Hot, Willing — and Deadly

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The girl might have been a teen-ager. There were no lines about the slightly pouting mouth, no shadows beneath the dark and brooding eyes. There was a certain juvenile angularity in the sulkily handsome face. The chartreuse scarf bound about her chestnut hair, in high-school fashion, set off the delicately arched charcoal of the long brows, the raspberry oval of her lipstick. Only her figure suggested she might be more mature than a glance would have indicated.

As she sat gripping the wheel of the Chewy the tight high-necked chartreuse jersey outlined the nipples on her full breasts as if she had been naked. Her short heather skirt was pulled up over her knees; her legs were long and slim and a compliment to the nylons.

She took the sharp S curve just before the bridge over the East fork with the nonchalance of one who knew this lonely part of the main highway well. At the top of the long grade which dipped down to the river she slowed. There was no traffic coming. The car made a sharp U turn, heading back up the hill a hundred yards from the crest. She ran it off onto the right-hand shoulder, cut the ignition.

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