A Bullet For Cinderella by John D. MacDonald

Author:John D. MacDonald
Format: epub
Publisher: Munsey's

EIGHT

I called her at noon and she answered on the tenth ring just as I was about to give up.

Her voice was blurred with sleep. “Whozit?”

“Tal Howard.”

“Who?”

“I spoke to you last night at the Aztec. About Timmy Warden. You said to phone.”

I could hear the soft yowl of her complete yawn. “Oh, sure. You go have some coffee or something and then stop around here. I live at a place called the Glendon Arms. Give me about forty minutes to wake up.”

I wasted a half hour over coffee and a newspaper, and then found the Glendon Arms without difficulty. It was as pretentious as its name, with striped canopy, solid glass doors, mosaic tile lobby floor, desk clerk with dreary sneer. He phoned and told me I could go right up to Miss Raselle's apartment, third floor, 3A. The elevator was self-service. The hallway was wide. I pushed the button beside her door.

She opened the door and smiled as she let me in. She wore a white angora sleeveless blouse, slacks of corduroy in a green plaid. I had expected her to be puffy, blurred by dissipation, full of a morning surliness. But she looked fresh, golden, shining and clean. The great mop of black hair was pulled sleekly back and fastened into an intricate rosette.

“Hi, Tal Howard. Can you stand more coffee? Come along.”

There was a small breakfast terrace with sliding doors that opened onto it from the bedroom and the kitchen. The sun was warm on the terrace. We had coffee and rolls and butter on a glass-topped table.

“Last night was a waste,” she said. “He was a friend of a friend. A stuffed uniform until drink number ten. And then what. He goes with his hands like so. Zoom. Dadadadadada. Gun noises. Fighter planes. I'm too old for toys.”

“He had a lot of ribbons.”

“He told me what they were for. Several times. How did you track me down, Tal Howard?”

“Through your sister.”

“Dear God. Anita has turned into a real slob. It's that Doyle. Doyle allows that the sun rises and sets on Doyle. The kids are nice, though. I don't know how they made it, but they are. What's with Timmy? He was my first love. How is that cutie?”

“He's dead, Toni.”

Her face lost its life. “You certainly didn't waste any time working up to that. How?”

“He was taken prisoner by the Chinese in Korea. So was I. We were in the same hut. He got sick and died there and we buried him there.”

“What a stinking way for Timmy to go. He was a nice guy. We got along fine, right up into the second year of high school, and then he started considering his social position and brushed me off. I don't blame him. He was too young to know any better. He left me to take a big hack at the dancing-school set. My reputation wasn't exactly solid gold.” She grinned. “Nor is it yet.”

“He mentioned you while we were in camp.”

“Did he?”

“He called you Cindy.

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