Walking Dead Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

friends, I have work to do,” I said.
    There was no trouble getting to the down-elevator. Everyone and his brother was trying to come up. As I stepped into the car, I realized that Shelda was with me.
    “There’s no point in pretending we’re strangers, Mark,” she said.
    “Who’s pretending?” I said. I felt butterflies in my stomach. I knew I didn’t care who’d been shot at or who was in danger. I wanted her so badly it hurt.
    The car started its noiseless descent. I had pressed the second-floor button. Chambrun’s office and my apartment were both located on two. Shelda stood across the car from me. She was wearing a pale blue dinner dress of some kind of shiny material that seemed to fit her lovely figure like a glove. She was carrying a silver evening bag and there was a gardenia pinned to her shoulder which, I told myself bitterly, must have been put there by Golden Boy. I wasn’t making much sense, you understand, with an attempted murder upstairs and Chambrun in danger. I wanted to hurt her.
    “Did you have to strip down so David-baby could see whether you meet his specifications?” I asked.
    “There doesn’t seem to be much point in trying to talk to you,” she said, her eyes averted.
    “What did you want to talk about?”
    “Among other things I’d wanted to tell you how very glad I am to see you, Mark. Evidently that doesn’t matter to you.”
    Of course it mattered like hell, but I was still involved in playing the jealous adolescent. “It’s a great opportunity for any girl,” I said, “the chance to roll around in the hay with David-baby.”
    “I haven’t said yes,” she said, still not looking at me.
    “I have news for you. Zorn will raise the price to a quarter of a million if you play hard to get.”
    “There doesn’t seem to be much point in trying to talk to you about it,” she said. “Please, tell me what happened upstairs.”
    I told her, winding up with Jerry’s fear that the attack had really been meant for Chambrun. She listened, frowning that intense little frown that always reminded me of a small child puzzling over an arithmetic problem about apples and oranges.
    The car had stopped at the second floor and the doors opened.
    “I think maybe I should talk to you and Mr. Chambrun,” Shelda said, “no matter how distasteful that may be for you.” She walked out of the car and down the corridor toward Chambrun’s office.
    My intention had been to look up Miss Ruysdale’s private, unlisted home phone number, so that she could be gotten to work on our guest list as Jerry had suggested. I should have known better. Miss Ruysdale was at her desk in the outer office when Shelda and I walked in. I’ll never know whether she has some secret organization that alerts her to everything, or whether she is just plain psychic when it comes to Chambrun and his needs. Ruysdale is on the tall side, with dark red hair, thick, cut short, and worn like a duck-tailed cap. She has a straight nose, a high forehead and cheekbones, and a wide mouth. She is almost classically beautiful. She is, I know, all woman but she affects an almost male severity in her dress and manner. Chambrun would want his secretary to be attractive, but not some doll who would have all the male staff salivating over her. I suspect Ruysdale may be the most interesting woman I know, but I’ve never been able to penetrate beyond her efficient, friendly-but-impersonal office manner.
    “Hello, you two,” she said.
    Shelda gave her a quick girl-embrace.
    “Jerry wants you to—” I began.
    “I have the registration cards here,” Ruysdale said. “I’ve started to go through them.”
    Guests at the Beaumont might not be pleased to know how much we really know about them. There is a special card for each guest and there is a code used which tells more than the guest might like. The code letter A means the subject is an alcoholic; W on a man’s card means he is a woman chaser, possibly a customer for the