“At the Hilton. Mind if I turn in early tonight? It’s been a rough day.”
“Yes, it has been,” she said icily.
It was Thursday. When Myra entered the coffee shop at twelve-fifteen they were already there, Louise and Kaye, sitting in the last booth. Next to it was a small vacant table, and Myra hurried to it, for seats were being taken swiftly. The place was noisy, and seemed to be filled with voices and faces and everyone trying to get settled and ready to eat. She slipped onto the chair as inconspicuously as possible and opened the menu.
Several minutes passed before the noise abated and Myra was able to hear what was being said by the two so close to her. “How do I know it could be done safely?” Louise was asking in her low breathy voice.
“He guarantees it.”
“But — there might be a slip-up. I mean—”
“He’s no amateur.”
“Well — I just don’t know. That’s a lot of money.”
“You want her out of the way, don’t you? You want her de—”
“Shh! For God’s sake!”
After a moment of silence, Kaye said, “Do you or don’t you?”
“You know I do. I’d take care of the matter myself if I thought I could get away with it,” came the half-whispered reply-
“It’s better to hire a pro.”
Myra became immobile. Only her heart moved — hammered — pounded in her chest and in her throat and in her ears.
“Tomorrow,” Kaye said in a voice as cold as Myra’s hands and feet and spine. “If you want it done, I’ll see him at noon tomorrow and give him the word. It’s up to you.”
Myra’s eyes slipped surreptitiously toward Louise for a fleeting instant and saw the woman’s full pouty lips emit a cloud of smoke from her cigaret with the words, “I’ll sleep on it. I’ll let you know in the morning.”
Through a world that had become strangely distorted and grotesque, Myra drove home. When she entered the house the telephone was ringing. She answered it and heard Don’s voice. “What’s the matter?” were his first words. “You sound weird again.”
“I’m all right.”
“Mmmm. Well, I called to tell you that I’ll be having dinner with Bill and some wheels up here from San Diego. I may be a little late. Don’t wait up for me.”
“I won’t.” After putting down the telephone, Myra walked the floor. Twice she picked up the instrument again with the intention of calling the police. Twice she put it down. How could she explain it all? She wondered. They might even think her demented. Someone is going to be murdered, she could imagine herself telling them, and I may be the one. Then there would be questions, and Don would hear of it and—
Myra walked into the bathroom and was sick.
It was ten-thirty when she heard Don enter the house. In darkness she crawled into bed and feigned sleep. When he joined her she heard him sigh, and a moment later his breathing become deep and regular. Midnight. One o’clock. Two.
Quietly she left the bed and went to the medicine cabinet, where she swallowed two sedatives. After three A.M. she slept.
When Myra awoke she found the bed empty beside her and, glancing at the clock, saw she had overslept. Don would be gone, and she was relieved. In a half-daze she showered and dressed and, as she poured herself a cup of coffee, she stared at the wall.
There is no proof, she thought, I could be wrong. However...
The telephone rang, but she did not answer. Probably one of her friends calling, she told herself, someone wanting to know why she had not arrived for bridge yesterday.
As she knew she would, Myra entered the coffee shop this fifth day and her eyes, spanning the room, stopped at the counter. Louise was sitting there alone, and for a moment Myra could not breathe. The stools on either side of the woman were taken but, as Myra stood here unmoving, she saw the man seated to the left of Louise stand up and leave. As one in a nightmare, she walked stiffly over and took his place.
It was a moment before Myra became aware of the wide mirror upon the wall that was reflecting the faces at the counter. The woman who looked so pale and frightened was herself. Then she saw the composed face beside her, the self-satisfied expression. Yes, Louise had made her decision and was pleased with it, and as she lit a cigaret, the gray smoke floated over Myra’s face, erasing it.
It was as Louise reached toward an ashtray that Myra nearly cried out. She turned hot. She turned cold. Diamonds, amethysts and platinum swam in the smoky haze, and her mind seemed to shriek, My watch! She has it! Don gave her my watch!
She felt her hands turn moist and trickles of perspiration crawled down from her temples. I am the one to die. I am the one!
Louise stood up and, hips swinging, approached the cashier.
In this nightmare Myra also rose and followed her. Together they joined the pedestrians along the sidewalk, moving toward the corner, where the signal was blood red. Here the waiting group in a large tight knot was crowding impatiently onto the curb. The cars. A truck. The roar as each driver trued to squeeze through as the light turned yellow.
No one seemed to see Myra’s foot dart out sharply to her side. There were screams. Brakes shrieked. Louise’s body fell into the street, into the path of the truck.
Pandemonium!
Silently Myra was blending into the crowd, and in it she vanished. I tripped her, a voice within was whispering. I deliberately tripped her. I did it.
That afternoon at three o’clock the telephone ran and the sound slashed through the quiet house like a sharp knife. Myra let it cut the air six times before she picked it up.
“Myra?” Don’s voice.
“Yes.”
“You and I are going to San Diego for three whole days,” he said. “Business mixed with pleasure. Okay? Pack a few things. I’ll be home by five.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound very enthused. Don’t you want to go?”
“Of course, I do,” she heard a small voice say that did not seem to be her own.
“Good! I’d like my gray slacks and a sweater. Also my leather jacket. Oh, and take a warm coat for yourself, Ocean breezes, you know.”
“Yes.”
I’ll never be warm again, she thought. Never!
“A terrible thing happened down here during the noon hour,” he was saying. “One of the women who worked in this building was hit and killed by truck while coming back from lunch. I don’t know who she was, but I’ve heard she was employed by an insurance firm on the next floor. A hell of a thing to happen. Horrible!”
“That was too bad,” Myra said.
How smoothly he lies.
“Yes. Well — hurry and pack and we’ll drive down to the beach and have dinner along the Coastal Highway somewhere.”
After replacing the telephone in its cradle, Myra slowly walked to the bedroom and pulled some garments from her closet. She frowned, tossed them aside and chose others. As she brushed cold perspiration from her brow she could not recall ever before having felt so exhausted, so weak. She picked up an overnight case, but it slipped from her moist and trembling hand, landed on its corner and sprung open. She looked down at it and froze.
There it lay — the wristwatch. Jarred loose from the satin folds of a gathered pocket where it had been caught and concealed, it looked up at her, its face gray, its hands pointing to quarter of one.
Running Water
by Marion S. Moore
Alex knew Sheila was out to enslave him, so what could a blind man do about it?