Free Kiss and Kill by Ellery Queen

past her to the door of the hotel room. He raised his voice. “Ed! Come in. Slow. The lady’s here, and she has a gun.”
    The door opened and Ed Tollman poked his head into the room cautiously. He stopped like a shot as Claire stepped out of the bathroom with the .32.
    â€œShe caught me with one of the oldest tricks in the book,” Barney said sheepishly. “Miss English, Mr. Tollman. Are we squared away now?”
    She examined the haggard Tollman face as if she were making a preliminary study for a portrait.
    And then she lowered the gun.
    â€œYou’re Liz’s husband. She had your picture.”
    She dropped into a chair like a discarded suit of clothes. The gun fell to the floor. Her shoulders shook and she began to cry. And suddenly she was laughing.
    â€œOh, God, I felt so stupid standing there with a gun and not a stitch on!”
    And then she was all gladness, her perfect face alive with a resurrected hope. “Have you any idea what I’ve been through? What a nightmare this has been? And how wonderful it is not to have to go it alone any more? I feel as if I’ve met a couple of long-lost brothers. Brothers, will you have a drink?”

5
    There was only one glass in the bathroom. Claire got a pint bottle of bourbon from her suitcase and filled the glass. She took a shuddering swallow and passed the glass to Ed, beside her on the bed. Barney, in a chair facing them, reached over to Ed and took his turn and felt joyous. This was more like it. They were three travelers in a cave taking refuge from a threatening storm. For the first time in days he relaxed.
    Pale light pierced a window opaqued by grime; the ledge outside was clotted with pigeon droppings. The room had the stale bouquet of cheap hotels—moldy mattresses and musty carpets. The smell was faintly overlain by the scent of the woman’s bath soap. Lovely.
    Barney passed the glass to her, watching her take another slug, long and thirsty. His glance dropped to the twin hollows above her collarbone. His thumbs would fit neatly there; he’d be able to feel the pulse beating under the skin. His glance went further down the slim body, down to where her robe parted to reveal a plinth of thigh. It would be damn good to see her naked again, but unafraid this time—better than that, in a posture of availability. And suddenly there she was, lying on her bed … on her back …
    â€œWhy are you staring at me, Mr. Burgess?”
    Barney stared. She was still sitting on the bed. My God, he thought, a bona fide hallucination. Just plain fag-out. He wondered if he looked as fatigue-ridden as Ed Tollman.
    â€œI was wondering,” he said, “why you didn’t ask for help from the police.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you ?”
    Barney nodded with appreciation. She was quick, on top of everything else. “They had Ed’s wife—”
    The eyes turned to Ed, beside her, and their emerald softened. He was sitting wrapped tightly round, like a mummy, asleep with his eyes open. She turned back to Barney.
    â€œAnd? You have no monopoly on logic, Mr. Burgess.”
    â€œBarney.”
    â€œBarney. I reached the same conclusion when I found out Liz had disappeared.”
    That seemed reasonable, too. Only there was something wrong with it. After a moment’s reflection he had it. “But you didn’t learn that until after you’d phoned the sheriff in Colorado. Or wasn’t that you?”
    â€œOh, that was me, all right.”
    â€œAnd you also visited Ingrid Johns in Indianapolis.”
    â€œYes.” Her natural brows had risen. “Did you follow me?”
    â€œOnly incidentally. We were following the same trail. I’m wondering,” said Barney, “how you sniffed all this out.”
    Claire English leaned back on her elbows. “It began,” she said, “when my studio was burgled. Three weeks ago.”
    â€œThat far back? The driver was killed