Dial M For Murders Quotes

It’s midnight!” he says frantically, slapping at the door. “Call her. Call your roommate!” “Oh, shit,” I mutter. I retrieve my phone and begin to dial Emory’s number. “I was about to dial 911,” Emory says as she answers. “Sorry, we almost forgot.” “Do you need to use the code word?” she asks. “No, I’m fine. I already locked him out, so I don’t think he’s going to murder me tonight.” Emory sighs. “That sucks,” she says. “Not that he didn’t murder you,” she adds quickly. “I just really wanted to hear you say the code word.” I laugh. “I’m sorry my safety disappoints you.” She sighs again. “Please? Just say it for me one time.” “Fine,” I say with a groan. “Meat dress. Are you happy?” There’s a quiet pause before she says, “I don’t know. Now I’m not sure if you said the code word just to make me happy or if you’re really in danger.

And I’m not sure why I wasted all that time and energy, because when I think about family—that thing I’d always longed for—it’s never been a Norman Rockwell painting that I picture. It’s me and Mom, on the couch, eating microwaved corn dogs while Dial M for Murder plays on TV. It’s running out from the library at night to her car, a greasy box of Little Caesars pizza in the passenger seat, her joking, I thought we’d do Italian. It’s being pulled away from watching the frost melt on the living room window to make stovetop hot cocoa from a packet, and that last tight hug at the end of the airport security line, and packing up cardboard boxes, knowing I’ll always have what I need, no matter how much I leave behind.

Dial M for Murder in my book, same director. And that

I know what you did to Lucy,” Allie went on, unable to stop herself. “You’d better not sell the glen, or you’ll be sorry!” Quickly, she hung up, then stared at the phone in horror. What if it rang? Could Gag-Me trace the call? What if he had Caller ID? What in the world had she done? She lifted the receiver again and dialed Dub’s number. When he answered, she told him all about the diary and about the call she had made to Raymond Gagney. “You did what?” Dub shouted in her ear. “You called a murderer and said, ‘I know what you did’? Why didn’t you just say, ‘Please come kill me, too’? Are you crazy?” “Geez, Dub,” said Allie, “take it easy.” “Did you actually say, ‘You’ll be sorry’? Oooh, I bet that scared him, Al.” “I never thought he’d answer the phone!” Allie wailed. “So I was sort of—unprepared.” “I’ll say,” said Dub darkly. “You didn’t happen to say, ‘By the way, my name is Allie Nichols and I live at 67 Cumberland Road,’ did you?” “Give me a break,” said Allie. “I’m not that stupid.” There was a silence. “Dub, you’re scaring me,” she said in a small voice. “Well, I’m sorry, but I wish you’d called me before you got the brilliant idea of calling to threaten a known murderer.