Murder Mistress (1959) by Robert Colby

Author:Robert Colby [Colby, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery;crime;suspense;thriller;money
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2018-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

TEN

The girl who opened the door to apartment seven at the address written on the slip of paper was certainly a brunette. She could also have been twenty-six. But here any similarity ended.

The hair was close cropped, a boyish bob crowning a tiny heart of a face containing huge and glistening dark eyes with that peculiar combination of bold-shy watchfulness associated with children. Small nose and mouth, the latter slightly spread to a smile that looked more habitual than personal.

Costume of the day appeared to be lounging pajamas of pale blue.

“Yes?” she said. The word fell from her mouth without the slightest lip movement.

“I hope I have the right address. I’m looking for Valerie.”

“Valerie McLean?”

“That’s right.”

“Won’t you come in a moment?”

The living room was a walk-in closet furnished in period anonymous. A portable ironing board draped with a pink slip was fixed by the window.

She indicated a chair opposite as she fell upon a daybed and drew up her legs. The same diminutive smile hovered about her face.

“You know the old saying?” she opened. “Valerie doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Oh? Then where does Valerie live?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea.” Her look said it was a dull subject which should be dispatched quickly for the purpose of probing this new-found relationship.

“I take it,” said Scott, “that at one time she was your roommate.”

“For less than two weeks. I imagine she found something more to her liking. Valerie is kind of a snob, you know. Or don’t you?” She reached for cigarettes and waited for him to make the light, cupping her hands around the flame so that her fingers rested across his wrist. He withdrew discreetly.

“Yes, I suppose Valerie is something of a snob,” he said. “But then, I don’t know her very well. We met at a party and she gave me this address.” He searched frantically for some way to match the identity. “She reminded me so much of a girl I used to know in New York — tall and dark-haired with that haughty way she carries herself. And that voice — the Park Avenue sound, you know, my dear.”

“That’s Valerie, all right,” she said, the words pushing smoke puffs ahead of them. “I don’t like to be catty but I used to think that she was a phony. See what I mean?”

“Of course. She’s not really my type. But I’m connected with television and she’s tall and slender enough to be perfect for a modeling bit on a show we’re doing.”

“My name is Shirley D’Amico,” she said. “I’m not tall, but terribly, terribly talented. Must you have tall girls, Mr….”

“Daniels. Scott. And yes, I’m afraid I must. But I’ll keep you in mind for something else. And now I hate to harp on the same old subject, but I’ve got to find Valerie right away. Can you help?”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she said. “You could write what I know about Valerie on your thumb. She answered an ad I put in the paper for a roommate to share expenses.

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