Read Online Psycho - Three Complete Novels by Robert Bloch - Free Book Online Page B

the morbidity of the music? All at once he felt tension in the muscles at the back of his neck. He listened intently, trying to isolate the instrument, pinpoint the phrase that had triggered his reaction. Something was wrong, something he sensed, something he could almost hear.
    Sam rose, pushing back his chair.
    He could hear it now. A faint rattling, from up front. Of course, that’s all it was; he had heard something to bother him. Somebody was turning the knob of the front door.
    The store was closed for the night, the shades drawn, but maybe it was some tourist. Most likely would be; folks in town knew when he closed up, and they also knew he lived in the back room. If they wanted to come down for anything after regular hours, they’d phone first.
    Well, business was business, whoever the customer might be. Sam turned and went into the store, hurrying down the dim aisle. The blind had been pulled down on the front door, but he could hear the agitated rattling very plainly now—in fact, some of the pots and pans on the traffic-item counter were jiggling.
    This must be an emergency, all right; probably the customer needed a new bulb for his kid’s Mickey Mouse flashlight.
    Sam fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his key ring. “All right,” he called. “I’m opening up.” And did so, deftly, swinging the door back without withdrawing the key.
    She stood there in the doorway, silhouetted against the street lamp’s glow from the curbing outside. For a moment the shock of recognition held him immobile; then he stepped forward and his arms closed around her.
    “Mary!” he murmured. His mouth found hers, gratefully, greedily; and then she was stiffening, she was pulling away, her hands had come up shaping into balled fists that beat against his chest. What was wrong?
    “I’m not Mary!” she gasped. “I’m Lila.”
    “Lila?” He stepped back once more. “The kid—I mean, Mary’s sister?”
    She nodded. As she did so he caught a glimpse of her face in profile, and the lamplight glinted on her hair. It was brown, much lighter than Mary’s. Now he could see the difference in the shape of the snub nose, the higher angle of the broad cheekbones. She was a trifle shorter, too, and her hips and shoulders seemed slimmer.
    “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s this light.”
    “That’s all right.” Her voice was different, too; softer and lower.
    “Come inside, won’t you?”
    “Well—” She hesitated, glancing down at her feet, and then Sam noticed the small suitcase on the sidewalk.
    “Here, let me take this for you.” He scooped it up. As he passed her in the doorway he switched on the rear light. “My room is in back,” he told her. “Follow me.”
    She trailed behind him in silence. Not quite silence, because Respighi’s tone poem still resounded from the radio. As they entered his makeshift living quarters, Sam went over to switch it off. She lifted her hand.
    “Don’t,” she told him. “I’m trying to recognize that music.” She nodded. “Villa-Lobos?”
    “Respighi. Something called Brazilian Impressions. It’s on the Urania label, I believe.”
    “Oh. We don’t stock that.” For the first time he remembered that Lila worked in a record shop.
    “You want me to leave it on, or do you want to talk?” he asked.
    “Turn it off. We’d better talk.”
    He nodded, bent over the set, then faced her. “Sit down,” he invited. “Take off your coat.”
    “Thanks. I don’t intend to stay long. I’ve got to find a room.”
    “You’re here on a visit?”
    “Just overnight. I’ll probably leave again in the morning. And it isn’t exactly a visit. I’m looking for Mary.”
    “Looking for—” Sam stared at her. “But what would she be doing here?”
    “I was hoping you could tell me that.”
    “But how could I? Mary isn’t here.”
    “Was she here? Earlier this week, I mean?”
    “Of course not. Why, I haven’t seen her since she drove up last summer.” Sam sat down on