what you mean, because when I start, I'm going to put it through, straight down the line, and there won't be any slips. But I've got to know. Where I stand. You can't fool—with this."
She closed her eyes, and after a while she began to cry. I put my arm around her and patted her. It seemed funny, after what we had been talking about, that I was treating her like some child that had lost a penny. "Please, Walter, don't let me do this. We can't. It's simply—insane."
"Yes, it's insane."
"We're going to do it. I can feel it."
"I too."
"I haven't any reason. He treats me as well as a man can treat a woman. I don't love him, but he's never done anything to me."
"But you're going to do it."
"Yes, God help me, I'm going to do it."
She stopped crying, and lay in my arms for a while without saying anything. Then she began to talk almost in a whisper.
"He's not happy. He'll be better off—dead."
"Yeah?"
"That's not true, is it?"
"Not from where he sits, I don't think."
"I know it's not true. I tell myself it's not true. But there's something in me, I don't know what. Maybe I'm crazy. But there's something in me that loves Death. I think of myself as Death, sometimes. In a scarlet shroud, floating through the night. I'm so beautiful, then. And sad. And hungry to make the whole world happy, by taking them out where I am, into the night, away from all trouble, all unhappiness...Walter, this is the awful part. I know this is terrible. I tell myself it's terrible. But to me, it doesn't seem terrible. It seems as though I'm doing something—that's really best for him, if he only knew it. Do you understand me, 'Walter?"
"No."
"Nobody could."
"But we're going to do it."
"Yes, we're going to do it."
"Straight down the line."
"Straight down the line."
A night or two later, we talked about it just as casually as if it was a little trip to the mountains. I had to find out what she had been figuring on, and whether she had gummed it up with some bad move of her own. "Have you said anything to him about this, Phyllis? About this policy?"
"No."
"Absolutely nothing?"
"Not a thing."
"All right, how are you going to do it?"
"I was going to take out the policy first—"
"Without him knowing?"
"Yes."
"Holy smoke, they'd have crucified you. It's the first thing they look for. Well—anyway that's out. What else?"
"He's going to build a swimming pool. In the spring. Out in the patio."
"And?"
"I thought it could be made to look as though he hit his head diving or something."
"That's out. That's still worse."
"Why? People do, don't they?"
"It's no good. In the first place, some fool in the insurance business, five or six years ago, put out a newspaper story that most accidents happen in people's own bathtubs, and since then bathtubs, swimming pools, and fishponds are the first thing they think of. When they're trying to pull something, I mean. There's two cases like that out here in California right now. Neither one of them are on the up-and-up, and if there'd been an insurance angle those people would wind up on the gallows. Then it's a daytime job, and you never can tell who's peeping at you from the next hill. Then a swimming pool is like a tennis court, you no sooner have one than it's a community affair, and you don't know who might come popping in on you at any minute. And then it's one of those things where you've got to watch for your chance, and you can't plan it in advance, and know where you're going to come out to the last decimal point. Get this, Phyllis. There's three essential elements to a successful murder."
That word was out before I knew it. I looked at her quick. I thought she'd wince under it. She didn't. She leaned forward. The firelight was reflected in her eyes like she was some kind of leopard. "Go on. I'm listening."
"The first is, help. One person can't get away with it, that is unless they're going to admit it and plead the unwritten law or something. It takes more than one. The second is,
She closed her eyes, and after a while she began to cry. I put my arm around her and patted her. It seemed funny, after what we had been talking about, that I was treating her like some child that had lost a penny. "Please, Walter, don't let me do this. We can't. It's simply—insane."
"Yes, it's insane."
"We're going to do it. I can feel it."
"I too."
"I haven't any reason. He treats me as well as a man can treat a woman. I don't love him, but he's never done anything to me."
"But you're going to do it."
"Yes, God help me, I'm going to do it."
She stopped crying, and lay in my arms for a while without saying anything. Then she began to talk almost in a whisper.
"He's not happy. He'll be better off—dead."
"Yeah?"
"That's not true, is it?"
"Not from where he sits, I don't think."
"I know it's not true. I tell myself it's not true. But there's something in me, I don't know what. Maybe I'm crazy. But there's something in me that loves Death. I think of myself as Death, sometimes. In a scarlet shroud, floating through the night. I'm so beautiful, then. And sad. And hungry to make the whole world happy, by taking them out where I am, into the night, away from all trouble, all unhappiness...Walter, this is the awful part. I know this is terrible. I tell myself it's terrible. But to me, it doesn't seem terrible. It seems as though I'm doing something—that's really best for him, if he only knew it. Do you understand me, 'Walter?"
"No."
"Nobody could."
"But we're going to do it."
"Yes, we're going to do it."
"Straight down the line."
"Straight down the line."
A night or two later, we talked about it just as casually as if it was a little trip to the mountains. I had to find out what she had been figuring on, and whether she had gummed it up with some bad move of her own. "Have you said anything to him about this, Phyllis? About this policy?"
"No."
"Absolutely nothing?"
"Not a thing."
"All right, how are you going to do it?"
"I was going to take out the policy first—"
"Without him knowing?"
"Yes."
"Holy smoke, they'd have crucified you. It's the first thing they look for. Well—anyway that's out. What else?"
"He's going to build a swimming pool. In the spring. Out in the patio."
"And?"
"I thought it could be made to look as though he hit his head diving or something."
"That's out. That's still worse."
"Why? People do, don't they?"
"It's no good. In the first place, some fool in the insurance business, five or six years ago, put out a newspaper story that most accidents happen in people's own bathtubs, and since then bathtubs, swimming pools, and fishponds are the first thing they think of. When they're trying to pull something, I mean. There's two cases like that out here in California right now. Neither one of them are on the up-and-up, and if there'd been an insurance angle those people would wind up on the gallows. Then it's a daytime job, and you never can tell who's peeping at you from the next hill. Then a swimming pool is like a tennis court, you no sooner have one than it's a community affair, and you don't know who might come popping in on you at any minute. And then it's one of those things where you've got to watch for your chance, and you can't plan it in advance, and know where you're going to come out to the last decimal point. Get this, Phyllis. There's three essential elements to a successful murder."
That word was out before I knew it. I looked at her quick. I thought she'd wince under it. She didn't. She leaned forward. The firelight was reflected in her eyes like she was some kind of leopard. "Go on. I'm listening."
"The first is, help. One person can't get away with it, that is unless they're going to admit it and plead the unwritten law or something. It takes more than one. The second is,
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