Ira Levin - A Kiss Before Dying

"Bud?" Marion said. She spoke the name blankly, her face in the mirror showing the barest flicker of surprise, as though her fiancй had been accused of having imperfect table manners.

Kingship stared narrow-eyed out the window. "I'd believe it," he said intently. "I'd believe it..." But as he turned to Gant the resolution faded from his eyes. "You're basing it all on his not telling Marion he went to Stoddard. We're not even sure he knew Dorothy, let alone he was the one she was... seeing. We have to be sure."

"The girls at the dorm," Gant said. "Some of them must have known who she was going with."

Kingship nodded. "I could hire someone to go out there, speak to them..."

Gant pondered and shook his head. "It's no good. It's vacation; by the time you managed to find one of the girls who knew, it would be too late."

"Too late?"

"Once he knows the wedding is off,"-he glanced at Marion; she was silent-"he's not going to wait around to find out why, is he?"

"We'd find him," Kingship said. "Maybe. And maybe not. People disappear." Gant smoked thoughtfully. "Didn't Dorothy keep a diary or anything?" The telephone rang.

Kingship went to the carved table and lifted the receiver. "Hello?" There was a long pause. Gant looked at Marion; she was leaning forward, picking up the pieces of paper from the floor. "When?" Kingship asked. She put the pieces of paper in her left hand and squeezed them together. She looked at them, not knowing what to do with them. She put them on the couch beside her, on top of the two pamphlets. "Thank you," Kingship said. "Thank you very much." There was the sound of the receiver being replaced, and then silence. Gant turned to look at Kingship.

He was standing beside the table, his pink face rigid. "Miss Richardson," he said. "Promotional literature was sent to Burton Corliss in Caldwell, Wisconsin, on October 16, 1950."

"Just when he must have started his campaign with Ellen," Gant said.

Kingship nodded, "But that was the second time," he said slowly. "Promotional literature was also sent to Burton Corliss on February 6, 1950, in Blue River. Iowa."

Gant said, "Dorothy..." Marion moaned.

Gant remained after Marion had gone upstairs. "We're still in the same boat Ellen was in," he said. "The police have Dorothy's 'suicide note' and all we have are suspicions and a flock of circumstantial evidence."

Kingship held one of the pamphlets. 'I'll make sure," he said.

"Didn't they find anything at Powell's place? A fingerprint, a thread of cloth...?"

"Nothing," Kingship said. "Nothing at Powell's place, nothing at the restaurant where Ellen..."

Gant sighed. "Even if you could get the police to arrest him, a first year law student could get him released in five minutes."

"I'll get him somehow," Kingship said. "I'll make sure, and I'll get him."

Gant said, "We've either got to find out how he got her to write that note, or else find the gun he used on Powell and Ellen. And before Saturday."

Kingship looked at the photograph on the pamphlet's cover. "The smelter..." Sorrowfully he said, "We're supposed to fly out there tomorrow. I wanted to show him around. Marion too. She was never interested before."

"You'd better see that she doesn't let him know the wedding is off until the last possible moment."

Kingship smoothed the pamphlet on his knee. He looked up. "What?"

"I said you should see that she doesn't let him know the wedding is off until the last possible moment."

"Oh," Kingship said. His eyes returned to the pamphlet. A moment passed. "He picked the wrong man," he said softly, still looking at the photograph of the smelter. "He should have picked on somebody else's daughters."

Was there ever such a perfect day? That was all he wanted to know,-was there? He grinned at the plane; it looked as impatient as he; it craned forward at the runway, its compact body gleaming, the coppered KINGSHIP and the crown trademark on its side emblazoned by the early morning sun. He grinned at the busy scene further down the field, where commercial planes stood, their waiting passengers herded behind wire fences like dumb animals. Well, we all can't have private planes at our disposal! He grinned at the ceramic blue of the sky, then stretched and pounded his chest happily, watching his breath plume upwards. No, he decided judicially, there really never was such a perfect day. What, never? No, never! What, never? Well... hardly ever! He turned and strode back to the hangar, humming Gilbert and Sullivan.

Marion and Leo were standing in the shade, having one of their tight-lipped arguments. "I'm going!" Marion insisted.

"What's the diffewculty?" he smiled, coming up to them.

Leo turned and walked away.

"What's the matter?" he asked Marion.

"Nothing's the matter. I don't feel well, so he doesn't want me to go." Her eyes were on the plane beyond him.

"Bridal nerves?"

"No. I just don't feel well, that's all."

"Oh," he said knowingly.

They stood in silence for a minute, watching a pair of mechanics fuss with the plane's fuel tank, and then he moved towards Leo. Leave it to Marion to be off on a day like this. Well, it was probably all for the good; maybe she'd keep quiet for a change. "All set to go?"

"A few minutes," Leo said. "We're waiting for Mr.

Dettweiler."

"Who?"

"Mr. Dettweiler. His father is on the board of directors."

A few minutes later a blond man in a gray overcoat approached from the direction of the commercial hangars. He had a long jaw and heavy eyebrows. He nodded at Marion and came up to Leo. "Good morning, Mr. Kingship."

"Good morning, Mr. Dettweiler." They shook hands. "I'd like you to meet my prospective son-in-law, Bud Corliss. Bud, this is Gordon Dettweiler."

"How do you do."

"Well," Dettweiler said-he had a handshake like a mangle-"I've certainly been looking forward to meeting you. Yes sir, I certainly have." A character, Bud thought, or maybe he was trying to get in good with Leo.

"Ready, sir?" a man asked from within the plane.

"Ready," Leo said. Marion came forward. "Marion, I honestly wish you wouldn't..."-but she marched right past Leo, up the three-step platform and into the plane. Leo shrugged and shook his head. Dettweiler followed Marion in. Leo said, "After you, Bud."

He jogged up the three steps and entered the plane. It was a six-seater, its interior done in pale blue. He took the last seat on the right, behind the wing. Marion was across the aisle. Leo took the front seat, across from Dettweiler.

When the engine coughed and roared to life, Bud fastened his seatbelt. Son of a gun, if it didn't have a copper buckle! He shook his head, smiling. He looked out the window at the people waiting behind fences, and wondered if they could see him...

The plane began to roll forward. On the way... Would Leo be taking him to the smelter if he were still suspicious? Never! What, never? No, never! He leaned over, tapped Marion's elbow and grinned at her. She smiled back, looking ill all right, and returned to her window. Leo and Dettweiler were talking softly to each other over the aisle. "How long will it take, Leo?" he asked cheerfully. Leo turned- "Three hours. Less if the wind's good."-and turned back to Dettweiler.

Well, he hadn't wanted to talk to anyone anyway. He returned to his window and watched the ground slide past.

At the edge of the field the plane turned slowly around. The engine whined higher, building up power...

He stared out the window, fingering the copper buckle. On the way to the smelter... The smelter! The grail! The fountainhead of wealth!, Why the hell did his mother have to be afraid of flying? Christ, it would have been terrific having her along!

The plane roared forward.

He was the first to spot it; far ahead and below, a small black geometric cluster on the bedsheet of snow; a small black cluster like a twig on the end of the curving stem of railroad tracks. "There it is," he heard Leo saying, and he was faintly conscious of Marion crossing the aisle and taking the seat in front of him. His breath fogged the window; he wiped it clean.