Free The Good Old Stuff by John D. MacDonald Page B

preparation. And now he realized that the actual commission of the deed required no particular call on his strength and determination. Actually it was as though she were already dead. He opened the kitchenette window several inches, took the four strings, fastened them to the handles, careful not to touch the handles with his fingers. Myra was snoring throatily.
    He poked the strings through the screen knowing that she had no more reason to use the stove, knowing that in the semi-darkened kitchenette the dark strings would be invisible. He took his keys out of his pocket and put them on the desk. He took the note from among his business papers, folded it once and placed it on the desk, an ashtray on top of it, in a conspicuous spot. It was important that he be without keys and that the note be out in the open for anyone to find. It would be best if someone else should find it. Then he could snatch it away and handle it.
    Everything was ready. He spoke to her sharply, went over and shook her.
    “Myra!”
    She smiled blearily up at him. “Gee, I’m so tired I could die!”
    That startled him for a moment, and then he felt a deep ironic amusement at her choice of words.
    “Honey, I feel guilty not working today. I’m going down to Benninger’s drugstore. They’re a client, and I can do a little checking. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
    “Maybe I’ll go to bed.”
    “No. Don’t do that. It’s only a little after seven. You go to bed now and you’ll wake up before dawn.”
    “Okay,” she said dreamily. “I’ll wait until you come back.”
    He opened the door, looked back at her, and said, “Goodbye, honey.”
    She yawned. “ ’Bye, Peter.”
    He shut the door, heard the latch click. Now came the period of most danger. The night was very dark. The apartment housewas on a quiet street. When he was certain that he was unobserved, he went quickly along the dark line of cedars. He looked cautiously through the windows of the living room. He could see the back of the wing chair in which she sat, her hand slack on the arm of the chair, the edge of one shoe. She did not move. Every object in the room stood out with a strange clarity, as though he were seeing the room for the first time, and had been asked to memorize the contents and the position of each item.
    Cedar brushed his cheek as he moved back to the kitchenette window. He found the four strands, conquering panic as, for a moment, it appeared that one had slipped back through the screen. He pulled slowly and steadily. The four strings pulled free and he yanked them through the screen, balled them in his hand. Then he pressed the window shut, walked out to the edge of the building, looked up and down the deserted sidewalk, then hurried across to the walk and went south with long strides to the Benninger drugstore.
    The younger brother was behind the counter. Peter’s lips felt stiff as he smiled. It seemed to him that in some secret place in his mind he could hear the whisper of escaping gas. A good thing the stove was a cheap one without a pilot light.
    “Thought I’d stop by and see how the new register tape is working.”
    “It seems to be going okay, Mr. Kallon. It slowed us up the first week getting used to it, but now it’s second nature. I like the way it keeps all the sales separated by department.”
    “Sure,” Peter said. “It gives you a check on how you’re doing.”
    “There’s a couple of new books of crosswords in since you were here a couple days ago.”
    “Are there? Good.” He went casually over to the rack, picked out the new ones, put them on the counter, and slid up onto a stool. “I’d like a root beer, please.”
    “Sure thing,” Benninger said. Charged water hissed into the glass. It also sounded like gas escaping. “How’s the missus?”
    “What? Oh, she’s fine. Say, you don’t mind if I sit here and work one of these puzzles, do you?”
    “Goodness, no! You go right ahead, Mr. Kallon.”
    The puzzle he