’ Mrs. Katz seized Dot’s sleeve, a surprisingly strong
grip for those reddened claws. ‘No, please, lady, not the police.
Anyway,’ she demanded, ‘thank you for rescuing me, don’t think
I’m not grateful, wonderful you should come in nick of time,
but, Miss, who are you?’
‘My name is Dorothy Williams,’ replied Dot, rather relieved to
be able to declare herself. ‘I came because you were in the bookshop
the other day, just before the young man died there.’
‘I was?’ asked Mrs. Katz evasively. Dot nodded.