Free Murder for Two by George Harmon Coxe Page A

wouldn’t look at you unless you had a warrant.”
    â€œI know,” Logan said. “That’s what a guy gets for being a cop. Especially a homicide cop. Well, where do you want to go?”
    â€œThe paper,” Casey said. “I got a bottle there—if some louse hasn’t been at it.”

Chapter Seven
    K AREN H AS A V ISITOR
    T OM W ADE WAS DROWSING in his tipped-back chair in the studio anteroom waiting for one o’clock to come. His eyes were half-closed as he looked at the door and, although he hadn’t realized it, it seemed to him that he was dreaming; at least he saw a vision, and such a lovely one that he was afraid to think about it for fear it would go away.
    She stood in the doorway, this vision, a slim, blond girl with wind-swept hair and slim, straight legs. She wore a light, camel’s-hair coat, with the collar turned up, and under her arm was an over-sized patent-leather handbag.
    â€œHello,” she said, her voice as bright and friendly as her face. “Is Mr. Casey in?”
    Wade jumped up, knocking over the chair, and was instantly awake. “Hello,” he stammered. “Gosh.” He gulped and fumbled for the chair, because such visions never came to the studio and the immediate shock was great. “I thought I was dreaming,” he said, and encouraged by her laugh, grinned back at her. “Come on in. He isn’t here now, but he might come by any time. Sit down here. Let me take your bag.”
    He pulled the chair from Casey’s desk and put her bag down. She threw back her coat and took the offered chair.
    â€œI’m Karen Harding,” she said.
    â€œI’m Tom Wade.”
    Karen Harding said, “How do you do,” and then, after a momentary silence, “Have you been here long?”
    â€œOh, sure,” Wade said. “About five years.”
    She laughed. “I meant tonight.”
    â€œOh. Well, about an hour or so, I guess.”
    She looked at her wrist watch. It was twelve-forty. “He hasn’t been in then?”
    Wade shook his head. He was a plump-faced, blue-eyed youth, good-natured, happy-go-lucky, and enthusiastic about almost everything. This girl, he realized, was different from most girls he knew. Just how the hell Casey ever got to know her he couldn’t imagine, but the point was she knew Casey and unless he, Wade, did something in a hurry she would probably walk out on him.
    â€œBut he ought to be in,” he said quickly. “Would you like a drink? I think there’s some in Casey’s desk—”
    â€œNo, thanks,” Karen Harding said. “I’ll just wait a few minutes.”
    â€œHow about a beer then, and maybe a sandwich? I generally go out for something about this time,” Wade lied. “You can wait here and I’ll be right back.”
    Something about Tom Wade’s eagerness stopped Karen Harding’s refusal before it passed her lips. She didn’t know why, but she did sense that her acceptance really meant something to this boy and so she smiled and nodded.
    â€œI think that would be very nice. Cheese, I think,” she said. “On rye bread.”
    â€œBeer or coffee?”
    â€œBeer.”
    Wade went out fast and she opened her bag and took out the Leica. She looked at it for a while and then, sitting up, she began to re-wind the film. When Wade came back she was sitting there smoking.
    â€œI’ll get a glass,” Wade said when he opened the bottles.
    â€œOh, I can drink out of a bottle.”
    Wade didn’t believe it. He watched until he saw her do it without spilling any on her chin.
    â€œYou can at that,” he said, and pulled up a chair. “Look. I’ve been thinking. Are you one of those A.W.V.S. girls that Casey teaches?”
    â€œWhy—yes.”
    Wade said, “Oh-oh,” sorrowfully.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œOh, nothing,” said Wade, but what he thought was, And you thought you