Some Slips Don't Show — A.A. Fair

THE BODY WAS FULLY CLOTHED

It hadn't done much bleeding. There was a red spot over the chest, and the face had the unmistakable color of death. But there was no sign of a struggle.

Donald picked up the leather key container and slipped it into his pocket. He polished the inside of the doorknob with his handkerchief and stepped out of the motel room and walked up to Barclay Fisher.

"What did he say?" Fisher asked.

"He isn't in, so we're going back."

"I don't get it," Fisher said. "We came all the way over here to talk to the guy, and now you say we're going back."

"That's right."

"You seem to have changed a lot of your plans all of a sudden."

Donald thought of the corpse and wondered how long it would be before the police got there. "Let's go," he said. "When you get to know me better, you'll know that changing plans in a peculiarity I have."