Kiss and Kill Read Online Free Page B

with the same pen.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo look at the others. Hardly two consecutive letters have the same color ink or width of pen stroke.”
    â€œI can explain that. Liz had a habit of borrowing pens. She must have started out borrowing from members of the group. Finally she bought her own pen.”
    Barney drummed on the tabletop. “Yes, that’s one explanation.”
    â€œWhat’s another?” His tone was belligerent.
    â€œThat she wrote these cards all at once and had someone mail them from different towns.”
    Ed said slowly, “Why would she do that?”
    â€œIf she’d left the group …”
    â€œYou mean gone off by herself?”
    â€œNot by herself, Ed.”
    â€œI don’t believe it!”
    â€œTry to look at it objectively. At first she was telling you everything that happened, what so-and-so did on the burro ride, how she felt when the boatman pinched her, and so on. Then at the end, she tells you nothing.”
    â€œShe knew she’d be seeing me soon, and could tell me—”
    â€œDid she?”
    â€œShe told me what she saw.”
    â€œBut about herself? What she did, amusing incidents that involved her and others? Did she talk about that?”
    Ed was silent. Then, in a stricken voice, he said, “No, come to think of it.”
    Barney went on remorselessly. It was better that way.
    â€œAfter she got home, did she correspond with other members of the tour group?”
    â€œâ€¦ don’t think so.”
    â€œIsn’t that funny?”
    â€œI … yes. She usually collected friends the way a dog collects fleas.” He stopped, impotently. Then he slapped his palm down on the tabletop. “But, damn it! I’d have known something . Liz has no talent for deception.”
    â€œOr a greater talent than you ever knew.”
    Ed glared at Barney; his nostrils were stormy white. But then he sank back, and muttered, “Yes, I see it would come out to the same thing. But it doesn’t matter, Mr. Burgess, does it, whether she’s walked out on me or was carried off? Not knowing, we still have to look for her.” It was as if he were discussing her funeral arrangements.
    Barney Burgess felt sorry for him.
    He picked up the first letter. “I’m going down to San Antone, Ed. I’ve got to know just what happened on that tour. I’m positive her disappearance traces back to it.”
    â€œI want to come along, Mr. Burgess.”
    â€œOh?” Barney looked at him. “What about your job?”
    â€œI’ve been on leave of absence since the day before yesterday. I can’t work, and I’m not going to sit here by the phone like a damn dummy.”
    Barney kept looking at him.
    Finally he said, “Okay, Ed. Grab some clean shirts and we’re on our way. I keep a packed bag ready in my car trunk all the time.”

3
    The director of Alamo Tours sat in a wood-paneled office surrounded by pre-Columbian figures and Mexican prints, set pieces obviously arranged by an interior decorator. He was squat, bald, and dark-skinned.
    â€œ Buenos días , gentlemen. What can I do for you?” He spoke in a Mexican lilt.
    â€œYou can give us the names and addresses of the people who went on your December eighteenth tour,” said Ed Tollman.
    The fixed smile unzipped from the director’s face. “Why?” The Mexican lilt was gone, replaced by an honest Texas drawl.
    â€œWhy not?” snapped Ed. “Are your records phony?”
    Barney glanced at Ed; the gray look had deepened during two days and a night of driving. He looked desperate. Barney was edgy himself, stomach soured by greasy hamburgers and bad black coffee. A telephone call to the tour office had elicited nothing; they were trying a fresh approach.
    â€œOf course not!” drawled the director. “But you must have a reason.”
    â€œThe reason,” said Ed, “is that one of the