James Holding's Murder & Mayhem by James Holding

Author:James Holding
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, detective, crime, sleuth, sherlock
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2015-07-22T16:00:00+00:00

SPECIAL DELIVERY

Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, April 1974.

Foley had paid for the cigarettes and was lingering by the counter, ripping off a corner of the pack, when the pretty dark-haired woman came into the drugstore.

She walked toward him, hip-swaying a little, which was pleasant to watch because her pink shorts and halter top revealed a figure as taut and graceful as a Russian gymnast’s. She had blue eyes, skin the color of cream that’s been lightly laced with coffee, a good-to-be-alive expression on her face, and a big dog on a leash at her heels. The dog was a standard size French poodle, kennel-cut. He danced along as lightly and merrily as his mistress.

The woman came up beside Foley and plucked a copy of the daily newspaper from a stack beside the cash register. She folded the newspaper twice, creased it lightly down both edges, and held it out to the dog. “Here you are, Beau,” she said in a happy voice. “You can carry it for me.”

Beau eagerly took the newspaper in his mouth and sat back on his haunches, his tail jerking jauntily against the drugstore linoleum while he waited for his mistress to pay the clerk for the newspaper.

Foley liked dogs. He put the partially opened pack of cigarettes in his pocket and bent down over the dog. “Hi, there, Beau,” he murmured in the wheedling, caressing tone strangers usually adopt when addressing unknown dogs. “You’re a handsome old boy, aren’t you?”

He held out one hand for the dog to sniff. When Beau’s tail didn’t stop wagging, Foley took hold of the newspaper in the dog’s mouth and pretended he was trying to pull it away from him. Beau thought it was a game. He shook his head and held onto the paper, his black eyes sparkling. He faked a menacing growl between his locked teeth.

Above his head, Foley heard the cash register ring. He straightened and smiled at the lady in pink as she accepted change from the clerk. “This is a fine dog,” Foley said to her. “Poodles are the best.”

The woman turned to him, nodding her agreement. The clerk behind the cigarette counter said, “He’s smart, too. Carries the newspaper home every day, don’t you, Beau?”

Beau wagged.

Foley said, “Poodles can’t be beat for brains. Everybody admits that.”

The lady in pink smiled at him, acknowledging his admiration for her dog and perhaps, also, the admiration she saw in Foley’s eyes for the dog’s mistress. Then, with a light pull on Beau’s leash, she left the counter and went out. Beau followed sedately, with an air of great importance, holding his muzzle high so the newspaper in his jaws would ride safely.

Foley took a cigarette from his new pack and lit it. After a couple of drags he raised a hand in farewell to the clerk behind the counter and pushed through the door to the sidewalk outside. He could see Beau and the pink lady walking north, about a block away.

It was the warmest time of the day, an hour after noon.

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