terror comes creep

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“i thtnk he's already murdered my brother,” she said in a low-pitched voice. “Now he’s planning to murder my sister. You have to stop it, Mr. Boyd!”

I looked around the comfortable, air-conditioned, dimly lit bar. The Madison Avenue buccaneer at the next table was complaining bitterly that nothing came higher on his expense account than free love. I figured if I could hear him right, I must have heard her right.

She hadn’t wanted to come to my office, she’d told me over the phone, so could we meet in a bar. From the tense, watchful expression on her face, she wasn’t enjoying either the atmosphere or her drink.

“Something in back of me bother you?” I asked.

“I know he has me followed the whole time,” she said. “I can feel it.”

Her legs were beautiful, and crossed casually to show the dimpled knees, but no more. She was tall and slender, with dark hair and eyes. Her face was beautiful, elegant and arrogant. Any guy in his right mind could follow her around all day. Given a ten degree drop in the outside temperature, I’d do the same myself.

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