Ira Levin - A Kiss Before Dying

You can't deny that. And all you have to do for us to have a chance at that extra happiness is just take these pills." He reached into his inner pocket and brought out the envelope, pressing it to make sure it was the right one. "There isn't one logical reason why you should refuse."

She folded the handkerchief and turned it in her hands, looking at it "Since Tuesday morning I've been dreaming about tomorrow. It changed everything... the whole world." She pushed the handkerchief over to him. "All my life I've been arranging things to suit my father."

"I know you're disappointed, Dorrie. But you've got to think of the future." He extended the envelope to her. Her hands, folded on the table, made no move to accept it. He put it on the table between them, a white rectangle slightly swollen by the capsules inside. "I'm prepared to take a night job now, to quit school at the end of this term. All I'm asking you to do is to swallow a couple of pills."

Her hands remained folded, her eyes on the sterile whiteness of the envelope.

He spoke with cool authority: "If you refuse to take them, Dorothy, you're being stubborn, unrealistic, and unfair. Unfair more to yourself than to me." The jazz record ended, the colored lights died, and there was silence.

They sat with the envelope between them. Across the room there was the whisper of a chessman being placed and an old man's voice said "Check." , Her hands parted slightly and he saw the glisten of sweat in her palms. His own hands were sweating too, he realized. He eyes lifted from the envelope to meet his.

"Please, baby.. "

She looked down again, her face rigid.

She took the envelope. She pushed it into the handbag on the bench beside her and then sat gazing at her hands on the table.

He reached across the table and touched her hand, caressed the back of it, clasped it. With his other hand he pushed his untouched coffee over to her. He watched her lift the cup and drink. He found another nickel in his pocket and, still holding her hand, dropped the coin into the selector and pressed the button opposite Some Enchanted Evening.

They walked the wet concrete paths in silence, divorced by the privacy of their thoughts, holding hands through habit. The rain had stopped, but face-tingling moisture filled the air, defining the scope of each streetlamp in shifting gray.

Across the street from the dorm, they kissed. Her lips under his were cool and compressed. When he tried to part them she shook her head. He held her for a few minutes, whispering persuasively, and then they exchanged goodnights. He watched as she crossed the street and passed into the yellow-lighted hall of the building.

He went to a nearby bar, where he drank two glasses of beer and tore a paper napkin into a delicate filigreed square of admirable detail. When half an hour had passed, he stepped into the telephone booth and dialed the number of the dorm. He asked the girl at the switchboard for Dorothy's room.

She answered after two rings. "Hello?"

"Hello, Dome?" Silence at her end. "Dorrie, did you do it?"

A pause. "Yes."

"When?"

"A few minutes ago."

He drew a deep breath. "Baby, does that girl on the switchboard ever listen in?"

"No. They fired the last girl for-"

"Well listen, I didn't want to tell you before, but... they might hurt a little." She said nothing. He continued, "Hermy said you'll probably throw up, like before. And you might get a sort of burning sensation in your throat and some pains in your stomach. Whatever happens, don't get frightened. It'll just mean that the pills are working. Don't call anyone." He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she was silent. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before but, well, it won't hurt too much. And it'll be over before you know it." A pause. "You're not angry with me, are you, Dorrie?"

"No."

"You'll see, it'll all be for the best"

"I know. I'm sorry I was stubborn."

"That's all right, baby. Don't apologize."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes."

There was a silence for a moment and then she said, "Well, good night."

"Good-by, Dorothy," he said.

Striding into the classroom Friday morning he felt weightless and tall and wonderful. It was a beautiful day; sunlight poured into the room and bounced off the metal chairs to spangle the walls and ceiling.

Taking his seat in the back of the room, he stretched his legs all the way out and folded his hands across his chest, watching the other students crowd in. The morning's radiance had inflamed them all, and tomorrow was the first Varsity baseball game, with the Spring Dance in the evening; there was chattering, shouting, grinning and laughter.

Three girls stood off to the side and whispered excitedly. He wondered if they were dorm girls, if they could possibly be talking about Dorothy. She couldn't have been found yet. Why would anyone enter her room? They would think she wanted to sleep late. He was counting on her not being found for several hours; he held his breath until the girls' whispering erupted into laughter.

No, it was unlikely that she would be found before one o'clock or so. "Dorothy Kingship wasn't at breakfast and she wasn't at lunch either"-then they would knock on her door and get no answer. They'd most likely have to get the house mother or someone with a key. Or it might not even happen then. Many of the dorm girls slept through breakfast, and some of them ate lunch out occasionally. Dorrie hadn't any close friends who would miss her right away. No, if his luck held, they might not find her until Ellen's phone call came.

The night before, after saying good-by to Dorothy on the telephone, he had returned to the dorm. In the mailbox on the corner he had posted the envelope addressed to Ellen Kingship, the envelope containing Dorothy's suicide note. The first mail collection of the morning was at six; Caldwell was only a hundred miles away and so the letter would be delivered this afternoon. If Dorothy were found in the morning, Ellen, notified by her father, might leave Caldwell for Blue River before the letter arrived, which would mean that an investigation of some sort would almost certainly be launched, because the suicide note would not be found until Ellen returned to Caldwell. It was the only risk, but it was a small one and unavoidable; it had been impossible for him to sneak into the Girl's Dormitory to plant the note in Dorothy's room, and impractical to secrete it in the pocket of her coat or in one of her books prior to giving her the pills, in which case there would have been the far greater risk of Dorothy finding the note and throwing it away or, still worse, putting two and two together.

He had decided upon noon as the safety mark. H Dorothy were found under twelve, Ellen would have received the note by the time the school authorities contacted Leo Kingship and Kingship in turn contacted her. If his luck realty held, Dorothy would not be discovered until late afternoon, a frantic phone call from Ellen leading to the discovery. Then everything would be neat and in its proper order.

There would be an autopsy, of course. It would reveal the presence of a great deal of arsenic and a two-month embryo-the way and the why of her suicide. That and the note would more than satisfy the police. Oh, they would make a perfunctory check of the local drugstores, but it would net them only a fat zero. They might even consider the Pharmacy supply room. They would ask the students, "Did you see this girl in the supply room or anywhere in the Pharmacy Building?"-displaying photograph of the deceased. Which would produce another zero. It would be a mystery, but hardly an important one; even if they couldn't be sure of the source of arsenic, her death would still be an indisputable suicide.

Would they look for the man in the case, the lover? He considered that unlikely. For all they knew she was as promiscuous as a bunny. That was hardly their concern. But what about Kingship? Would outraged morality inaugurate a private inquiry? "Find the man who ruined my daughter!" Although, from the description of her father that Dorothy had painted, Kingship would be more likely to think "Aha, she was ruined all along. Like mother, like daughter." Still, there might be an inquiry...