All Over But the Shooting (Prologue Crime) by Powell Richard

Author:Powell, Richard [Powell, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440555435
Publisher: F+W Media, Inc.
Published: 2012-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

9

THE CROWLEY HOUSE sits on a knoll out beyond Falls Church, with thirty acres of Virginia farmland to itself. It was to have been the sample house of a colony of Cape Cod cottages, but wartime building restrictions and gas rationing had left the Crowleys in sole possession. We turned off the main road onto a hedge-bordered lane that wound up to the cottage, and right there I got cagey. My green coupé was well known by now among the wrong people. While I didn’t expect any of them to call, there was no use taking chances. I dislike taking chances. Probably I’m the only guy in America who always obeys that order on paper match folders: Close Cover Before Striking.

I turned the car off the lane and through a cowpath gap in the hedge, and drove bumpily back over the meadow, paralleling the lane, as far as possible. That left the car far enough away from the cottage to escape anything but a real search. We walked the remaining few hundred yards to the Crowley place and found it quiet and deserted.

Arab looked around the living room, and said, “Maybe I ought to yell for the U. S. Marines.”

A fifth of Scotch, two highball glasses, and a silver basket-weave bottle of carbonated water stood on the table. Beside them a sign lettered ice pointed to the kitchen. Bill Crowley’s dragon-embroidered dressing gown hung on one chair, while Ellen Crowley’s wickedest pink negligee was on another. A little trail of rice led upstairs. The Crowleys were cute.

“Let the Marines get their own girls,” I growled. “This is one situation the Army has well in hand.”

Arab gave me a quick kiss and then danced over to the negligee. She held it against her body, peeking at me over the ruffled top. She looked like a little girl dressing up in mother’s things. “Andy?” she said.

“Yes?”

“It might take them a while to find this place. If you played your cards right you might be able to hold my hand.”

“Take it easy. We have a job to do. I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more. Tennyson.”

“It isn’t. It’s Lovelace, Richard. Sixteen-something to sixteen-something Do you really think we can’t snatch a minute?”

“Yeah. Let’s see your notes.”

She sighed, stroked the negligee and laid it aside, and spilled the contents of her handbag onto the table. A lipstick, compact, used hair ribbon, notebook, .50 derringer, comb, a tissue with a half-moon lipstick bite on it, sheaf of closely typed paper, .38 Smith & Wesson police special, and a twelve-pill box of aspirin tumbled out.

I picked up the notebook and sheaf of typed paper, taking care not to disturb the artillery. “Bring the rest and let’s go to the cellar,” I said.

“Can’t we stay here?”

I began pulling down the shades on the first floor, and explained, “No use letting any lights show. The cellar has blackout shades.”

Arab shivered. “Cellars have spiders.”

“Listen,” I said, “if I’m willing to associate with your artillery you ought to be willing to associate with my spiders.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.