Punish Me with Kisses by William Bayer

asked. "How can I screw her back?"
    "I don't know." He laughed. "Put itching powder in her jogging shorts. Put glue on her typewriter keys."
    "You're making fun of me."
    "I'm sorry you're upset—that's about all I feel. And if anybody's going to do a book I think it should be me. But there's nothing I can write—that's the trouble. The only person who knows what happened is the guy who did her in. I'm not exactly holding my breath waiting for him to come forward, though I've thought about that a few times —what might happen if he did."
    "We'd be free of it. The case would be closed and we'd be free."
    "We are free. Don't you see? This whole thing about living under a cloud—all that's in your head."
    Maybe he's right , she thought, though Lillian's comment about the "implications" upset her still. She'd always had a fantasy that someday there'd be a similar crime, another girl would be murdered and this time the "intruder" would be caught. He'd confess to having murdered Suzie, and then, finally, the whole miserable case would be closed.
    Lillian was perfectly correct the next few days though there were more of those cupped-hands-over-the-telephone-mouthpiece routines, and coverings-up-of-pages- inthe -typewriter when Penny walked by her desk. She was obviously cooking up a great number of schemes and guarding all her secrets as an ambitious young editor should. They didn't talk much, though Lillian mentioned she'd gotten up early and run a couple of times around her block, and that she hoped the effort would soon begin to burn off flab. Penny nodded, then turned back to her work. The permutations of Lillian Ryan's flesh didn't interest her very much.
    She'd nearly forgotten the whole ugly business when, a few days later, she returned home to find Jared lying on the window seat depressed. He barely greeted her. When she asked what was wrong, he handed her a copy of Backstage , the actor's weekly, opened to a middle page where a small item was circled in ink.
    "Jared Evans," she read, "exonerated defendant in the famous Berring murder case, is back at work in New York playing a small role in the Soho Workshop production of Deserta . The former film actor is, according to one member of the cast, 'quiet and hardworking.' One female member of the company said 'at first it was kind of creepy, but the guy's really serious and we all think he's OK.' The experimental production will open in another week."
    "Well, that's not so bad," Penny said.
    "That's not what the playwright thinks."
    "Why? He knew who you were."
    "Sure. But he says this'll distract from his play. He says now people will come to see me. His 'masterpiece' will turn into a freak show. Something like that."
    "That's ridiculous."
    "That's what I told him."
    "What did he say?"
    "He turned his back and walked away."
    She touched his shoulder. "Worried?"
    "I could get canned."
    "I don't think that's going to happen."
    "Yeah," he said. "Maybe not."
    Jared didn't say much the next few days except that everyone at the Workshop was acting edgy, and that there was a lot of whispering going on. The next morning she'd barely settled down at her desk at B&A when he phoned her to tell her he'd been fired. "When I came in for early rehearsal," he said, "they were all sitting around looking at the News . There's a big item in David Denver's column. Seems it's syndicated, sixty-eight papers coast-to-coast."
    He was calling from a phone booth. He gave her the number so she could call him back. When she did, he read her the excerpt from Denver's column. It was so vicious she wanted to scream, but he read it in a flat monotone as if it were ordinary news:
    Â  "Guess who's making the same shadow these days at an Upper East Side apartment, and around the running paths of Central Park? Jared Evans, accused killer, has been seen jogging hand in hand with Penny 'Chapman' Berring , sister of the slain Suzie. You remember the case—the love-triangle abruptly ended one