Free Good to the Last Kiss by Ronald Tierney Page B

summer, she’d play all day, forgetting how the weak sun could still sting her skin with a light pink blush. She would shower and climb naked into her bed. This is how her flesh was now – warm and cool, safe and secret. She was completely aware of every inch of her body.
    In those adolescent days, she discovered the strange pleasure her nakedness gave her – the slight swell of her breasts and the electricity of her nipples against the starched sheets, the secret touching.
    Dark now. Heavy quilt over her. Sounds. Sounds overhead awakened her. She opened her eyes, but couldn’t see in the darkness. At first Julia Bateman was frightened, but she was sure it was a raccoon, perhaps a possum. The area was full of nocturnal creatures. She closed her eyes. The sound again.
    The cabin had a flat roof, so the sound was not far away nor was there much in between her and the sound to buffer it. Couldn’t be raccoons, she thought. It was a heavy sound. A bear? Surely not. There were brown bears in California, but weren’t they in parks?
    Her .32 revolver was in the desk drawer. The telephone was on the desk. The desk was in the living room. She decided not to turn on the light. If it were a bear, it probably didn’t matter. If it were a burglar, the light would let him know her whereabouts.
    This wasn’t the first time she’d been in danger. Hang around Turk and Eddy Streets in the city for a few years. Anybody who could do that would be able to stay cool in a volatile situation. Her bare feet touched the cool wooden floor. Her arm went out to feel for the doorway. She moved slowly into the hall.
    A patch of starry night showed itself in the skylight. Suddenly her naked body was bathed in light. She looked up again, but was blinded by the light. There was a creaking sound, then a loud crack. The light went crazy and something huge was sucked into the cabin. Nearly on top of her. She heard breathing. The light came at her and she saw nothing else.
    Inspector Mickey McClellan was holding the long suction tube of a portable vacuum cleaner as Gratelli came into Julia Bateman’s bedroom.
    ‘I see a broken skylight. I don’t see any glass,’ Gratelli said.
    ‘This is why.’ Mickey waved the tube. ‘This is why we got no evidence,’ McClellan said.
    ‘He cleaned up afterward,’ one of the Gurneville deputies said.
    ‘This guy was thorough,’ McClellan continued. ‘He took the bedclothes, vacuumed the mattress and carpet and probably the body.’
    ‘What about the bag?’ Gratelli asked, nodding toward the little red vacuum.
    ‘This is priceless Gratelli, tell ’em.’ McClellan nodded to the deputy who spoke earlier.
    ‘Best we can tell Inspector, the perpetrator not only stole the bag but he sucked water through the tube there and dumped it in the commode. Then damn if he didn’t wash the commode.’
    ‘Nobody searched outside?’
    ‘No, Inspector. We waited. We saw the tattoo there and well, you know, we had that other kid, that other homicide up here earlier. We waited for you.’
    McClellan pushed the switch on the vacuum with his foot. ‘Me,’ he said over the whir, ‘I figure the maid did it.’
    Everybody but Gratelli started laughing.

SEVEN
    D avid Seidman spent Saturday and Sunday mornings at Julia Bateman’s bedside. Paul Chang did the same in the afternoons. Sammie stopped by both days, stood awkwardly for fifteen minutes or so and excused herself. She didn’t so much leave the room as escape it. Otherwise, nothing changed. The nurses had cranked up the bed, putting its inhabitant in a sitting position. Julia’s eyes were open. She didn’t speak.
    Sometimes she looked in Paul’s direction, but with little interest. Either she didn’t know him or wasn’t much interested in his being there. Not knowing which, Paul assumed it was the former.
    ‘I called your father,’ Paul said Sunday afternoon. He waited. No response. ‘He’s coming out. He’ll be here around ten in the morning.’ No