Epitaph for Lydia

I hope I haven't kept you waiting. Yes, this is the crime club. I'm the librarian. Epitaph for Lydia. Yes, we have that crime club story for you. Come right over. You're here.

Take the easy chair by the window. Comfortable. The book is on this shelf. Here it is. Epitaph Folydia by Virginia Rath. The exciting story of a missing person who was found by death. Let's look at it under the reading land.

It is late evening in San Francisco and in the spacious living room with an impressive house on Lombard Street, a party is in full swing. A tall, keen-eyed man, bored by the noisy music and the chattering people, retreats to the comparative quiet of an adjoining room.

Attracted by several modernistic paintings on the wall, he steps over to one for a closer look. Do you like it? What? You're Michael Dunness the detective, aren't you? Well, I'm really an architect, but sometimes...

You were pointed out to me when you came in. Oh? I'm Lydia Courtney. You don't know me. Well, no, but... Do you know like modernistic art? Yes, it's art, yes. Well, the most the moderns look like exercises and children's finger painting.

This one, for instance. Roof tops, sunset. Yes, at least that's what the artist calls it. To me it looks like a hangover at sunrise. Now, there's one over here, and there's possibilities. Here it is. Just a simple study of some sand dunes.

What's the matter, Miss Courtney? I'm afraid I don't feel very well. Can I get you anything? I'll be alright, it's just as horrible. Courtney, I think you'd better sit down. Alright, over here on the sofa.