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By Fredric Brown

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Extra info for A Plot for Murder (a.k.a. Murder Can Be Fun)

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He went into the next tavern and called Wilkins' home. Wilkins was there; even saying “Hello,” his voice sounded as small and neat and precise as Wilkins looked. “Tracy,” said Tracy. “Thought I'd better tell you about Dick Kreburn, Mr. Wilkins. He's been bedded down safely, and it's not quite as bad as laryngitis, according to the doc. ” “Good. ” “No. I don't want to go around tonight because he'd insist on doing his share of the talking. ” “Maybe it's wiser to let him alone, Mr. Tracy. Ah—by the way, what happened to you this afternoon?

Jerry smiled. “The hell with the dice. I'll buy. ” He held up two fingers to the bartender. “Tracy, it isn't like I was asking you to lie about anything. Just tell them I did scrap a lot with Dineen—and lay it on thick. ” “How can they suspect you of killing Frank? ” “At least twice, at your place. Look, I'm going to build up to making them think I'm psychopathic—that I killed Frank to carry out another of your scripts. ” “One was—” Tracy stopped suddenly. “Nuts to you, pal. I'm not telling anyone.

In the furnace. ” “Not exactly, no. ” Tracy saw his chance and cut in swiftly. “She hasn't read any of them, Inspector. ” Tracy nodded and sat back down on the desk; he'd got in his tip to Millie that she hadn't read the Santa Claus script, and she wouldn't cross him up. ” Millie sat down in the chair. She said, “Not for almost a week—wait, no, it was three days ago, on Sunday. ” “Positive, because I remember hating to bother him on a Sunday about it, but I really had to use the stove for that evening.

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