Free The Killing Edge by Richard; Forrest Page B

intersection, and the Ferrari went into a mild skid as she braked. L.C. downshifted, steered into the skid, and quickly regained control. She well understood how Dave August might have excessively accelerated on the trip to Murphysville.
    The apartment building was an unassuming brick structure with tiny balconies off the second floor. She parked in a rear lot and entered the vestibule.
    It was a full two minutes and several rings before the sulky voice answered the intercom. “Who is it?”
    â€œL.C. Converse, Sandy. Can I see you a minute?”
    â€œMiz Converse, what do you want?”
    â€œAbout Raleigh. It won’t take a minute.”
    The door buzzed and L.C. entered the hall. Sandra’s door at the rear of the first floor swung open as she approached.
    â€œWhat is it, Miz Converse?”
    â€œRaleigh Bridger has escaped and I wanted to ask …”
    â€œOh, he’s not here.” The door swung open and L.C. almost stumbled as Sandra grabbed her arm and pulled her inside.
    It was a one room efficiency with a small kitchenette to the side. L.C. recognized the man half under the sheet on the opened convertible couch as a 69 Corvette whose valve heads had been ground last month.
    Sandra, wearing a light dressing gown and obviously nothing else, bustled through the room opening and closing closet and bathroom doors. “He’s not here, Miz Converse, you can see that.”
    â€œI didn’t think he would be. I was just going to ask you about …” L.C. stopped. How in the world could she question the girl about the discrepancy in Raleigh’s story when 69 Corvette was also interested in her charms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”
    â€œHank’s not company, he’s my roommate and you can talk in front of him. He knows all about Mr. RB.”
    â€œThen Hank was here last night?”
    â€œHank’s always here. He’s drawing unemployment.”
    â€œDid you tell that to Chief Barnes?”
    â€œHe didn’t ask.”
    â€œWhat in hell are you two broads talking about?” The 69 Corvette heaved himself from the bed and padded over to the refrigerator. He took out a can of beer, flipped the top, and posed against the kitchen counter in his jockey shorts.
    â€œYou trying to show off or something?” Sandra snapped.
    â€œPipe down. Hey, I know you. You work at the garage and did a job on my valves.”
    â€œBlue job with radials,” L.C. replied.
    â€œHey, yeah. You think I’d get more RPM if I put in dual carbs?”
    â€œI’ve got some Holley 4160 four barrels in the shop. Mount them side by side and you’ll pick up 400 on your tach.”
    â€œIs that right?”
    His reply of admiration had not been lost on Sandra. There was a noticeable hostility in her voice. “Exactly what do you want, L.C?”
    â€œWere you home by eight last night?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSure she was,” he replied. “I know because I always watch “The Price is Right.” It comes on at 7:30 and she came in before it was over.”
    â€œThank you. I’ll go now.” L.C. started for the door.
    â€œWait a minute, I’d like to talk to you about that red buggy of yours.”
    â€œWhy don’t you just parade around in front of her with everything hanging out?” L.C. heard Sandra yell as the door slammed.
    The stenographic pad lay forgotten on the floor by the side of the chair as Jane Ellen sat defiantly across the desk from L.C. and crossed her arms over her chest.
    â€œWhat am I supposed to do, bind them like Chinese women used to do?”
    â€œThat was feet not breasts, Jane Ellen.”
    â€œWell, I can’t help it.” She put her arms down by her side. “When it gets cold like this they … they just stand out.”
    L.C. was sorry that the conversation had ever started. She wouldn’t have brought it up this morning if Vic