The Suspense Novel MEGAPACK ™: 4 Great Suspense Novels by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding & Fletcher Flora & Thomas B. Dewey

Author:Elisabeth Sanxay Holding & Fletcher Flora & Thomas B. Dewey [Holding, Elisabeth Sanxay]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2015-07-23T16:00:00+00:00

LET ME KILL YOU, SWEETHEART!, by Fletcher Flora

Copyright © 1958 by Fletcher Flora.

Chapter 1

Late in the summer of the year in which Avis Pisano was murdered in the fall, there were three young men from Rutherford who stayed for short periods at different times at the lake resort where Avis worked as a waitress. Avis was a pretty girl but not very bright. The three young men were bright enough but not on the surface exceptional. The lake resort, called Sylvan Green, was not exceptional either. It consisted of the small hotel in which Avis worked and a dozen cabins scattered among the trees along the shore. From Rutherford to Sylvan Green was about two hundred miles. Rutherford was a small town, a railroad division point, and it was even less exceptional than Sylvan Green.

Besides living in Rutherford and going that summer to the same resort, the three young men had three significant things in common:

In the first place, they were all determined, each for his own reasons, to marry the same girl;

In the second place, and in spite of the first, they all went to bed with Avis Pisano, who was extremely enthusiastic about making love;

In the third place, they were all called Curly at times by people who knew them well. In the cases of two of the young men, the nickname was applied because it was a fair description of the character of their hair. In the case of the third, by the kind of suitability one finds in calling a fat man Skinny and a skinny man Fatty, the nickname was applied because it was an exact opposite description of his hair, which was straight and cropped close.

In addition to these significant things which these three young men of Rutherford had in common, there was another significant thing, which they did not have in common.

One of them had murdered Avis Pisano.

He murdered her in November, about a week before Thanksgiving, and he had made love to her in the preceding July, three days before August. Immediately after loving her and long before murdering her, he lay and listened to the summer night, and he could hear many sounds. He could hear the breathing of the girl beside him, and he could hear the lapping of the water of the lake outside, and he could hear an owl mourning among the trees on the lake’s shore, and he could hear the voices of a man and a woman in a boat on the water, and he could hear over and under and beyond all these the thousands of tiny unidentifiable sounds in a kind of integrated whole that was the total sound of the night.

It was hot in the little cabin. He could feel the perspiration gather in the hair in his armpits and trickle down across his flesh onto the damp sheet on the bed. The perspiration seemed scalding hot, though it actually wasn’t. But it stank. He could smell his own body, and he could smell the body of the girl.

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