The Deep Blue Good-By by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page B

you or, if you are motivated the other way, exactly what they do not want. Were this not so, there would be no place left to hide.
    "I just wanted to talk to you about
    "I won't show the house without an appointment. That was the arrangement. I'm sorry."
    They learn that voice and that diction in those little schools they go to before they go on to Smith and Vassar and Wellesley.

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    "I want to talk to you about Junior Allen."
    I could have listed maybe fifty possible reactions without coming close to the one I got.
    Her eyes dulled and her narrow nostrils flared wide and her mouth fell into sickness. She lost her posture and stood in an ugly way. 'That's it, I suppose,' she said in a dragging tone. "Certainly.
    Am I a gift? or was there a fee?" She whirled and hurried away. She skidded and nearly fell when she turned left at the end of the foyer. I heard an unseen door bang. I stood there in the silence.
    Then I heard a muffled sound of retching, tiny and far off and agonizing. The noon sun blasted down upon whiteness. I stepped into the relative darkness of the house, into the cool breath of air conditioning.
    I closed the formal door.
    She was still being sick. I went swiftly and quietly through the house. It was as littered as Christine's house, but a different sort of litter.
    Glasses, dirty ashtrays, food untouched, clothing, things broken in violence. But you could not mark that cold house. In thirty seconds with a fire hose you could have it dripping and absolutely clean. There was no one else there.
    She was living in this big house like a sick frail animal in a cave.
    I could hear water running. I rapped on the closed door.
    "Are you all right?"
    I heard a murmur I could not interpret. it had a vague sound of reassurance. I roamed around.
    The place offended me. There was a giant dishwasher in the kitchen. I found a big tray and went through the house collecting the glasses and plates and cups. It took three trips.
    I scraped stale food into the disposer. Housewife McGee. After I set the dishwasher to churning, I felt a little better.
    I went back and listened at the door. There was no sound.
    "Are you all right in there?"
    The door opened and she came out and leaned against the wall just outside the bathroom door.
    She had a ghastly poor and the rings around her eyes looked more smudged.
    "Are you moving in?" she asked tonelessly.
    EEL
    "I just came here to. -."
    "This morning I looked at myself, and I thought maybe the process had to start somewhere, so I got terribly clean. I washed my hair and scrubbed and scrubbed, and stripped the bed and even found a drawer with clean clothing in it, for a wonder. So you're in luck, aren't you? Excellent Page 26

    timing, provided you wish to start clean."
    "Mrs. Atkinson, I don't think you She looked at me with a horrid parody of sensuality, a sick bright leer. 'I suppose you know all of my specialties, dear."
    "Will you listen to me?"
    "I'm sure you don't mind if I have a drink first. I'm really much better after I have some drinks."
    "I've never seen Junior Allen in my life!' 'I hope he told you I've gotten terribly scrawny and..."
    She stopped the hideous parody of enticement and stared at me. 'What did you say?"
    "I've never seen Junior Allen in my life."
    She rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand. 'Why did you come to me?"
    "I want to help YOU."
    "Help me what?"
    "You said it yourself. The process has to start somewhere."
    She stared at me without comprehension, and then with a savage doubt, and finally, slowly, with belief. She turned, sagging, and, before I could catch her, she fell to her knees, bare knees making a painful sound of bone against terrazzo. She hunched down against the baseboard and rubbed her face back and forth and began her howling, whooping sobs and coughings. I gathered her up. She shuddered violently at my touch. She was far too light. I took her to her bedroom. When I stretched her out on her freshly made bed, the sobbing stopped