The Killer Touch Read Online Free PDF Page A

walked back to the beach and dove into the surf. He swam past the breakers, rolled over and floated on his back. Gannets dive-bombed the water around him; pelicans swooped along the rollers, dragging their feet only inches above the water. Burt felt a curious mixture of dread and euphoria; such peace was too delicious to last.
    He left the water, showered, shaved, walked to the club and downed three rum punches while waiting for Joss to wake up from her afternoon nap and start her customary evening drinking. The sun sank into a rosy haze, and darkness came down like a purple curtain. Godfrey set a table for two and suspended a Coleman lantern from a beam. Joss appeared at last, and Burt saw why she’d been delayed. She’d put on a dress, something she usually wore only for trips to St. Vincent or further. Rarer still, she wore a necklace and earrings, and a scent of violets had replaced her usual aura of saltwater, fish and rum.
    They ate langouste tail by candlelight and washed it down with French wine. Joss talked with sparkling gaiety, and for a time Burt was in love with her. The white light of the Coleman lantern glowed on her bare shoulders and descended into the valley of her bosom; the surf thumped and rumbled; the breeze carried the smell of the sea into the club. Burt felt primitive and extremely male. It occurred to him that Joss had been without a husband for nearly a year, and that he himself was now free of ties. The pounding sea ringed the island and made it a private world.
    He looked up as Godfrey shuffled out of the night carrying an empty tray. “Mrs. Keener’s?”
    Joss answered with a trace of sarcasm, “Your lady friend is too delicate to eat in the presence of others.”
    Burt smiled. “You’d rather she joined us?”
    â€œHell, I don’t care.” She waved her hand impatiently. “No, that’s wrong. I’d just as soon leave her alone. Her husband’s letter mentioned a nervous breakdown, said his wife needed rest and quiet and no disturbance.” She frowned. “He said he’d been here before, but I can’t remember.” She leaned forward confidentially. “I’ll tell you a secret, Burt. I don’t remember people. A week after they leave they get lost in a sea of faces. People think it’s my poor eyesight when I don’t recognize them again. I let ’em think it. One of the tricks of the trade.”
    Joss started on rum, and soon her cheeks were flushed and her voice low and husky. Burt drank with her, more than he should, in an attempt to recapture his earlier romantic glow. But it only saddened him. Finally, Joss put her warm hand on his knee.
    â€œBurt, there’s something you learn on an island, to accept your own nature. Don’t worry about the boy you shot.”
    Burt felt himself tense. “What’s that got to do with my nature?”
    â€œYou’re a cop, you did your job—”
    â€œMaybe that’s the problem.”
    â€œBurt, if you weren’t a cop you’d be on the other side: You’ve got a violent nature. It shows in your eyes, like smoke behind a window. You’re a rough, hard man—”
    â€œA killer, the newspapers said.”
    She pushed away her glass. “Oh, hell, I goofed. I wanted to cheer you up, but I got you mad.”
    â€œI’m not mad.”
    â€œDon’t kid me, Burt. You talk soft and you move slow, but it shows. Your body changes. You turn into sharp edges and brutal bone. I had a boy friend once—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. She got up suddenly, and stood swaying, her eyes bright. She spoke in a husky voice: “I’m stoned, Burt. Take me up to bed.”
    He helped her up the crumbling stone steps behind the beach club and into her one-room cabin. She sat heavily on the bed. “Don’t light the lamp, Burt.”
    â€œNo.”
    He walked silently to the door. Behind him came the faint