Canvas Coffin by William Campbell Gault Read Free Book Online

four-unit apartment building here of redwood and pastel-yellow stucco, two stories high and looking brand-new.
    “The scene of the crime,” Sally said, “and there’s an apartment to rent, I see. Do you think it could be — ”
    “No,” I said. “Nobody’s that bloodthirsty.” I stared at the building, trying to fit it into the void. Nothing, nothing.
    Sally said, “Let’s look at the vacant one.”
    “Relax,” I said.
    “Why not? It might work. They’re probably all alike. Luke, this isn’t as scatterbrained as it may seem.”
    She opened the door on her side and looked at me. I got out and together we walked up the three steps to the open entryway.
    A large woman in white twill shorts was fishing mail out of one of the boxes in the lobby. Her hair was straw-blond and her eyes a vivid blue.
    “Could you tell me if the manager is on the premises?” Sally asked her.
    The woman shook her head. “He never is, dearie. Was it about the apartment to let?”
    Sally nodded. “That’s as good an excuse as any.”
    The woman’s smile was knowing. “Oh? Reporters, are you?”
    “More or less,” Sally said. “I want to do a feature on it, for the Sunday magazine section, and one look at the — scene would help an awful, awful lot.”
    “I’d like to help,” the woman said, “but I got strict orders from Mr. Creash. He’s the manager and — ”
    She stopped talking, looking at the bill in Sally’s hand. It was a twenty-dollar bill.
    Sally said, “Who’d ever know?”
    “Mr. Creash — ” the woman said, “and those officers will probably be back, and — ” Her eyes never left the bill.
    Sally said, “If they come, you can tell them you
thought
you gave us the key to the vacant apartment. You were on the phone, see, honey, and you couldn’t go with us, but you gave us the key. So you’ll be clear.”
    The woman smiled and shook her head. “You writers! I’ll get the key. And then phone my daughter-in-law.”
    It was on the second floor, facing Sunset. The figured drapes were closed, but the room was bright enough, furnished in warm-toned woods and upholstered chairs.
    “Provincial,” Sally said. “So sweet and cozy, B-girl provincial.” Her eyes moved around the living-room scornfully. “Anything click?”
    “Nothing.”
    She walked over to a door and I followed her. It led to a short hall which led to a bedroom. King-sized bed in here with a honey-tone bookcase-headboard and flanking, matching night stands.
    The bed wasn’t made; the sheets were maroon silk. The bed looked like it had known a recent storm. Sally stared at it for seconds.
    Then she said, “If anything should do it, this should.”
    A tremor in her voice, and one tear on her cheek. My gal Sal; a girl dead and all Sal worries about is whether I’d made her. And I’m supposed to be the cold one.
    “It rings no bells with me,” I said.
    She turned. “Damn you.
Damn
you.”
    “Maybe you’d better take the plane,” I said. “I wasn’t exactly the village virgin when I met you, but I’ve been living the part ever since. You’re probably
glad
the girl’s dead.”
    She stared at me. And then said finally, “God, Luke, I
was.
Oh, Luke, what kind of monster am I?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” I turned and started out, but she grabbed my arm.
    “Luke, I’m sorry. I’ve been a twenty-two-karat bitch.”
    I kissed the top of her gray head and held her shoulders lightly in my hands, saying nothing.
    “We’d better get out of here,” she said. “It was a stupid idea of mine, anyway.”
    “I don’t think it was stupid,” I said, “but we’d better go, all right.”
    We went back to the living-room, and the eyes of the photograph on the mantel seemed to be watching us. Both of us stood there a second, looking at the soft, appealing face of a younger Mary Kostanic.
    “I’ll bet she wasn’t Brenda Vane then,” Sally said. “She was a pretty girl, Luke.”
    “She