HEARTTHROB Read Online Free Page B

held for the new general manager as she placed the
filled carafe on its tray and then left, closing the door behind her.
As for the new general manager, he was swift in filling a tumbler
full of water, which sparkled almost as much as the silver from which
it came. He lifted the glass high, his toast a silent one, but one
which was in its very gesture the height of triumph. Then he drank...
in one gulp he emptied the tumbler. He gagged a bit... cried out...
choked... coughed... and seemed to be trying to swim on the plush
purple carpet.
    According to the police, there was nothing
unusual about the water in the carafe. But within Durwood Beech there
was a good deal of arsenic — "enough to-kill three men,"
the medical examiner said....
    The story is true. Don't ask me how. It
is true even though there may be no explanation. Unless... well, Mr.
Mulgrave was a leader, after all... and Durwood Beech a
follower...
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THE FLICKERING CANDLES
The story of
Alma and Eldon Glade
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    Parties. They can be such crushing bores. The
outcome of a gathering of people depends a bit, I suppose, upon the
frame of mind of those who attend, but for the most part it is the
ingenuity of the host or hostess, which really makes the event. Or is
that really so? Let us consider the party to which Alma and Eldon
Glade were invited. Their hosts had been doing the same sort of thing
year after year... frighteningly so. And yet it was clearly a howling party, mark my word...
    The Glades had transferred from Atlanta to a small sales district,
which had some very small towns, some of which had very curious
names; such as the village of Remorse, in which our story takes
place. They were both in their late twenties, the Glades were, and
they had found Atlanta a bustling place. Now, however, the town in
which they lived was so dreary that Alma accompanied her husband on
his sales tours through his district, the travel being the only
diversion the poor girl could get. It was in Remorse that she
received a bit more diversion than she — or Eldon — had bargained
for.
    The inn was old, dusty, and had about it the musty smell of decay. It
was not much more than ten in the evening, but there being little
else to do, the Glades decided that they would turn in early. Then
the soft knock came upon the door. It was the landlady. She wanted to
invite the two guests, the only guests in the inn, to Qarisse's
birthday party. Little Clarisse would be so happy, the middle-aged
woman said. Alma and Eldon looked at each other and sighed. Neither
was tired, and if it would make some little girl happy...
    When they arrived downstairs, they found the
dining-room table set for five. The landlady and her husband insisted
the guests sit to the right and to the left of Clarisse's empty
place. As the Glades and the landlady's husband sat down, the
landlady herself shuffled about. First she brought out the cake, then
she turned out the lights, and then, sitting down, she began to light
each of the candles on the cake — with a pale, cracked yellow tallow
that looked as old as the hills surrounding the small village of
Remorse. It was then that Alma asked about Clarisse. Where was the
dear little girl? "Soon," the landlady replied as she
continued lighting the candles, and now both Alma and Eldon realized
that there were quite a number of the flaming columns of wax upon the
top of the cake. "Little" Clarisse certainly was no child,
not by the count of them, no indeed.
There were at least twenty — no, thirty... forty... and the tallow
still was moving to wicks still darkened.
    "Clarisse so loves the candles!" the landlady said. The
husband chuckled to himself, and the young couple began to feel
somewhat uneasy. It was not just that a sudden wind had begun to moan
outside the window behind the chair, which had been reserved for the
guest of honor. It was partly the fact that both Alma and Eldon still
were counting the candles on that cake. Both of