Her name was Elizabeth, except you couldn’t call her Liz, or Betty, or Beth. You had to call her Elizabeth or else she would get pissed off. She was a real pain in the neck, and I don’t know why I fell in love with her. But I did, and I guess that’s why I’m writing this confession in this jail cell, instead of living the good life like I used to, working at Al’s Garage and living at Ma Jones’s boarding house over on Main Street…
A Gal Named Elizabeth, by Horace P. Sternwall, (Mammoth Books; 1955; paperback, 25¢; originally serialized in slightly different form as Call Her Elizabeth by “Horatia P. Sterne”, Romantic Crime Stories, Jan., Feb, March, 1954).
(Scroll down the right-hand side of this page to find a listing of links to the opening passages of many other works of Horace P. Sternwall.)
is she in jail, too? Were they smoking a joint? Or, did she coerce him into robbing a bank or maybe murdering her boss?
Or all of the above?
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