Hit and The Marksman Read Online Free

curious detached fortitude; I had seen it before: the world could be falling down around her and she would still have to set the stage, get everybody in position before telling them about the disaster. We walked toward the house. I was sharply aware of the quick rat-tat of her heels on the gravel and the nylon whispers of her thighs. Her head hardly came up to my shoulder; the skirt was tight, but she moved along quickly with crisp lithe strides.
    I went inside after her and let the screen door slam behind me with a weatherbeaten, slapping sound. It made her jump; she smiled apologetically and slumped against the doorjamb, leaning against it with her shoulder propped up. She said, “I’m in a state of absolute utter panic,” and shoved herself toward the kitchen. She marched in and disappeared around the corner. I followed scowling, and when I reached the kitchen door she was filling the percolator.
    â€œI don’t even know how to begin. I suppose that’s why I’m puttering around like a madwoman.” She put the sunglasses away in a pocket sewn in her skirt. Her big violet eyes were provocative, more from habit than design. She measured the coffee and put it on to boil.
    I said, “Why don’t you sit down and get a grip on yourself. I’ll do that.”
    â€œYou’ve got no talent with coffee,” she said. “I’ve got to have something strong and hot or I swear I’ll collapse right here.” She shook out a cigarette and found a match by the stove. Her hands trembled violently. I took the match away from her; she clamped the cigarette in her teeth while I lighted it.
    She shook her head in violent angry defiance, as if to clear it. She took a deep drag on the cigarette and let it out slowly; she gave the coffee a waspish glance, because it hadn’t already come to a boil, and when she had exhaled the lungful of smoke she said in a half-hysterical airily light way, “Aiello is gone.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œGone. Just … gone. The house is empty and the safe’s wide open. Empty.”
    She tipped her head far over to one side like a little girl and gave me a peculiar, savage grin. “Isn’t it lovely?”
    My pulse thudded. “Great,” I agreed. “You’d better tell me about it.”
    She waved a hand in an arch gesture and turned to face the stove; over her shoulder she said vaguely, “They’ll think I did it, naturally. Got rid of Aiello somehow and robbed the safe.”
    â€œNaturally?” I echoed dryly. “Sure. Naturally they’ll pick you first—I mean, you being an expert safecracker and all—”
    â€œDon’t make jokes,” she snapped.
    I scraped a hand across my mouth. She lifted the coffee off the stove. I couldn’t see her face, but the line of her back was taut, tense, brittle, like a cornered animal.
    The coffee smoked as it poured out of the pot; it was black and oil-thick. She carried the mug into my small living room.
    I followed, stopping in the doorway. The roof cooler pushed a slow damp breeze across the room. I waited until she sat down on the couch and then I said, “All right. Go over it again—try to make some sense. What happened?”
    She tucked her feet under her and held the coffee in both hands and blew on it. “I got to the house at seven-thirty, as usual. Aiello likes to work before ten and after four—he hates the heat, he spends the middle of the day in the indoor pool with the air conditioners blowing on his vodka collinses.”
    â€œOnly this morning he wasn’t there.”
    â€œIt isn’t that so much; he often spends the night out, but when he does, he always leaves somebody in the house on guard. This time there was nobody. And the safe, wide open and empty. Papers scattered around the office. The place has been ransacked.”
    â€œMaybe he cleared it out himself and took the stuff somewhere else for