kept thinking about those characters and their story in the times when he was away from his desk. It was as though the land inside
The Shadowed Other
were his real life, and this out here was make-believe.
But when would it
start
?
Finally, it was in Saturday's paper.
Both papers. Of course the
Times
would carry the story, it was on their own best-seller list that Lucie's husband had become famous.
The
News
devoted more space to the story, with two pictures, one of the building on Broadway on the Upper West Side where Lucie had died, the other a shot of Lucie and Bryce arm-in-arm, smiling at the camera in front of their Connecticut house; probably from the same photo session as the picture in
People.
Both papers had the same meager details of the murder: beaten, no evidence of a break-in, no neighbors saw or heard anything, police were working on it. The building itself was meant for transients, none of whom had known Lucie, who had moved there after filing for divorce.
Both papers reminded their readers who Bryce Proctorr was, the
News
mentioning the actors who'd starred in the movies made from his books, the
Times
mentioning their own best-seller list. The
News
said that Lucie was beautiful; the
Times
did not.
Both papers mentioned the divorce proceedings, and both reported that Bryce had been in Los Angeles at the time of the murder, there in connection with potential movie projects. The
News
had found a scene in one of Bryce's novels,
Twice Tolled,
that was vaguely similar to Lucie's death: 'In the novel, the husband is a suspect at first, but is proved to be innocent.' That was enterprising of them.
Susan was home today, it being Saturday, so when Wayne brought the papers back to the apartment they sat together in the living room, she on the sofa, he in his regular chair, and read both pieces, trading back and forth. Then Susan said, 'No one heard anything.'
'I saw that,' Wayne said. 'That's good.'
And it was good they could let the story into their lives now because it wasn't exclusively
their
lives any more; Lucie Proctorr was dead in everybody's life now.
Susan at last put the
News
aside and said, 'We should go out today, somewhere outside.'
'It's cold.'
'We shouldn't just stay in here all day,' she said. 'Cooped up in here.'
They didn't own a car; what did they need a car for in New York? Just another expense, and the constant fuss of moving it from place to place. Those rare times when they went out of town, they'd rent a car. So Wayne said, 'You want to get a car? You want to go away for the weekend?'
'We could do that.' The
News
was open on the sofa beside her, to that page. Looking at it, she said, 'I'd like to see that house.'
'What, Bryce's house? What for?'
'I don't know, I'd just like to. It's a sunny day, even if it is cold, it might be nice to drive around Connecticut, maybe even up to Massachusetts, spend tonight in a bed-and-breakfast up there, drive back tomorrow.'
'I've been working—'
'Too much,' she said.
He smiled at her, comfortable with her. 'Too well, I was going to say. The book is moving along.'
'You can take a day off from it.'
Suddenly his mood changed, he felt lousy, and he flopped back in his chair. 'I could take forever off from it,' he said. 'It isn't going anywhere.'
'Wayne, no,' she said, 'you'll find a publisher.'
'Sure.'
'No, you will,' she insisted. 'You can make Bryce help you.'
'Make him?'
'Of course. He owes you now.'
'I'm getting money from him,' Wayne said. 'If he doesn't stiff me.'
'What do you mean, stiff you?'
'Just take my book and thumb his nose at me. What am I going to do, take him to court? 'I killed this man's wife for him, and now he won't pay me.' Sure. And he could switch the book around so I wouldn't even be able to prove it was mine.'
Susan sat forward on the sofa, leaning toward him. 'Wayne,' she said, 'Bryce doesn't dare cross you. He
owes
you now, and he knows it, and he'll do whatever you want. Don't you know why?'
'No,'
The Shadowed Other
were his real life, and this out here was make-believe.
But when would it
start
?
Finally, it was in Saturday's paper.
Both papers. Of course the
Times
would carry the story, it was on their own best-seller list that Lucie's husband had become famous.
The
News
devoted more space to the story, with two pictures, one of the building on Broadway on the Upper West Side where Lucie had died, the other a shot of Lucie and Bryce arm-in-arm, smiling at the camera in front of their Connecticut house; probably from the same photo session as the picture in
People.
Both papers had the same meager details of the murder: beaten, no evidence of a break-in, no neighbors saw or heard anything, police were working on it. The building itself was meant for transients, none of whom had known Lucie, who had moved there after filing for divorce.
Both papers reminded their readers who Bryce Proctorr was, the
News
mentioning the actors who'd starred in the movies made from his books, the
Times
mentioning their own best-seller list. The
News
said that Lucie was beautiful; the
Times
did not.
Both papers mentioned the divorce proceedings, and both reported that Bryce had been in Los Angeles at the time of the murder, there in connection with potential movie projects. The
News
had found a scene in one of Bryce's novels,
Twice Tolled,
that was vaguely similar to Lucie's death: 'In the novel, the husband is a suspect at first, but is proved to be innocent.' That was enterprising of them.
Susan was home today, it being Saturday, so when Wayne brought the papers back to the apartment they sat together in the living room, she on the sofa, he in his regular chair, and read both pieces, trading back and forth. Then Susan said, 'No one heard anything.'
'I saw that,' Wayne said. 'That's good.'
And it was good they could let the story into their lives now because it wasn't exclusively
their
lives any more; Lucie Proctorr was dead in everybody's life now.
Susan at last put the
News
aside and said, 'We should go out today, somewhere outside.'
'It's cold.'
'We shouldn't just stay in here all day,' she said. 'Cooped up in here.'
They didn't own a car; what did they need a car for in New York? Just another expense, and the constant fuss of moving it from place to place. Those rare times when they went out of town, they'd rent a car. So Wayne said, 'You want to get a car? You want to go away for the weekend?'
'We could do that.' The
News
was open on the sofa beside her, to that page. Looking at it, she said, 'I'd like to see that house.'
'What, Bryce's house? What for?'
'I don't know, I'd just like to. It's a sunny day, even if it is cold, it might be nice to drive around Connecticut, maybe even up to Massachusetts, spend tonight in a bed-and-breakfast up there, drive back tomorrow.'
'I've been working—'
'Too much,' she said.
He smiled at her, comfortable with her. 'Too well, I was going to say. The book is moving along.'
'You can take a day off from it.'
Suddenly his mood changed, he felt lousy, and he flopped back in his chair. 'I could take forever off from it,' he said. 'It isn't going anywhere.'
'Wayne, no,' she said, 'you'll find a publisher.'
'Sure.'
'No, you will,' she insisted. 'You can make Bryce help you.'
'Make him?'
'Of course. He owes you now.'
'I'm getting money from him,' Wayne said. 'If he doesn't stiff me.'
'What do you mean, stiff you?'
'Just take my book and thumb his nose at me. What am I going to do, take him to court? 'I killed this man's wife for him, and now he won't pay me.' Sure. And he could switch the book around so I wouldn't even be able to prove it was mine.'
Susan sat forward on the sofa, leaning toward him. 'Wayne,' she said, 'Bryce doesn't dare cross you. He
owes
you now, and he knows it, and he'll do whatever you want. Don't you know why?'
'No,'
Similar Books
