Time Off for Murder by Zelda Popkin Page A

murdered."
    Â Â "Makes no difference," he said stubbornly.       "Larceny's your line. Not murder."
    Â Â "You've forgotten McAndrew."
    Â Â "That was different. That was here, in the store. We had to work on it."
    "This is different, too. This was my friend."
    Â Â "Listen, sweet, what makes you think the police can't handle this without your help? You've got delusions of grandeur. Nobody's as good a detective as Mary Carner. Nobody can solve a crime but Mary Carner. Darling!" He held her hand tightly. He pleaded: "The police force is wonderful. Honest, it is. Your old pal, Heinsheimer, he knows his stuff. He'll find the murderer without you."
    Â Â She drew her hand out of his. She stood up. "Sorry, Chris. Your line's good, but not good enough."
    Â Â He grew angry. "You can't go. There's too much to do at the store."
    Â Â "You'll have to get along without me. Best you can. Because I'm quitting. I'm resigning now."
    Â Â He gripped her elbow. "You can't do it. I won't let you. All the years we've worked together."
    Â Â "You're making it harder, Chris. Consider it just a leave of absence. For a day or two. No more, Chris. I'll be back."
    Â Â "Listen." His voice was harsh. "If you walk out on me now, there won't be any coming back."
    Â Â She seemed to be thinking it over But finally she extended her hand, smiled. "It's been nice knowing you. Pleasant while it lasted."
    Â Â She took hat and coat from her locker She walked slowly toward the employees entrance. She punched her time-card.
    Â Â "Ain't sick, are you?" the time-keeper asked.
    Â Â "No. I'm leaving. For good. That's what I said. For good. Take care of yourself. Say good-bye to the boys and girls for me."
    Â Â She ambled down Fifth Avenue, taking a last loving look at the display windows of Blankfort's. She was thoroughly unhappy. She had quarreled with Chris. She had parted from Blankfort's - the store that had been a second home to her for many years. She turned the corner. Her feet were as heavy as her heart.
    Â Â Remembered episodes crowded one another - the triumphs she and Chris had shared: catching the thief who cut expensive tapestries out of their frames; trapping the dope peddlers who used the store's rest rooms to distribute their merchandise; the McAndrew murder and its blackmail plot.
    Â Â That case had been her undoing It had given her this zest for hunting murderers. She and Chris had worked together then, helping one another and the police. That was the way it should have been, even now, working together.
    Â Â Poor Chris. Such a dirty trick to walk out on him. Turn back? Oh, no. Oh, no. You've got to go ahead now whatever comes. Lord knows what you're walking into now. Why are you walking so slowly? As if you were going to a funeral. You are. It is a funeral. Phyllis'. Poor Phyllis. Rotting in a deserted cellar while the whole world searched for her. Poor Phyllis, who might this minute have been lying in the sun of Saxon Rorke's lovely terrace. So much to live for. Success. Romance. If it happened to Phyllis, it could happen to anyone. The fiend who killed her is at liberty. Six months of freedom, unsuspected. Lord knows how many other girls like Phyllis. A great city that could not guard its women. Oh yes, it could, if they stayed at home and tended to their business. No, not even then. A housewife, answering a mid-day doorbell might find death on the sill.
    Â Â But worldly Phyllis, who knew the ways of crime, Phyllis who lived without fear, Phyllis who said she was going to the movies and died in a furnace. What had she been doing uptown? How did she get there? Why did she go? Saxon Rorke waiting at the Rushmore Grill. But the rendezvous with death came first. That changed the schedule. Death had a date with the lady.
    Â Â Phyllis must have had an appointment to meet someone either at the movies or before or after. Or maybe she wasn't going to the movies at all.