A Bullet for CinderellaMacDonald, John D. (John Dann)
General
A Bullet for Cinderella
MacDonald, John D. (John Dann)
American fiction -- 20th century; Detective and mystery stories
"That should work all right. Gosh, it would really help. I've put a lot
of money in clothes. I think it would be better than trying to get the
stuff out in the morning, even with your help. I want it to move fast
and smoothly. Stay away from the windows."
She spent a lot of time packing. It was dark when she finished. She
filled two big suitcases. They bulged and they were heavy.
"Leave them wherever you're staying when you come back for me."
"It's a motel."
"Get me a room, too. Please."
She seemed to relax then. "I think it's going to work out, Tal. They
sort of--scared me. I know a lot. I don't plan to do any talking.
That's what worries them, I think. You don't know how much I appreciate
this. I'll--make it up to you."
She wanted to be kissed and I kissed her. There was an eagerness and
warmth and sensuality about her that made it a shock to touch her and
hold her. We rocked off balance as we kissed, caught ourselves, smiled
a little sheepishly.
"For now," she said.
I took the suitcases into the hall. She went on down. I waited there
for fifteen minutes and then I went down. The clerk was very dubious
about my leaving with suitcases. He seemed about to speak, but didn't
quite know what to say. I was gone before he had phrased the objection.
I put the suitcases in the back seat and drove to Hillston. I ate at
a drive-in on the edge of town. I took the suitcases back to my motel
room. They were an alien presence there, almost as vivid as if she were
there with me. I stowed them in the closet.
NINE
Wednesday was a gray day. I had hidden Grassman's body on Monday. It
seemed longer ago than Monday. The memory was very vivid, but it seemed
to be something that had happened a long time ago. I saw the suitcases
when I opened my closet to get at my own clothes. I was curious about
what she had packed. I felt guilty about opening them. Then I decided
that I had earned the right to look.
I put the larger one on the bed and tried the latches. It wasn't
locked. It popped open. There were furs on top, silky and lustrous. She
had packed neatly. Underneath the furs were suits, dresses, skirts,
blouses. The bottom layer was underclothing, slips, panties with frothy
lace and intricate embroidery in shades from purest white through all
of the spectrum to black.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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