Murder in the Air Read Online Free PDF Page B

While he was pouring I asked if he knew a woman named Sally Nash. Sure, he said. She was sitting right over there. He pointed to the table Kay was at. Sally and her date had apparently arrived while my back was turned.
    Sally Nash was pretty, but nothing like Kay. She had platinum-blonde hair
—
kind of a poodle cut
—
a loud laugh, and from the looks of her, a little too much to drink. Since her date seemed to be hanging on her every word, I wasn't sure how I should make my approach. A frontal attack seemed out of the question.
    For the next forty-five minutes I watched Sally drink Manhattans. Her boyfriend tried to get her to stop, but she just kept ordering them. Finally, the music started. People began to gather on the dance floor. I waited and watched as Sally finished her drink and then got up. Mr. Muscles might have been great on the football field, but he wasn't exactly light on his feet. He obviously felt uncomfortable and after the first number pulled her back toward the table. Sally resisted. She wanted to keep dancing. I saw my chance and moved in.
    As Muscles sulked off I asked Sally to dance. She was a real flirt and also very drunk. When the next slow song came on, I asked her a couple of innocent general questions just to get the ball rolling. She cuddled up, and I let her.
    Somewhere along the line I let it slip that I'd heard she had the real dope on the Landauer murder. She stiffened and drew away. She knew something all right, but she wasn't about to tell me. As she stumbled off she turned and for one brief moment stared me straight in the eye. “I don'n, know who you are, but stay away from me.” She spoke precisely, the way people do when they're afraid they might slur their words, but I still couldn't miss the fear. I should have taken the warning to heart, but I was much too intrigued.
    I knew I wasn't going to get any more out of her that night, so I paid my bar tab and left. On the way home, I considered my options. Sally and Kay were obviously friends. That fact alone would have compelled me to continue my search for answers from Sally Nash, even if I wasn't already fascinated by the entire situation. In retrospect, I see that I approached this almost as a game. And that was the biggest mistake of my life.
    It's nearly eleven, Mom. I need to breathe some fresh air. I like to go out after dark. The countryside isn't far, and I can lean against a tree and look up at the stars. I have to put my life in some kind of perspective before I can go on. I've got plenty of money, so don't worry about that. I haven't seen anyone following me since I left Amsterdam. I'll pick up some bread and cheese, maybe some wine on the way back to the hotel.
    Just remember
—
if, for some reason, you don't hear from me again, know that you're in my thoughts. Always.
    Justin

5
    George Chambers nursed a brandy and watched the after-theatre crowd filter into the Maxfield's bar. It was late Friday evening. After the long plane ride from Arizona, he was tired, but not tired enough to go to bed. As he watched the bartender mix one drink after another, his thoughts turned to the radio show he would be working on starting tomorrow morning.
    George remembered fondly the good old days of radio. Before he'd entered the army and been shipped off to Korea,he recalled one particular show where he'd spent hours working in frenzied conditions, always pushing a deadline. Rehearsals often took place in absolute chaos, and yet it was gloriously energizing. Back then, he'd spent days trying to replicate certain sounds. The lonely wind on the moor, a dog's plaintive howl, creaking carriage wheels as horses charged into the night. The sounds of terror and the screeches of simple city traffic. The microphone had its own distinctive ear. It wasn't an easy taskmaster, but the truth was, he'd loved every minute of it. He'd helped to project larger-than-life images onto the listeners' mental screens, plundering the audience's own memories to