Bring Back Her Body by Stuart Brock Page A

disappeared around the headland, he went to his garage for some tools. The bomb was on his mind. He hated to think of it there on his land, evil, waiting to burst and destroy. He opened the shed door and stopped.
    His car was there, its dusty rear end facing him complacently. He walked around it slowly, studying it. But everything appeared normal. The keys were in the ignition and he pocketed them. He turned on the shed light and opened the hood and looked down. He took a flashlight and made a careful survey. There was no sign of anything extra attached to the motor. Satisfied, he gathered his tools and returned to the beach.
    Lisa was still there. He said, “My car is back.”
    “That was considerate.” She watched him work. He made her stand far back but she kept edging closer, peering. “Cain, how would anyone get a bomb like that?”
    “Munger could. He had some, I know.”
    “Then so could Toby.”
    “If Munger wished it, yes.”
    “Of course,” she said quickly. “But Toby is dead, Cain. He couldn’t have put it on her boat.”
    “No,” Cain said. “Not unless he did it before he was killed. I don’t see how …”
    “Who killed Toby, Cain?”
    He didn’t answer. He was pulling the fangs on the bomb. Trickles of sweat coursed down from his temples along his bony cheeks and dripped from his chin. Once he stopped and took a deep breath until his hand ceased shaking. He was glad the Navy had taught him something during the war besides how to kill.
    He stood up and looked at the detonating assembly, turned and threw it as far as he could into the water. Then he took the bomb and tools to the garage. Lisa walked by his side.
    He said, “I don’t know who killed him, Lisa. But I’ll be the chief suspect.”
    “Why you?” She sounded very sleepy. Cain was bone tired, abysmally weary. He stumbled a little as he climbed on deck.
    “Because,” he said, making out the bunk, “I worked him over twice in one night.”
    “I think I’ll be suspected first,” she said. “He evicted me.”
    “Hardly a murder motive.”
    He had the bunk out now and he started to strip back the blankets to get at the top mattress. Lisa put a hand out, stopping him. “Don’t be silly, Cain. It’s too light to sleep outside.”
    “No,” Cain said stubbornly. He reached again but she hipped him aside and climbed into the bed.
    Lisa yawned. “Pull those curtains, Cain.”
    He did so and when he turned, she had her back to him. He undressed, glowering at her. Sleeping on the deck was going to be hard. He reached for some extra blankets. Lisa said sleepily, “They’ll suspect one or the other of us, Cain. It won’t make much difference.”
    “It seems to me it makes a lot of difference,” he said.
    “We’re linked together now, Cain. Irrevocably.”
    Cain said, startled, “We are?”
    “In the eyes of the public, the newspapers. It will come out that you put me up here. Anyone can see this has only one bed. The papers will imply things whether they are true or not.”
    Cain stood with his armload of blankets and looked at the back of her head. He shrugged, “Well, in that case …” He put the blankets back and crawled in beside her. Lisa turned, putting her head on his shoulder. He could feel the strong line of her leg and thigh against him through her pajamas. Reaching out, he found her hand and held it.
    “I sure got you into something,” Cain said. They were both asleep before she could point out the fallacy of the statement.

CHAPTER TEN
    CAIN
could feel someone’s hair tickling his ear. He opened his eyes halfway, lazily, sleepily. It wasn’t hair after all. It was a pair of warm, full lips. He could feel them when the voice said very softly:
    “I’ve always wanted to lie in bed and have my breakfast cooked by a personal maid.”
    “That’s not me,” Cain said. He shut his eyes again.
    “Sniff!”
    It took him a moment to understand. Then he sniffed obediently. He smelled coffee and something that