I didn't kill Chester Godfrey, but
I didn't stop his murderers from doing the job for me. There can be no
doubt about their defense--nor mine, which is why I helped Dudley kidnap
Marilyn. He danced between tombstones and palm trees and prayed he hadn't
hurt the night watchman when he tied his hands. The moon was full, but the
crypts were still in its shadow when we began. Every rubber mallet blow
was lurking in the hallways of our bedrooms every night. Rosebuds strewn
in narrowing lunar shadows. He opened the crypt above and we lugged the
coffin to the lip. Lighter than expected. And we heaved her three feet
higher than she'd been in years, finally resting easy. Dudley sealed the
crypt he coveted and tucked a ransom note in Marilyn's bud vase.The
cemetery quietly caught the kidnapper, and Dudley's dream came true. He
had just paid for the crypt above when the private eye glared at the
rosebud in his lapel. Dudley glanced at Marilyn's bud vase, counted five
and bolted. Everything they say on TV is the truth. The private eye
grabbed a loose arm and heard a melon split by a falling brick as roses
flew in shock.Talking to God is like stepping into your dreams and
playing with your old toys. Once you get used to being scared you don't
have to worry anymore. The last time I visited Dudley's shrine it was
bricked over and painted out. No evidence remains that this has been the
sight of a major archaeological event.