Free Never Say No to a Killer by Clifton Adams Page A

she was everything else.
    I went after her.

    “Why, hello there!”
    I had tried several things since Burton's funeral: A few words at the mailbox, brief, senseless conversations in the hallway of our apartment building. Those tactics hadn't got me anywhere, so I had come right out to the Burton factory where she still worked.
    It was quitting time and she had come out with all the other office workers this time. No chauffeur to pick her up in a limousine and whisk her off to the University Club. Burton's death had brought Pat Kelso down in the world somewhat, but it hadn't brought her off her queenly bearing.
    I said, “Remember me? I'm your neighbor. William O'Connor from across the hall.”
    “… Oh, yes,” smiling faintly. “I didn't know you worked here, Mr. O'Connor.”
    I laughed. “I don't work here, I just came out to see a friend who does. Charlie Burkett, in Advertising. Maybe you know him.”
    “No, I'm afraid I don't.” We were standing on the sidewalk in front of the building, the white-collar parade going past on either side.
    “Miss Kelso,” I said, and she paused for a moment, half turning. “I was just thinking, Miss Kelso, I'm going back to the apartment myself.”
    No smile this time. “I'm sorry, Mr. O'Connor, I'd rather….”
    She left it hanging, nodded, then walked on by herself. Well, by God, I thought, this kind of thing has got to stop! I'm getting pretty goddamn tired of women looking at me like I was something pickled in formaldehyde. I followed her.
    I said, “All right, I didn't come out here to see a friend, and I never knew a Charlie Burkett.”
    Anyway, it stopped her, it surprised her. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Miss Kelso,” I said, “don't you think it's about time you joined the Living?”
    She frowned, “Really, Mr. O'Connor, I don't know…”
    “Yes, you do,” I said. “I've tried just about everything in the book to get to know you better, and finally I tried this; you know it.”
    People were staring at us, and that bothered her. I took her arm and helped her into a waiting taxi, then got in beside her. I said to the driver, “The Lake Hotel,” then settled back and looked at her.
    She was not afraid, merely curious. “You are very persuasive person, Mr. O'Connor,” she said dryly.
    “Yes, I can be persuasive if the occasion calls for it.”
    Unsmiling, she looked at me, strangely, as though she was seeing me for the first time. She said, “What did you mean when you said it was time I joined the Living?”
    “It's pretty obvious to an interested observer. You haven't been anywhere, seen anybody, you haven't even smiled since Alex Burton was killed.”
    She looked as though I had slapped her. “Relax,” I said. It seemed that I was always telling women to relax. “It's not exactly a secret, is it, that Alex Burton and his secretary were…”
    “I'll thank you,” she hissed, “to keep out of my life, Mr. O'Connor!”
    I shrugged.
    “And I'm not going to the Lake Hotel with you, or anywhere else! I'm going home!”
    “I had hoped I wouldn't have to bring this up,” I said, “but you leave me no alternative. It's a little awkward for me; for a while I thought about telling it to the police, but then I thought what the hell, there's no use spoiling a nice girl's life.” I grinned. “You are a nice girl, aren't you, Miss Kelso?”
    She didn't know what I was getting at, but she was doing some pretty fast guessing, and she didn't like it. I said, “It was pure accident, understand, that I happened to see Burton entering your apartment just about the time he was killed, according to the police coroner. After all, we are neighbors, and a person does get curious about his neighbors sometimes. Of course, at the time, I thought you would tell the police yourself-but I understand now that it would have placed you in an-unfavorable light, so I really don't blame you. Still, it is information that the police might…”
    “What do you want!” she said