Murder Queen High by Bob Wade Read Free Book Online

on us!”
    “Sure, and why? We’re just two more people.”
    “He must think we’re somebody else.”
    John Henry nodded emphatically. “That’s the connection. Barselou thinks we’re somebody else. Anglin thought we were somebody else. And Anglin gets murdered at Barselou’s back door. It ties up to me.”
    They started up the front steps of the Las Dunas and he realized they were practically running. They slowed to a sedate, unworried pace and pushed through the glass doors.
    The lobby was bright and quiet and deserted. There was a youth behind the registration desk who gave them an overdone smile and good evening as they hurried by.
    “You have the key?” Sin asked.
    John Henry felt its plastic arrowhead in his trousers pocket. “Uh-huh. Surprised?”
    “After everything else, I sort of expected your pocket had been picked. Johnny, who
are
we?”
    He could feel his wife relaxing and he grinned. “The Conovers, returning from a festive evening with the police.”
    The sunken patio was drenched in soft amber light. Scattered guests lounged at the metal tables under gaily-striped umbrellas. White-jacketed waiters, carrying drinks on silver trays, scurried to and fro. The amber light made the drinks seem twice as potent.
    A wide cement veranda ran down the north side of the patio. More of the umbrella tables were here, and broad doorways opened into the Oasis Room. The even percussion of a dance orchestra floated out into the garden, over a current of laughter, the hum of conversation and the clink of ice in glasses. The dancers were shadow people, dimly seen from the patio.
    The pasteboard queen and the bloodstained leather jacket had no place in this holiday setting.
    Their path curved gradually up the canyon of cottages. Darkness sneaked in on the two of them again. Most of the cottages were still unlighted. A few porch lamps beamed down coldly, reflecting from the white stucco. Somewhere up on the nearest hill, a coyote howled.
    “I’m glad you left our porch light on,” Sin said suddenly.
    “Always thinking ahead, that’s — ”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing, honey.” John Henry could have sworn that he turned the porch light off last thing before they left. But there it was, clearly illuminating the black iron 15 on the white stucco. He glanced up and down the row of silent cottages. The canyon was devoid of life except for the Conovers and the crickets. Even the distant orchestra had taken an intermission. Then he laughed at his abrupt ideas of ambush and they stepped up onto the porch.
    “What are you laughing at?”
    He fumbled the key out of his pocket. “Nothing, Sin.”
    “Johnny! What are you laughing at?”
    John Henry punched the key into the lock. Then he withdrew it and said, “I’m not laughing.”
    “Then why aren’t you? You were.”
    He looked down at the lock. “I could swear I locked it when we …” He let his voice trail off as he tried the handle. It worked smoothly and the door swung away from them into the blackness of the cottage. “Guess I forgot that too,” he said sheepishly and patted around for the light switch on the inside wall. The front room came into brilliant being.
    Sin’s scream was short and piercing. John Henry jumped and swore automatically. Sin was wrapped around his arm, pressing her body half behind him, her eyelashes fluttering in fright.
    A girl was sitting in the big chair that faced the door. Her round eyes were ponds of friendly curiosity. Under them, softly prominent cheekbones slanted into a tiptilted nose. She was young, with a lily-smooth face and black hair swept up over small ears and an ivory-tinted neck. Trim legs were doubled up under her and one porcelain fist rubbed back and forth against her round slight chin.
    “What the hell,” said John Henry, “are you doing here?”
    “Yes,” said Sin definitely.
    The girl didn’t get up. She had a small sultry mouth that seemed about to laugh and squeal. “Ooh!” at the same time.