 Suspense and the producer of radio's outstanding theatre of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure William M. Robson. Criminologists have long seen the connection between heat, humidity and murder. They can tell you the exact hour or the exact summer day when the most people are statistically liable to flip their lids. However, in the little prairie town where our story occurs, other factors further help foster violence. The heat, of course, but also ignorance and boredom and a woman. Listen, listen then as Mr. Van Heflin stars in Too Hot to Live, which begins in just a moment. How long has it been since you've cleaned out your bookshelves? Maybe it's time you took a look at the books you own. While you're cleaning and looking, you can be performing a valuable service to your country. The United States wants books, lots of them, to send to interested students and readers abroad. Good books are needed to combat the flood of literature being circulated in free countries by the Russians and Chinese communists. Each year the Russians alone publish and distribute well over 100 million volumes of all kinds. But each volume is a messenger of mischief, full of propaganda and lies about America. These books are sold at ridiculously low prices or given away free. You can help counteract communist propaganda with unneeded books. Most desirable are literary classics, new or old, up-to-date American histories and geographies. Send all books to Books from America, Box 1960, Washington, 13 D.C. That address again is Books from America, Box 1960, Washington, 13 D.C. And now, too hot to live, starring Mr. Van Heflin. A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. The sun is starting to pucker the tar road leading into Marcus Junction. Sweat is getting straight through my shirt. My shoes are sucking tar every time I lift them. The sole of one boot busts loose and starts flapping against the road. That's bad. A drifter needs a good pair of shoes and I'm on the drift. Marcus Junction, no different than a thousand others like it. About a mile square of small buildings all pasted together. I walk a couple of blocks without finding a shoemaker. Town's almost empty this Saturday morning, except for a man walking my way. A big man, really big. Both ways, big high and big wide. The last man I want to see. Pinned on his sweat-stained shirt is a big gold star with a word sheriff glinting in the sun. Good morning, son. My name's Benjamin. Benjamin Maxwell. Good morning, Mr. Maxwell. Benjamin, son, call me Benjamin. That's the handle that shakes this pump. What's yours, boy? Uh, Jeff Casey. That's a good name. What brings you to our town, Jeff? Oh, well, I'm just passing through. I wonder where I could get this shoe fixed. Well, pretty socks. Yeah, but who'll take care of the shoe? Well, I'm going down to Stacey's for a cup of coffee. The shoe fix is right next door. Come along, Jeff. Thank you. Say, how do you like this weather? If it gets any warmer, it'll be almost too hot to live. In a manner of speaking, you understand? Yeah, I understand. Well, here's the shoe repair. I'll be next door. Leave your shoes and waddle in on them pretty socks of yours. I'll buy you a cup of coffee. The shoemaker tells me that my shoes will take a couple of hours so I start next door to join Benjamin. I don't know, maybe I'm feeling pretty good, but I pull an old schoolboy trick. I take off my socks, roll them up, and throw them on the counter with my shoes, and I walk outside to feel the cool shaded pavement prickle up through the bottom of my bare feet. Through the window next door, I see four people in the restaurant. Waits for me to come in. Inside the entrance of Blonde Waitress is arguing with a skinny old man and faded Levi's. The moon-faced short-order cook is soaking in every word of the argument. Oh, Jeff, soon. Oh, yeah, hi, Benjamin. Well, like, come for that coffee. In a minute. Rachel's about to set her peace. Now find yourself a street corner and get it out of your system. Oh, you are bad, bad beyond all savings. See you around, Pop. I don't know. That girl plays rough. That's just Rachel's way, Jefferson. Oh, I see you lean to bare feet. Hey, yeah. Hey, what's yours good-looking? Oh, coffee, please. Black. Coffee barefoot. Like you, handsome. Ah, your friend's real pretty, Benjamin. You think everybody's pretty, Rachel. But he's a doll. Be around long, Hanson. I just long enough to get my shoes fixed. Oh, too bad you ain't sticking around. New faces are scarce around here, especially one like yours. Well, I've got some law to enforce. Now you behave yourself, Rachel. You know it. See what it's like in the world outside, Hanson. Hey, Rachel, why don't you put up some more coffee? Tend your bacon, lover. I got company. Is that your boyfriend? You love a boy there? Oh, no, that's Kenny. He's keeping company with a hot grill. You ought to talk about me like that, Rachel. Ain't very nice. Then don't bother me while I'm with my friends. Hey, Hanson, I'm off about now. Let's you and me go out to the carnival for a couple of hours, huh? You let her alone. Don't you go with her. You hear? Yeah. Hey, Kenny. Well, I'd like to, Rachel. How do I go barefoot? Oh, forgot. You got any other ideas? Yeah, matter of fact. I live upstairs over this greasy spoon. Let's go up and mix ourselves something cool while we wait for your shoes. You can't do that. It ain't nice. Don't look right. Don't let it. Let's go, Rachel. No, you can't. I'll stop you. I'll come up there after you. You're doing a barbecue, you and your own grill. In a moment, we continue with the second act of suspense. It's a 1-2 victory for Rambler in the Mobile Gas Economy Run in Compact Car Class A. A Rambler American and a Rambler Six finished first and second. Both Ramblers led all other cars in the Mobile Gas Economy Run. Rambler's incredible records 25.29 and 22.96 miles per gallon with automatic transmission. A brilliant victory in the toughest, longest Mobile Gas Economy Run of all. 1,898 rugged miles from Los Angeles to Kansas City, across deserts, up mountains, through congested city traffic. Already the holder of the all-time post-war records for the Mobile Gas Economy Run, Rambler proves once again that it is indeed America's leader in gas economy. Of course, Rambler with standard or overdrive transmission has even greater fuel economy. You save more on upkeep, on insurance, on depreciation, because Rambler has highest presale value of all low-price cars. Go, Rambler, the proved economy king at Rambler dealers. And now, starring Mr. Van Heflin, act too well, too hot to live. They had ever so humble, this is home. It's a little small, isn't it? Let's kick out a wall or something. The windows don't help much, but the drinks well. Hey, why do you have to lean into the kitchen? Why don't you just walk in? Fresh varnish on the floor. He don't let it dry. Long reach for a long drink. Well, it's a long day. Here you go, Hanson. Don't you believe in mixing anything with your drinks? Well, four. The cubes will melt. What do we drink, too, Hanson? Ah, the heat. The heat? It cools you off, doesn't it? It burns its weight down and it explodes in my stomach. My pores open and the perspiration oozes out. It goes down fast. Then another, another. Going numb. The heat, no food. Things moving around and around slow and then faster and faster. Then they black roles in soft, hot blackness. And I pass out. I've got something to show you. Stay with me alone. Over there in the corner of the kitchen. Hey, take your hands off me. See, that's how I found it. You beside her and your filthy hands still tied around her throat. You killed her. You killed her. Make any kind of sense. The bathroom door is open. I stagger toward it and stepping on broken glass. Pain, stingy. And remembering bare feet. The open shower waiting for me. I turn the handle of cold water and half throw myself into the shock of the stream. I'm coming out of it. I'm coming, too. What did he... He said, I'd kill her. I said, Benjamin. Hey, Benjamin, come up here. I got a daily kill of the youth. Kenny shouting all down to the winter at the Benjamin. I got to get away. I get to think. What happened? What? Into the bathroom window. My feet hit the scalding tar on the shed roof. I sprammed across it, dropped to the street. Narrow alley and I'm running down it. I turn the corner and run right into Benjamin. All right, Jefferson. Why'd you do it, son? I didn't kill her, Benjamin. I don't remember. You don't sound sure, Jefferson. Don't you know? Well, we were drinking. I blacked out. Drunk, unconscious. You could still move around. You could have done what was done in that apartment. No, no, but I couldn't. Why would I want to do that? Well, maybe you played too rough. Maybe she tried to stop you, cut you with a knife. Why'd you run away? Well, I was scared. Kenny said that my hands were around her throat. Well, I'll have to lock you up. I'll go back and have a good look around. Maybe I'll find something. And if you don't? Rachel's dead, Jefferson. Somebody killed her. You try to hang me. Why can't I remember what happened, what led to this? The sweats rolling down Benjamin's forehead, collecting on the top of his glasses, sliding into his eyes. They smart and snap shut. I slap at his glasses, knocking him off his face, and grab for his gun. His arm comes down fast, hard-chomping at my hand, numbing my arm, and the gun falls to the road. I run, hobbling up and down, and I'm upside it. Jefferson! Come back here! You can't get far! In a moment, we continue with the third act of... suspense. Be sociable. Look smart. Be sociable. Have a Pepsi. When friends drop in, let your hospitality show you're sociable in a modern manner. Pepsi, you know, is the favorite of the smart and young at heart. Have a Pepsi. Have you tried a Pepsi lately? And now, Mr. Van Heflin, act three of... to live. Toward the railroad, I run till my legs slide away from under me, and then crawl, dragging the body that has no feeling, a dead weight that robs my arms of their strength. Finally, steel rails glisten ahead, and I lay sprawled out. Heart and lungs going crazy in my body. I can't go any further. The sun is moving away toward the west now, and I come to the feeling a little better. I know what I have to do now. Find Kenny in one way or another, force him to tell the truth, because he must be lying. I start back to town. Stepping gently, I make my way through the alley to the restaurant. There's a stranger behind the counter. Well, howdy. Where's everybody? Most of them are at the carnival. Some are looking for a killer roaming around. Oh, yeah, I heard about him. I heard he was picked up a couple of miles out. Hmm, good deal. You know, Rachel worked here. Yeah, yeah, I know. Say, where's Kenny? Oh, he's out to Clover's place. Wanted to be the one to tell Rachel's father about, you know... Oh, yeah, sure. Well, I ought to go out there and pick him up. See, I don't know that place too well. How do I get there? You just follow the road down about half a mile out of town. Find a dirt cutoff. Can't miss the mailbox. Thanks. Say, if you miss him, who will I say is asking? Well, just tell him that his cousin Jim was here. Yeah, well, please do have met you, hey. Hey, you ain't wearing shoes. You're the one. You're the killer. Run. Run. Run again. Another alley. Bliss-printed pavements. Cement. Ripping. Beat. Time is running through. Running out. Benjamin know where I'm going. I'm on the main highway. You're on the town now. Another quarter mile. Another hundred yards. Glass, the mailbox. It says Clover's. The dirt cutoff. An old two-story farmhouse rises out of the field around me. A big gray barn stands off near the house. Two old cars are sitting behind it. And it's got to come out to one of them. Now wait. And away from me. Little shimmering waves of heat rise off the tincliffs of the cars. Here he comes. Not the last. Better or I'll break your back. Oh, no. The truth, Kenny. The truth if I have to kill you for it. I didn't kill Rachel and you know it. You did. I didn't. I didn't. No, no. You killed her. You crazy jealous. No. Yes. Yes. You came to check. You came to check and you found us drunk and you got... Well, you killed her. I didn't. I can prove it. Prove it? There wasn't three minutes between the time I left the restaurant and the time I called Benjamin. Not enough time to get up there, kill her and bring you around. Three minutes. I can prove it. That's all the time. You did it. Your hands were still around the throat when I came in. You killed Rachel. He isn't lying about the three minutes. That gloating smirk on his face tells me that. I had killed her. The horror of this afternoon had been for nothing. Kill him. Don't just stand there and shoot. He's the man who killed your daughter. He stands there watching. The skinny old man and faded leaf eyes. A double barrel shotguns cradled in his arm, but he just looks at me. A wildfire striking out of the black pupils of his eyes. Kill him. He killed your daughter. She was no daughter of mine. He killed Rachel. Your father. I thought that was some kind of a nickname of hers. You know, when she was calling you pop. She was born to me and I named her Rachel from the Bible. But she was the daughter of Satan. I'm sorry, Mr. Clover. Shoot him. Because I am Rachel is dead. She turned away from me. But within me the voice was strong. I followed her begging in the place where she lived. I'm sorry I was drunk. I was crazy. We had an apartment. The stench of drink like an evil cloud. You lying there drunk with the devil's fever. You were there. Shut up, you old fool. And it came to me like a voice from on high. I knew what I must do. You killed her. It wasn't me, it was you. No, you did it. You couldn't keep your mouth shut. You knew he did it. Can you try to make me believe that I'd been the one why? You. You weren't tramps like you. Always keeping her from me. You didn't care. You laughed at me, made Rachel laugh at me. I passed the old man when I went up. I knew as soon as I walked into the room. And you tried to bring this on me. Why not? You wasn't that old man who killed her. You killed her. And you'll die for it. Give me the gun. Oh no, Kelly. Not now. Turn around, mister. Turn around and see it when it happens. Drop your gun, Kenneth. No. No. Sit up, Jefferson. We'll go home now. I'd be so glad to see you, Benjamin. If you hadn't been so eager to run, I could have saved your feet a lot of wear. I knew you weren't a murderer, son. You knew? I went back to the apartment. The whole story is there in the varnish on the kitchen floor. No bare feet around the body, but lots of hobnailed boot prints. You cut your hand on broken glass in the living room. That's what made it bleed. And I was running. Well, you can stop running now, son. Why don't you stay here in town with us? There's lots for you to do. Thanks. Well, it's been quite a day, Benjamin. Sure has been a scorcher. Glad to see the sun going down. On a day like this, it's almost too hot to live. Oh, no, don't... don't say that, Benjamin. It never gets that hot. Suspense, in which Van Heflin starred in William M. Robeson's production of Too Hot to Live, written by Sam Rolf. In a moment, the names of our supporting players and a word about next week's story of suspense. The station to which you're listening right now is an affiliate of the CBS Radio Network. In fact, make several important differences. Take the matter of news. Over this station, you hear frequent reports gathered by the foremost broadcast news organization, CBS News. Reports supplemented by the thoughtful commentary of such distinguished CBS Newsmen as Edward R. Murrow, Lowell Thomas, and Eric Severide. In addition, of course, this station provides you with late local news so that you may hear and keep up with what's happening in your own community. There are programs, comedy, variety, and music to fit every mood. In addition, this station provides you with further listening entertainment, courtesy of your favorite local broadcast personalities. Plus, the cream of today's crop of top songs. Well-balanced, highly-listenable broadcast fare can come to you only through teamwork. The kind of teamwork made possible by the combined resources of CBS Radio and this station. Supporting Van Heflin in Too Hot to Live were Doris Singleton, Barry Kroger, Charles Seal, Barney Phillips, and Norm Alden. Listen again next week when we return with Mr. Jim Bacca starring in See How He Runs. Another tale well-calculated to keep you in. Suspense.