Murder Your Darlings Read Online Free PDF Page B

floor do you really live on?” O’Rannigan said.
    “I told you once. First, you imply that I’m a spinster who kidnaps strange men. Then you call me homely. Now you accuse me of being a liar?”
    “I know you’re a liar.” He stood two steps below the landing and now looked her in the eye. “There ain’t no eighteenth floor. There’s no more than twelve stories in this building.”
    “Frank Case would argue that. He says this building has a thousand stories. Sit down and talk with him and he’ll be glad to tell you a few—”
    “Cut the cute talk,” O’Rannigan huffed. His wide, thick shoulders were hunched forward and his browless eyes seemed menacing now. “There’s been a murder committed and you’re doing what’s called obstruction. You keep it up and two things are going to happen. One, things will get rough, even though I don’t like roughing up ladies. Two, I’ll haul you into the lockup overnight just to teach you a lesson. Now, start talking, and don’t make it cute. Which floor do you live on?”
    Dorothy’s eyes went dull, defeated. “Just one from here.”
    “That’s better.” O’Rannigan brushed by her and began climbing the next flight of stairs. His dull, loud footfalls gave her the beginnings of a headache.
     
    The elevator continued to rise rapidly and even seemed to be gaining speed, though Benchley knew that was not possible. Then he had an idea. He lifted his foot off the floor button and then braced for a sudden halt.
    But the elevator did not jerk to a halt. It still soared upward.
    “At least I know what they’ll inscribe for my epitaph,” Benchley mumbled to himself. “He rose to new heights.”
    Now he grabbed for the controls, flipping every switch and lever his fingers could find. Suddenly, the light went on. Looking at the control panel, he recognized the main lever and tilted it back toward its center. The elevator slowed and eventually stopped. Benchley sighed in relief.
    Then a loud banging came from the outer door. Benchley pressed his shoe against the floor button and slid open the doors to discover he had reached the top floor, the penthouse suites. And in the doorway, wearing his tennis whites and carrying a racket, stood the motion picture star Douglas Fairbanks.
    “Finally,” Fairbanks said, stepping up into the elevator, which was off by a full foot above the level of the floor. “I’ve been waiting a dog’s age—” He stopped short. “Benchley, is that you?”
    “Certainly it’s me, Douglas.”
    “But an elevator operator?” Fairbanks was aghast. “What kind of a job is this for a man like you?”
    “Oh, well, you know what they say. It has its ups and downs.”

    O’Rannigan stomped along the fourth-floor hallway. “You’re not going to tell me which room is yours, are you?”
    “Sure, I will,” Dorothy said.
    O’Rannigan stopped. She almost bumped into him.
    He said, “But the answer will be a lie, won’t it?”
    “Would I lie to you? A detective with the police force?”
    The detective squinted. “Why are you trying to cover for this Dachshund? What’s he to you?”
    “He’s an innocent, lost little boy, trying to find his way,” Dorothy said, without thinking. “I know he didn’t kill anybody.”
    “Then he’s got nothing to be afraid of. Now, what’s your room number?”
    “Four twenty-six.”
    O’Rannigan shook his head. “I’m a detective, and I can read you like a book.”
    “Is it a good book?”
    “It’s fiction and fantasy.”
    “I knew it wasn’t a romance. At least you didn’t say it was a tragedy.”
    “Cough it up. What’s your real room number?”
    Dorothy bit her lip, thinking how to respond.
    O’Rannigan said, “Like I told you, I’m a detective, so now I’m going to do a little easy detective work. Give me your room key. Now.”
    He stuck out a hand that was as large as a salad plate. She stared at the policeman’s big hand a moment. Then she opened up her purse, fished inside and