Beauty Queen

which is right on Twenty-two, between Quaker Hill Road and the church. You've got to be seen locally."
    "I don't have a car," said Armando.
    "Rent one," said Mary Ellen. "The point is, that you're on record here. I won't be able to call you from Windfall, to tell you exactly what time we'd be coming down. You'll have to watch out the motel window for the car. You can't miss it, it's a brand-new white Lincoln Continental. When you see that car go by, you jump in your car and drive to the church. We'll be in the churchyard. You park near the cemetery. If you were shooting from your car, you'd be able to hit her from there. I'll make the hit with gloves on, toss you the gun quick, and you grab it and get the hell out."
    "Then what?" said Armando. "How do the police figure out it's me?"
    "Very simple," said Mary Ellen coolly. "I'll call them up in a panic and tell them Jeannie is shot, give them the description of your car and the plate number. If they're quick with the radio work, they'll get you before you get back to the city. And you'll have the gun with your prints on it. So . . . you're on."
    "Beautiful," said Armando.
    "Just make sure you hold the gun in your hand the right way, after I give it to you," said Mary Ellen. "Your prints have to be all over it, but some of them have to be in the right position for firing the gun."
    "I understand," said Armando. Then he added, "Christ, it's really simple, isn't it?"
    "It's simple because you want to get caught," said Mary Ellen bluntly. "I don't want to get caught, you understand. If either of us screw up, we both go to the slammer, and I won't appreciate that."
    "No, no," said Armando fervently, "the last thing I want is for you and Liv to get screwed up."
    "Just one more thing," said Mary Ellen. "Starting Tuesday, I want you at the Bel Aire Motel, and I want to know you're there, but I don't want to make any calls. So whatever car you have, make sure it's in front of your room, and put three pieces of clothing in the back window, one white, one red and one blue. Got that? That way, I can see it from the road, and know you're there."
    "Okay," said Armando.
    "Now," said Mary Ellen, "if for any reason I decide to abort the whole thing at the last minute, and you're already sitting there in your car by the cemetery, I'll give you a hand signal. I'll raise my hand twice like I am scratching my head. Got that? When you see that, you just sit quiet, or pretend you're asleep and she and I will just get back in her car and leave. Then we'll try for the next night."
    "So, she's a pretty strange lady, huh?" said Armando.
    "Yeah," said Mary Ellen. "In fact, sometimes I think she is going to crack up. I guess she had a breakdown before, too. I wonder if all politicians are as crazy as she is, when you look behind the PR .. ."
    That night, Jeannie had a hard time sleeping. Usually at Windfall she fell right into a deep sleep. When she finally did doze off, she had another bad dream.
    She dreamed that she was walking through the little cemetery at the church. It wasn't a dark and scary night. The sun was just going down, and the shadows were long.
    She walked slowly among the tombstones, and saw that each one was fitted with a small radio speaker. And out of each speaker came a human voice. Some of the tombstones were singing in high clear jabbery voices, like a tape being played at a higher speed. Other voices were calling in a wordless alto or tenor monotone. "... Ahhhhhh . . .
    She listened to the voices, and felt a deep thrilling fright.
    Finally she came to her mother's tombstone. This one, too, had its little speaker, covered with a sparkly tweed fabric. But the sound coming from it wasn't a voice. It was like faint radio static, as if sun-spots were playing havoc with the reception. There was a little tuning dial on the tombstone. She reached and twisted the dial. For a few minutes nothing happened, no matter how much she fiddled with it.
    But suddenly the static stopped, and the reception was clear. She listened intently. The tombstone was broadcasting, she knew. Someone was there, but she couldn't hear anything.
    She bent, and put her ear up to the speaker.
    Suddenly she heard it. Heavy breathing, slow and uneven, like when someone is making a threatening phone call but doesn't want to speak
    She woke up bathed in a cold sweat. She sat in the kitchen wrapped in her art-nouveau negligee, drinking a cup of hot milk and afraid to go to sleep again.
    Whenever Mary Ellen