Slate by Nathan Aldyne Page B

things?” Valentine asked, lying back on the bed. Clarisse leaned over the handle of the machine.
    â€œYou and I have an alibi. Linc was at home, or at any rate that’s what he told you. Miss America and Fred were trying desperately to get rid of the stragglers. The party that was supposed to end at ten o’clock dragged on till two in the morning.”
    Valentine wriggled about on the bed as if he couldn’t quite get comfortable. “And Susie and Julia were watching a boxing match, probably at top volume. They wouldn’t have heard if the entire Red Chinese army had marched up the stairs, four abreast.”
    â€œRight,” said Clarisse. “But what about Ashes? He certainly could have gotten in and out without any trouble. Do we know where Ashes was?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, we do,” replied Valentine. “He and Joe were carrying on in the cellar snorting coke till their noses bled. Of course they told the police they were ‘checking out some new shelving.’”
    â€œSo it was either Joe and Ashes or it was Julia and Susie,” Clarisse concluded. “I wish we had a suspect whose guts we hated, but we like all those people.”
    â€œI don’t understand why you’ve narrowed it down to those four.”
    â€œWell,” said Clarisse, “how else did Sweeney get into the building?”
    â€œThat fire-escape ladder at the back of the building is so low that a man lying flat on his back on the ground could reach it. And Linc had been painting the kitchen that day, so my windows were wide open. I’ll bet your windows were unlatched too, weren’t they?”
    â€œJust the bathroom window,” said Clarisse. “But I should have been more careful about that too, I guess. I wonder if that’s how they got in?”
    â€œI don’t think so. It’s hard to maneuver corpses through windows that small.” Valentine shrugged. “Somebody knew your apartment was empty at that time. And found a way to get into it. I don’t think the murderer just wandered around looking for the nearest empty bed to deposit a corpse on.”
    â€œBut why my place?” asked Clarisse. “Why not yours?”
    â€œMr. Fred and Miss America introduced us to two hundred people at that party, and every one of them found out that you and I live next door. It wasn’t a secret, and anybody looking out Mr. Fred’s window could have seen you get in a taxi on your way to the library. They probably didn’t know I’d left too.” Valentine stood up off the bed, bent over, and yanked back the bed covers.
    â€œVal,” said Clarisse suddenly, “why don’t we go out for an early dinner?”
    He didn’t reply, but pulled back the solid top and striped bottom sheets to expose a corner of the mattress.
    â€œAha!” he exclaimed. “I knew this didn’t feel like my mattress!”
    Clarisse was backing out of the room behind the Hoover.
    â€œThis is a Sealy,” Valentine went on. “My mattress isn’t a Sealy. But yours is.”
    â€œThe bulb in my refrigerator burned out this morning,” murmured Clarisse. “I’d better go buy a replacement.”
    â€œLovelace!”
    She stopped in the doorway, averted her eyes, and began chewing on her lower lip.
    â€œYou switched mattresses on me, didn’t you? This is the murder mattress, isn’t it?”
    â€œI couldn’t help it!” she blurted. “I couldn’t sleep on the mattress where that man got killed.”
    â€œBut you don’t mind sleeping in the same room?”
    â€œWell…” she said falteringly. “It’s not as if there were any blood on it or anything.”
    â€œThis is a new low,” said Valentine, shaking his head and pulling the covers and the sheets off the mattress. “I was going to tell you,” Clarisse