Part 1 (1/2)

You Live Once.

John D MacDonald.

Chapter 1.

I have never awakened easily. I have always had a sneaking envy for those people who seem to be able to bound out of bed, functioning perfectly. I have to use two alarm clocks on work mornings.

The prolonged hammering at my door finally awakened me. I groped blindly for my bathrobe, and shouldered into it as I walked heavily, still drugged with sleep, from the bedroom of my apartment out through the living room to the front door.

I knew that it was a Sunday morning in May, and knew that I had a truly sickening headache, far out of proportion to the drinking I had done on Sat.u.r.day night-two c.o.c.ktails before dinner and two widely s.p.a.ced highb.a.l.l.s afterward. I wondered if I had been poisoned by something I had eaten. The headache seemed focused over my right ear in a tender area as big as an apple. My hangover headaches are aches that go straight through. And why the sore spot?

I opened my front door and squinted at the two men standing on the shallow front stoop in the bright morning suns.h.i.+ne. One was in uniform and one was not. Their prowl car stood where I usually park my car. I remembered where my car was.

”You Clinton Sewell?” the man in the grey suit asked. I said I was and they walked in.

”Were you out with Mary Olan last night?”

I sat down and looked up at them. I was afraid I knew what this was all about.

”An accident? Is she hurt?”

Grey suit was spokesman.

”What makes you ask that?”

”I swear she seemed all right to me. The night air straightened her out. She said she could drive and I believed her.”

”You had a date with her last night.”

”That's right. She played golf with some woman yesterday afternoon at the Locust Ridge Club. It was arranged that I'd meet her later, along with the Raymonds, and we'd have dinner there. There was a dance last night. I drove out about six, and the Raymonds arrived a little later. Mary had brought a change of clothing with her, and she was waiting in the c.o.c.ktail lounge.”

”When did you leave?”

”About two this morning. That was about... nine hours ago according to my watch.”

”But you didn't take her home?” The uniformed man strolled over and looked in my bedroom, then the bathroom, and came back.

”No. She had her own car. She got a little high. Too high to drive safely. That made it complicated. I had my car there. It's still there, in fact. After an argument she agreed to let me drive her home. I was going to take a cab from her house, either back here or back to my car, whichever I felt like. I hadn't decided. We had the top down on her car. I got her almost home and she said she felt fine. She seemed to be okay. So I turned around and drove back here and got out and she went on home. Did something happen on the way home?”

”She never got home, Mr. Sewell. Her aunt got Mr. Stine, the Commissioner of Public Safety, out of bed this morning. That gave it a priority. I guess you know what the Olans and the Pryors mean in this town. Did Miss Olan say anything about going any place else?”

”No. She was pretty tired. She'd played twenty-seven holes of golf. We planned to go up to Smith Lake this afternoon and do some water skiing.”

”Why did she drive you here, instead of back to your car?”

”She started to, but then we decided that she'd drive me on up to Smith Lake in her car today, picking me up here.

Then when we got back to town late today, she would leave me ofi at the club.”

They had both relaxed a bit. The one in uniform said, ”It'll turn out she went to see somebody and stayed with them.”