A Bullet for Cinderella by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

I’m always diagnosing and prescribing and meddling.” She looked at her watch. “Wow! He’ll be stomping and thundering. I’ve got to go right now.”
    I paid the check and we went out to the car. On the way back I steered the conversation to the point where I could say, “And I remember him talking about a girl named Cindy. Who was she?”
    Ruth frowned. “Cindy? I can remember some—No there wasn’t any girl named Cindy in this town, not that Timmy would go out with. I’m sure he never knew a pretty one. And for Timmy a girl had to be pretty. Are you certain that’s the right name?”
    “I’m positive of it.”
    “But what did he say about her?”
    “He just mentioned her casually a few times, but in a way that sounded as though he knew her pretty well. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but I got the impression he knew her quite well.”
    “It defeats me,” Ruth said. I turned into the driveway and stopped in front of the animal hospital and got out as she did. We had been at ease and now we were awkward again. I wanted to find some way of seeing her again, and I didn’t know exactly how to go about it. I hoped her air of restraint was because she was hoping I would find a way. There had been too many little signs and hints of a surprising and unexpected closeness between us. She could not help but be aware of it.
    “I want to thank you, Ruth,” I said and put my hand out. She put her hand in mine, warm and firm, and her eyes met mine and slid away and I thought she flushed a bit. I could not be certain.
    “I’m glad to help you, Tal. You could—let me know if you think of more questions.”
    The opening was there, but it was too easy. I felt a compulsion to let her know how I felt. “I’d like to be with you again even if it’s not about the book.”
    She pulled her band away gently and faced me squarely, chin up. “I think I’d like that, too.” She grinned again. “See? A complete lack of traditional female technique.”
    “I like that. I like it that way.”
    “We better not start sounding too intense, Tal.”
    “Intense? I don’t know. I carried your picture a long time. It meant something. Now there’s a transition. You mean something.”
    “Do you say things like that just so you can listen to yourself saying them?”
    “Not this time.”
    “Call me,” she said. She whirled and was gone. Just before she went in the door I remembered what I meant to ask her. I called to her and she stopped and I went up to her.
    “Who should I talk to next about Timmy?”
    She looked slightly disappointed. “Oh, try Mr. Leach. Head of the math department at the high school. He took quite an interest in Timmy. And he’s a nice guy. Very sweet.”
    I drove back into town, full of the look of her, full of the impact of her. It was an impact that made the day, the trees, the city, all look more vivid. Her face was special and clear in my mind—the wide mouth, the one crooked tooth, the gray slant of her eyes. Her figure was good, shoulders just a bit too wide, hips just a shade too narrow to be classic. Her legs were long, with clean lines. Her flat back and the inswept lines of her waist were lovely. Her breasts were high and wide spaced, with a flavor of impertinence, almost arrogance. It was the coloring of her though that pleased me most. Dark red of the hair, gray of the eyes, golden skin tones.
    It was nearly three when I left her place. I tried to puther out of my mind and think of the interview with Leach. Leach might be the link with Cindy.
    I must have been a half mile from the Stamm place when I began to wonder if the Ford coupé behind me was the one I had seen beside Fitz’s shed. I made two turns at random and it stayed behind me. There was no attempt at the traditional nuances of shadowing someone. He tagged along, a hundred feet behind me. I pulled over onto the shoulder and got out. I saw that it was Fitz in the car. He pulled beyond me and got out, too.
    I marched up to