A Bullet for CinderellaMacDonald, John D. (John Dann)
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A Bullet for Cinderella
MacDonald, John D. (John Dann)
American fiction -- 20th century; Detective and mystery stories
The other suitcase was much the same. The clothing was fresh and
fragrant with perfume. It was perfume that was not musky. It had a
clean flower scent. I could understand how this was important to her. I
remembered her speaking of the charity gifts of clothing, of the dirt
in which she had grown up. She would want clothing, a great deal of it,
and all fresh and clean. I found the black leather box in the bottom of
the second suitcase. I opened it. Jewelry lay against a black velvet
partition. Bracelets, rings, clips. I could not tell if the white and
green and red stones were real. They were lustrous. They caught fire
in the light. But I could not tell. I lifted the partition. There was
money under it. Money in fifties and twenties and hundreds, a sizable
stack of bills. I counted it. There was six thousand and forty dollars.
When I replaced the partition the stones looked more real.
After the suitcases were back in the closet, I wondered what her
thinking had been when she had packed the money in there. Perhaps she
assumed I wouldn't search the bags. I hadn't intended to. Maybe she
thought that even if I did search them and did find the money it would
be safer with me than it would in the apartment. She could have been
right. It was safe with me. Even had I been the sort of person to take
it and leave, that sort of person would have waited for the chance of
acquiring much more--a chance only Antoinette could provide.
I found the bird woman cleaning one of the rooms. I paid her another
two nights in advance for myself and asked her to save the room next to
mine for a friend who would check in on Thursday. I gave her one night
rental on the second room.
As I drove toward town I found myself wondering if what Antoinette
had proposed might be the best solution for me. It was tempting. I
thought of the ripeness of her, the pungency of her personality, the
very startling impact of her lips. There would be no illusions between
us. She would make it easy to forget a lot of things. We would have
no claims on each other--and would be wedded only by the money, and
divorced when it was gone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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