One of Doughty’s men came in to call him down for a session with Tiny, who had just been revived. The nurse brought me a tall glass of orange juice and I sipped it, letting it work on my inner man. My mind was clearing, enough to push me to a sitting position and beckon Slip my way.
“How about the little green book?” I asked.
Slip patted his pocket and winked. “I just happened to find it on a gent named Noonan before I called in the cops. I figured maybe it could be worth a couple of bucks to a character named King Barchy.”
“You figured right,” I said.
The nurse held my good wrist and listened to the sound of my corpuscles pounding away against her fingers.
“Mr. Conacher needs his rest now,” she told Slip. “You can come back to visit him tomorrow afternoon.”
She watched him go, still holding my wrist and concentrating on my pulse count. Her fingers felt good on me. She was small, exactly my size. There were a few tremulous hammers still banging away in my head, but the pain eased off when she held my hand that way. I found myself working to forget the business of the last few days, considering instead the size and shape of her fingers on my wrist, and the delicate shadows that fell under her neck as she looked down at me. She had an oval face, as simple and sweet as a schoolgirl on a picnic. But her eyes were so blue that they made me blink when I looked at them. And there was something for me in those eyes, a subtle invitation beyond the depth of her professional gaze. She stood there for a long moment and I enjoyed the full close-up of her.
She put my wrist down gently and showed me that she could smile.
“You’ll be all right in a day or so, Mr. Conacher,” she said.
“I’m all right now, lady,” I said. “I’m back to normal.”
About the Author
Lawrence Lariar (1908–1981) was an American novelist, cartoonist and cartoon editor, known for his Best Cartoons of the Year series of cartoon collections. He wrote crime novels, sometimes using the pseudonyms Michael Stark, Adam Knight and Marston la France.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1951, 1979 by Lawrence Lariar
This authorized edition copyright © 2018 by the estate of Lawrence Lariar and The Mysterious Press
Cover design by Ian Koviak
ISBN: 978-1-5040-5645-8
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Murder for Madame Page 20
