Stone Cold Dead James Ziskin (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📖

he slumped backward into the sofa, and the knife fell from his hand to the floor. I snatched it up before he could awaken.

Then there was a noise from the door. I rushed to the kitchen, still carrying the knife, and glanced at the clock on the stove. I wasn’t sure if I had adjusted the time since Daylight Savings ended the previous October. I also didn’t know if the clock was accurate anyway. I had removed my wristwatch to wash my underthings, and it was in the bathroom. Still, I knew it must be close to midnight, which meant Officer Mike Palumbo, having seen my signal, must be on the other side of the door.

I yanked open the door, realized my error immediately, and tried to slam it shut. The man standing there in the semidarkness was not Officer Palumbo, but someone I’d never seen before. He lunged forward and stuck his foot into the doorframe, blocking my one chance to close him out, then he put his shoulder to the door and forced his way in. I backed off, brandishing the carving knife I’d just taken from Joey. He saw it and kept his distance. A silent standoff ensued.

The man was about twenty, of average height and weight, with a crew cut, a scruffy, week-old beard, and a mad look in his eye. He hadn’t bathed in at least a few days, and his hide was throwing off a ripe stench.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“I’m looking for Joey Figlio,” he said. “You can put down the knife. I don’t mean you no harm.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I said, refusing to sheathe my weapon.

“I’m Wilbur Burch,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you,” he said, holding up his hands to indicate friendly intentions. “I’m looking for Joey Figlio. I’ve been following him since I seen him this afternoon downstreet. I followed him here.”

“Why are you looking for Joey?”

“Because I got word Darleen was missing. So I lit out and hitchhiked across the country to find out what happened to her. And when I get here, I find out that she’s dead. I want to get the guy who killed my Darleen.”

“And you think Joey Figlio did it?”

He nodded. “He found out about Darleen and me, that I sent her a bus ticket, and she was coming to meet me in Arizona to get married. So he killed her.”

“How do you know he found out about you two?” I asked, lowering the knife a touch.

“She wrote to me that we had to keep the whole thing secret because of him,” he said. “That’s why I had to buy the bus ticket and not her. She said it would be safer that way. Then I wired her a hundred dollars. It was every penny I could borrow on the base.”

“Joey says Darleen was going to marry him,” I said cautiously.

“I got the proof here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a well-traveled, wrinkled letter. “It says so right here in her own handwriting. She’s coming to marry me, and she’s through with Joey. See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

He extended the letter to me. I took it from him, holding tight to the carving knife.

“I’m sorry I gave you a fright, miss,” he said. “But you have nothing to worry about from me.”

The letter indeed said everything Wilbur had claimed. It was dated November 2, 1960. Darleen instructed Wilbur to get the money and bus ticket as soon as possible. She also wrote that she knew how to get a fake ID, so there would be no reason they couldn’t get married as soon as she arrived in Arizona. And she described how they had to keep it from Joey, or he would ruin everything. I was reading quickly, my eyes darting up and down, from the sheet of paper in my hand to the man I was holding at bay with my large knife. One line in particular caught my eye:

“He’s crazy, you know. He said he’ll kill me and put the blame on someone else if I try to leave him.”

I stared at the letter, reading that line over and over, trying to decide if Darleen was playing Wilbur or Joey or both for the fool. Was it possible that she wasn’t interested in either of them? That there was a third man in her life? Perhaps even Ted Russell? Why not, I thought. He was smarter by half than Joey and Wilbur put together. What if he and Darleen had cooked up the scheme to run off, and it was Joey Figlio who’d thrown a wrench in the works by killing her? Ted Russell certainly wouldn’t admit to anything after Darleen’s death. That could only attract suspicion to him. I was just thinking that my newfound doubts about Ted Russell were a long shot at best when Wilbur Burch snatched my arm and twisted it until I dropped the knife. It clattered on the floor, and Wilbur picked it up with his left hand then hit me hard across the face with a backhand from his right.

“You little tramp,” he sneered. And he struck me again, this time knocking me to the floor and into the cupboard, loosing a loud thud and a clanging of pots and pans. In my pain I comforted myself with the certainty that Mrs. Giannetti would be running up the stairs at any moment to investigate. But then I wondered if I’d still be alive to see her arrive.

Wilbur grabbed me by my hair and lifted me back off the floor. “Pull a knife on me, will you?” he said through gritted teeth, his face up against mine, blowing his awful breath against my skin.

“Hey!” came a voice from behind us. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of her!”

Wilbur pushed me away and turned to Joey, standing in the doorway between kitchen and parlor.

“There you are,” said Wilbur.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Wilbur Burch,” he said,