Read Online You Can't Kill a Corpse by Louis Trimble - Free Book Online Page A

guy by the desk?”
    â€œPaul Grando,” the elevator boy said. “He’s big stuff.”
    â€œSure,” Clane said. “Does he live here?”
    â€œPart of the time.”
    Clane rode the rest of the way in silence. As the car stopped at the sixth floor, he said, “What do I do if I get so drunk I’m ashamed to come through the lobby?”
    The boy grinned. Clane passed him a five-dollar bill. The boy said, “Come in from the alley. There’s a service elevator right off it. But it’ll save squawks if you phone the desk and tell them to charge double rates for the night. Then they don’t give a damn what you bring in.”
    â€œThanks,” Clane said dryly, and stepped into the hall. “Maybe I’ll have a harem before long.” He walked toward his room.
    There was no light coming under his door and he hesitated before putting his key in the lock. He opened the door finally and put his hand inside the room. He found the switch with his fingers and flicked on the lights. He stepped in, shut the door and turned his back on it.
    Edith Morgan was seated in the easy chair across the room. She was rigid and pale, her lips set tightly in her drawn face. She didn’t look angry as she had in Clane’s cell; she looked frightened, almost sick with it.
    There was a gun in her hand. He held it tightly, pointed at Clane. Her arm trembled.
    Clane said, “That’s a .32, isn’t it?”

EIGHT
    Clane sat down on the bed and looked at her without expression. He said again, “That’s a .32, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes.” Her voice was cold and angry and her mouth was set in a harsh line. Clane thought she would be better-looking if she smiled more often.
    â€œI came here because you threatened my father,” she burst out. “I want to know why.”
    Clane said, “You know why I had you come here.” She held the gun stiffly in front of her. Clane hoped she wouldn’t start shaking and squeeze the trigger accidentally. “You shoot me and there will be a hell of a mess,” he added.
    â€œIf I don’t shoot you,” she said amazingly, “I won’t have any peace of mind.”
    Clane got off the bed. “Have some bourbon; some straight bourbon.”
    Edith Morgan looked steadily at him while he walked to the dresser and took the bottle from the top drawer. He poured one drink in the bathroom glass and another in the deep cap of the bottle. He walked toward her, extending the glass.
    â€œYou have a lot of nerve,” she said.
    â€œAdmitted,” Clane said easily. He had both hands full. In one motion he downed his drink, set hers on the arm of her chair, and took the gun from her hand. For only an instant did her fingers tighten on the gun butt. Then she let loose. “Drink up,” Clane said. He took the gun and went back to the bed.
    He looked down at the little gun. “You messed hell out of the fingerprints, if any,” he said.
    She held the liquor glass in her hand. She was shaking a little now and whiskey bobbed unevenly. Clane thought she looked as if she might cry. “Drink it,” he said gently.
    â€œI—I don’t drink.”
    â€œYou do this one.” He got up again. “Take your medicine for papa.” She looked at him, her mouth set in a straight harsh line he disliked. She set the glass back on the arm of the chair. Clane turned and tossed the .32 on the bed, then went up to her. She half rose from the chair and then settled back. Her eyes showed him she was half frightened, half angry. Clane took the glass in one hand and her nose in the other. She gasped and made a grab for his wrist. Clane tossed the whiskey into her open mouth, put his thumb to her chin and snapped her jaws shut. Her fingernails dug into his wrist and she jerked her body sideways convulsively. When she began to cough he released her.
    She choked and gagged and finally wiped her