5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

54 “Every gal’s a murderess at heart when her love-life is threatened, Vara, darling. Remember that when you read those lines.” “That’s just it, Joy,” Vara told her. “Ed isn’t actually my man in the play. It’s only his money I’m after. Yet I’m supposed to kill him and put a lot of emo- tion into the part when I don’t know how a murderess feels.” “EKasy enough!” drawled Lasker. “Pick out some guy you’re sweet on and bump him off.” Vara seemed to consider the idea seri- ously. She pursed her red lips, half closed her big brown eyes. She was sit- ting on the arm of my chair, leaning in- timately against my willing shoulder. I couldn’t picture her murdering any- body. But then, of course, I wouldn’t. I was so crazy in love with her that I couldn’t even see straight. Ever since I’d watched her do her part in The Other Man and had talked my city editor into letting me do a review of the show, I’d been like her shadow, with her as much as I could be, moping like a sick sparrow when she was out of sight. I gave her waist a possessive squeeze. “Don’t be a dope, honey,” I whispered. “The only thing you could kill is a shaker of cocktails and you know it. I don’t know why they cast you for the role in the first place, except for your husky voice and that slinky way you walk.” That must have hit her professional pride. Watch out for any actor or ac- tress when pride lifts its ugly head. “You wouldn’t understand, darling,” Vara told me pityingly. “You’re just a sweet, insensitive newspaper guy with no real feelings—in here.” She touched the left side of her evening gown below the spot where it started to swell out in a soft half moon. “I think I will kill somebody to prove my point.” “What point?” “Oh, I don’t know—that I can kill somebody.” O® COURSE it was silly talk. But Vara was only twenty. Her beau- FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE tiful head was stuffed so full of “the ater” that she had a case of mental in- digestion. I gave her a drink and managed to steer the conversation back to normal. We danced after that. Every time Ed or Joy or Doc Tanner glanced my way I saw them snicker, and everybody began to razz me. “You wouldn’t understand, Nick. Vara’s so serious about her work. Too bad you’re so insensitive, old man.” They couldn’t get a smile out of me, though. I’m too old-fashioned, or maybe too literal-minded, to appreciate drama- tics. Murder has never seemed to me like a good subject for humor anyhow. I’ve done too much smelly copy on it. When I got Vara off in a corner alone, holding her, soft and slim and warm in my arms while the dance band played, I gave her a little lecture. “Try to grow up, honey-child,” I said, “even if you are on the road to stardom. Keep your dopey lines strictly for the footlights, won’t you?” “You’re being stuffy, Nicolas,” she said. , Her brown eyes were close to mine, dark and shining, fringed by long silky lashes that were real. Her lips were close to mine, too, tempting as always. I tried to kiss her, but she shoved me. away “Cave man!” “Is it any worse than being a cave woman—chattering about murdering people?” “You’re tiresome at times, Nick dar- ling.” “You’re a fuzzy-brained kid.” I was going to add “even though I love you,” but she didn’t give me the chance. She slipped out of my arms and drew herself up to her full five feet four. “T’ve got to be with some of my own kind, Nick precious. It—it’s like—need- ing fresh air. You won’t mind, I know, sweetheart.” She glided away then. She could slap me in the face like that, and I’d take it every time because the torch I was car- GoOMmMiGchdoo S