Never Marry Murder

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The messenger girl walked briskly into my office and the memo from Severent fluttered down into my in basket. She walked back toward the door and I noticed that she was holding her back rigid. She had a listening look. But I was too interested in the memo to play any games.

She paused with her hand on the knob of the door and turned, her brows arched high with surprise. “No whistle today, Mr. Palmer? No vulgar groans of anguish? No propositions?”

“You’re not slipping, Honey. I just got my mind on big matters. The broad picture,” I answered. “Besides, a guy can become weary with effort.”

“I read the memo, Mr. Palmer. Bring me back a rickshaw.” She flounced out with just enough flourish to take my mind off the precious memo for another ten seconds.

I had to savor it. I leaned back and lit a cigaret. Then I stared out the window. Finally I picked it up. “From the Desk of Walter B. Severent.” That’s the boss. “To Mr. Lyndsey Palmer.”

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