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Sleep with the Devil - Day Keene

Sleep with the Devil - Day Keene



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Published by jvorzimmer
Hardboiled crime fiction at its best. Like a lot of great PBOs from this era, this one is in the public domain.
Hardboiled crime fiction at its best. Like a lot of great PBOs from this era, this one is in the public domain.

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Published by: jvorzimmer on Apr 23, 2008
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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 Day Keene
Sleep with the Devil 
Complete and Unabridged 
Chapter One
HE WAS IN NO SPECIAL HURRY to kill Bennett. He wouldknow when the right time came. It might be tomorrow; then again, thiswaiting might go on for months. At the moment, Ferron merely enviedWhit Bennett. Right now Whit was probably sitting in some air-condi-tioned bar, working on a tall cold Collins and a babe.Ferron wished he was doing the same thing himself. Instead he wassweltering in the small frame church where the summer heat was a living,tangible substance. Night was a hot black blanket hung over the openwindows. It seemed as if the sermon had been going on for hours. Ferron’scheap white shirt and shiny blue serge suit were sodden with perspiration.He was glad there were no screens on the windows. The drone of themosquitoes attracted by the flickering oil lamps and the constant
slap, slap,slap
of the congregation were all that was keeping him awake. He’d neverbeen so bored or so uncomfortable. Still, considering the score for which hewas shooting, he could stand some discomfort. He could wait.A big blond man in his early thirties, Ferron decided he could be aspatient as the situation required. Now he looked across the center aisle thatseparated the men from the women. He watched Amy. He wished thingswere different regarding Amy. It would make the waiting less boring.Dewy was the word that best described her. Dewy, virginal, untouched.Her face was elfin. Crisp black curls peeked out from under the modestpoke bonnet she habitually wore. Not even her simple gray gown coulddisguise the perfection of her form. There was a hidden devil in her gray-green eyes. She was a smouldering volcano, as yet unawakened, awaitingthe touch of the master’s hand. Ferron slapped at a mosquito. And she washis, but only on one condition. He studied the earnest young face, thendropped his eyes to the snug fit of the girl’s bodice, and perspired even moreprofusely.In the six months he’d courted Amy, the greatest intimacy she’d grantedhim had been a kiss, and that only after they had been formally engaged andthe banns had been read from the pulpit. Now they kissed goodnight regu-larly. On occasion they even held hands. There would be nothing more untiltheir wedding night. Ferron doubted if in her entire years the girl had eventhought one improper thought. On the night she became his wife she wouldbe his to do with as he pleased, a willing and eager participant in the Bibli-cal injunction to beget. Until then, they could continue to hold hands.Ferron patted at the perspiration on his face with his handkerchief.Still, biologically speaking, all women were very similar. And until he

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