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Murder in the Gunroom by Henry Beam Piper
page 18 of 254 (07%)
woodpile. Or, she may think that having a private detective called in may
throw a scare into somebody. Or maybe she thinks somebody may be fixing
up an accident for her, next, and she wants a pistol-totin' gent in the
house for a while. Or any combination thereof. Personally, I deplore
these clients who hire you to do one thing and expect you to do another,
but with five grand for sweetening, I can take them."

"Yes. You know, I've heard rumors of suicide, but this is the first whiff
of murder I've caught." He hesitated slightly. "I must say, I'm not
greatly surprised. Lane Fleming's death was very convenient to a number
of people. You know about this Premix Company, don't you?"

"Vaguely. They manufacture ready-mixed pancake flour, and ready-mixed
ice-cream and pudding powders, and this dehydrated vegetable soup--pour
on hot water, stir, and serve--don't they? My colored boy, Buck, got some
of the soup, once, for an experiment. We unanimously voted not to try it
again."

"They put out quite a line of such godsends to the neophyte in the
kitchen, the popularity of which is reflected in a steadily rising
divorce-rate," Tipton said. "They advertise very extensively, including
half an hour of tear-jerking drama on a national hookup during soap-opera
time. Your client, the former Gladys Farrand, was on the air for Premix
for a couple of years; that's how Lane Fleming first met her."

"So you think some irate and dyspeptic husband went to the source of his
woes?" Rand inquired.

"Well, not exactly. You see, Premix is only Little Business, as the foods
industry goes, but they have something very sweet. So sweet, in fact,
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