Let's All Kill Constance (Crumley Mysteries 3) - Page 2

“God is good.”

She fell back on the pillows.

“You wanna hear about that damn thing that chased me down the shore?”

“Wait.” I put the bottle of Cold Duck to my lips and drank. “Shoot.”

“Well,” she said. “Death.”

Chapter Two

I was beginning to wish there was more in that empty vodka flask. Shivering, I turned on the small gas heater in the hall, searched the kitc

hen, found a bottle of Ripple.

“Hell!” Rattigan cried. “That’s hair tonic!” She drank and shivered. “Where was I?”

“Running fast.”

“Yeah, but whatever I ran away from came with.”

The front door knocked with wind.

I grabbed her hand until the knocking stopped.

Then she picked up her big black purse and handed over a small book, trembling.

“Here.”

I read: Los Angeles Telephone Directory, 1900.

“Oh, Lord,” I whispered.

“Tell me why I brought that?” she said.

I turned from the As on down through the Gs and Hs and on through M and N and O to the end, the names, the names, from a lost year, the names, oh my God, the names.

“Let it sink in,” said Constance.

I started up front. A for Alexander, Albert, and William. B for Burroughs. C for …

“Good grief,” I whispered. “1900. This is 1960.” I looked at Constance, pale under her eternal summer tan. “These people. Only a few are still alive.” I stared at the names. “No use calling most of these numbers. This is—”

“What?”

“A Book of the Dead.”

“Bull’s-eye.”

“A Book of the Dead,” I said. “Egyptian. Fresh from the tomb.”

“Fresh out.” Constance waited.

“Someone sent this to you?” I said. “Was there a note?”

“There doesn’t have to be a note, does there?”

I turned more pages. “No. Since practically everyone here is gone, the implication is—”

Tags: Ray Bradbury Crumley Mysteries Mystery
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