No Cure for Death by Max Allan Collins Page B

that.”
    “Prejudice rears her not-so-ugly head. Gimme back my beer.”
    “I drank it all.”
    I got up and went after another Pabst. When I came back she was leaning forward, her long-nailed fingers barely caressing the receiver. She caught me watching her, and jerked back. I filled her glass and sat back down beside her. I leaned back and drained the bottle and several long minutes went by and I said, “Go ahead and call.”
    “I been thinking.”
    “Great. Fine.”
    “You think Harold killed this Janet.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You said that this Janet... what was her last name?”
    “Taber.”
    “That this Janet Taber had her neck broken. That the accident was staged and somebody broke her neck.”
    “That’s not the same thing as saying your brother killed her.”
    “You
implied
that my brother
could
do it.”
    “Well he probably could, if he was in the mood. One-handed. With or without eyepatch.”
    “You’re such a son of a bitch, Mallory. Don’t you know what this means, what you’re asking?”
    “Only you know that, Rita.”
    “Mallory. Mal.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t know. I just don’t.”
    “Rita. Look at it this way. Suppose your brother
did
kill somebody. Wouldn’t you say something should be done about it?”
    “It would depend who he killed, and why.”
    “How about a woman. An unhappy young woman.”
    “Stop, you’re making me cry. Tell me about the kid with heart trouble again, why don’t you?”
    “Okay, all right. No more hard sell.”
    “Why do you have to use
me?
Why can’t you just go up to old man Norman’s place yourself?”
    “We went over that.”
    “Go over it again.”
    “Norman’s property is fenced off. Private property, right? If your brother runs into me up there, a trespasser, after what I did to him the other day, there’s not going to be enough left of me to put in a shoe box. Also, if what was left of me was turned over to Sheriff Brennan, he’d have a fine old time roasting whatever there was left to roast.”
    “I’m supposed to be a buffer between you and Harold.”
    “I was hoping you would be, yes. And you can get us officially past the gate up the hill.”
    “But when I call I’m not to tell Harold I’m bringing you.”
    “No. We’ll surprise him and make his day. What do you say?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Damn!”
    “It’s not an easy thing for me.”
    “Well, think it over some more, that’s all I ask. You decide against it, I’ll drive you back up to Rock Island whenever you say.”
    She looked at me, her eyes soft under the long lashes. She touched my cheek and I started feeling like the manipulatingbastard I was. I slid my arm in around her waist and kissed her neck and said, my lips against her ear, “Look, forget it, forget it. I’ll do it some other way, or maybe I won’t do it at all.” And I meant it.
    “But that’s not right, either.... Mal?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Will you promise me something?”
    “Sure.”
    “You’ll keep an open mind—you won’t prejudge anything.”
    I kissed her ear. “I’ll go farther than that. No matter what it turns out your big black one-eyed brother did, I don’t care if he eats babies and runs down old ladies, no matter what, I’ll check with you and get permission before I make any move.”
    “If I say no cops?”
    “Then no cops.”
    She slipped out of my arms and put her hand on the receiver again and said, “Thanks, Mal.”
    “Thank you, Rita.”
    She turned back to the phone under her fingertips and it rang and she jumped.
    Then it rang again and she smiled and laughed nervously and I did, too. She picked up the receiver and handed it to me.
    “Mal?”
    It was John’s voice.
    I said, “How was Lori’s turkey?”
    “I’m in the middle of a slice of it right now,” he said. “I sneaked in here to call you. I been checking off and on all afternoon, to see if you were back from the Cities yet. How’d it go?”
    “Not bad. Wait’ll you see what I