Kiss and Kill Read Online Free

evidence of the missing woman’s undisciplined energies: a service award from the Community Chest campaign, a card qualifying her as a Democratic poll watcher, an uncompleted poem, a half-dozen unused contest entry blanks.
    A chessboard on the bookcase caught his eye, its pieces set up to play, and something made him go over and look at it. The white queen was threatening the black king. Barney picked up the queen; it left a clean circle on the dusty board.
    â€œMate in three,” said Barney. “Who plays? You?”
    â€œLiz, by mail. She says I haven’t got the patience to play with her. She thinks too long between moves.”
    Barney walked into the bedroom, Ed following. Her clothes hung over a chair beside the bed, in reverse order: on top lay a black nylon bra, garter belt, nylon hose; beneath those, a black half-slip and a white blouse, and on the bottom, a beige suit. The underwear brought Barney a vision of the woman attiring herself in sexy undergarments—black on ivory skin—going out into this wicked city to—what? He touched the half-slip and breathed in. A fragrance like sweet peas mixed with the scent of womanly flesh. She seemed suddenly alive and in the room. He could almost see her.
    â€œI haven’t moved anything of hers,” said Ed Tollman.
    â€œWhy not?”
    Ed turned away without answering. Barney dropped the slip back on the chair.
    â€œWas she in a hurry the last night?”
    â€œNo. She’s always been disorganized. Since we’re both working, I do the cleaning and she cooks.”
    â€œWhere’s her purse?”
    â€œShe had it with her.”
    â€œYou have a joint bank account?”
    â€œYes. But she’s cashed no checks. I’ve inquired about that.”
    Barney grunted. “Got any coffee?”
    â€œI’ll put some on.”
    When he had gone, Barney inspected the wedding photo on the dresser. Seeing them side by side, he could sense what held them together. Liz, gay and romantic; Ed, serious and matter-of-fact. Growing up in the same town, probably childhood sweethearts. Was the wedding night a night of discovery? Unlikely, Barney decided. Ed would have wanted her but never quite managed it. Until, suddenly, the dance, a car, a lonely road, the spiked punch in their veins … or some summer idyll in the woods, Ed worrying about the grass stains on her dress and Liz worried about nothing at all, perhaps jumping up to run after a butterfly. Ed would sit and ponder the event, looking at her solemnly. And Liz could chase the butterfly with abandon, knowing she would find him sitting where she had left him, an anchor to which she could attach herself.
    What happened, Liz? Barney asked the photo. Get tired of being anchored?
    Her eyes danced out of the pixie beauty of her face. For an instant he thought he understood her: loyal, affectionate, generous … and a female animal. A new enthusiasm—a man, a cause, a butterfly—could make her cut the anchor and sail gaily away.
    Barney walked into the kitchen as Ed was pouring the coffee.
    â€œEd, one thing I’ve learned in the missing-persons game.” He sat down at the table. “Most disappearances are a rejection. People throw their past down the drain, take up new associations, new interests, new work. Sometimes you can go back over the ground and see how it came about. You know what I mean?”
    â€œYes.” Ed sat down, too, his face watchful. “You noticed something like that?”
    â€œYour wife hasn’t played chess for a long time. Last crossword puzzle she worked was three months ago. Contest entry blanks unused …”
    â€œShe’s always doing that, picking up things, dropping them—”
    â€œWhat’s her current hobby?”
    Ed frowned. “I guess the Mexico trip upset her routine. She hasn’t started anything new.”
    â€œAll right, the Mexico trip. Where are her souvenirs?” Barney