The Thirteenth Sound

Betch his body to reach it. I waited until he had his back to me, with his hands raised high in the air, reaching for the window frame. And I opened my purse, took out the gun, aimed very carefully to spot just in the center of his left shoulder blade, and pulled the trigger four times.

Sally! He didn't immediately fall. He had his fingers over the window ledge, ready to on fasten the catch, when the bullets hit him. With some terrible effort he dug his nails into his stuck-code to keep himself from dying.

Once he tried to turn his face and look at me, but he hadn't that much life left. At last he fell. I bent and looked at my husband's body. He was quite dead. I wiped off the gun, his gun, and threw it behind an acacia bush.

And I walked back to the car slowly and carefully removing any of my footprints which showed in the loose dirt of the road. I dusted my shoes and drove home. I put the car in the garage and went in and had my shower and laid down in the library to wait.

A few minutes after the grandfather clock struck 11, the telephone ran. Hello? Mr. Skinner? This is she. This is Jonathan Brown at the Sheriff's office. Oh, what is it? Mr. Skinner. I waited quietly for a moment and I let the phone fall to the floor.

Mr. Skinner? I listened until I heard Jonathan Brown hang up. At which time I replaced my telephone on its stand. And went into the kitchen for some ice, which I put in a large Turkish towel.