You Live Once by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page B

Added to everything else, of course. Do you mind?”
    “No. Want to leave now?”
    “Please.”
    I drove her to the Raymond home. It was a high-shouldered job, mansard roof, iron fence, in a neighborhood that was decaying in slow genteel fashion, preparing its soul for the inevitable invasion of funeral parlor, supermarket and masseuse. The big house was dark.
    “We moved Mother Raymond up to the place at the lake early this afternoon,” she explained. “I wouldn’t dare come home alone if she was here. She said it was earlier than usual for her. Then she sighed and she said it would be nice for us two young people to be alone. And she sighed again and said she hoped it wouldn’t be so damp at the lake this time of year, and so cold that it would hurt her arthritis. Sigh, sigh, sigh. Damn it all!”
    I walked her up to the door and she handed me the key. I opened the big door and it creaked as it swung back. She reached inside and found a switch that turned on the light in the big narrow gloomy hallway.
    “Clint, I talked too much. I talked an awful lot too much.”
    “I can’t remember a darn word, somehow.”
    “Can I tell you you’re a nice guy?”
    “Sure.”
    “You’re a nice guy. What I said is between us. I’m unhappy here and I drank too much and I’m ashamed of myself. This isn’t my house and it doesn’t seem like my husband any more and I became a fool tonight. I won’t do it again. That isn’t the way to fight this thing. That’s the way to hand him to her on a platter, with an apple and cloves. I’ll do better.”
    “I know you will, Nancy. Temporary lapse. Maybe overdue.”
    She smiled. “If I wasn’t so messy, I’d like to be kissed.”
    I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “That do?”
    “It does fine, Clint. Goodnight … and thanks.”
    I drove back to the club. The dancing had started. The five piece orchestra sounded like an awkward fusion of Meyer Davis and Bobby Hackett. Every other number was mechanical Latin, gourds and all. Dodd wasn’t on the floor. I tracked him down over in the men’s bar. He was talking down at a man who looked like a bald Pekingese. When I caught his eye he wound up the conversation and came over to me, glass in hand.
    “Where’s Nancy?”
    “She didn’t feel good. She had me take her home.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have taken her home.”
    “She wanted it that way.”
    “I’ve never seen her do that before. I can’t understand what got into her.” He glanced at me sideways, suspicion shining in his eyes.
    I made a noncommittal sound. It was no time for a brand new friend of the family to tell husband he knew what was wrong with wife.
    “Did she tell you what was eating on her?”
    “No. Is something?”
    “There must be, for her to act like this. My God, sheknows how this town is. They’ll clack for a week. I suppose I ought to get on home. Wait a minute, we all came in your car. Well, I can get a taxi.”
    “She sounded as if she’d like it better if you stayed, Dodd. She said she didn’t want to spoil your evening.”
    “Any more than she already has.” He finished his drink, reached over and set the empty glass on the bar. “I might as well hang around, I guess. Buy you a drink, Clint?”
    “Not right now, thanks.”
    He put his hand on my shoulder, gave me a couple of squeezes. I was born with a catlike aversion to such stray gestures. I merely endure them, hoping my expression doesn’t give away my distaste. Besides, there was something forced about the way he did it. He looked at me intently. “Clint, I’ve never had a chance to tell you how damn well much it means to me to come out here and find a guy like you to help carry the ball. I mean that.”
    “Well, thanks, Dodd.”
    “You know what you can get sometimes in this outfit. A politico. An oily switch artist. Hell, I know where you stand.”
    He took his hand off my shoulder, made a fist out of it and punched me lightly in the