Calamity Town

“I’d lay off the booze if I were you, Jim,” said Ellery amiably. ”Not that it’s any of my business, but . . . well, if you keep saying things like that, people might misunderstand.”

“Yeah,” said Jim, fingering his shaved cheek. ”I guess they would at that. Ow, my head! Never again.”

“Tell that to Nora,” laughed Ellery. ”Well, morning, Jim.”

“Morning. And thanks again.”

Ellery left, smiling. But the smile vanished on the landing. It seemed to him that the door to the guest room was open a hands-breadth wider than when he had gone in to talk to Jim.

* * *

Mr. Queen found it harder and harder to work on his novel. For one thing, there was the weather. The countryside was splashy with reds and oranges and yellowing greens; the days were frost-touched now as well as the nights, hinting at early snows; nights came on swiftly, with a crackle. It was a temptation to roam back-country roads and crunch the crisp dry corpses of the leaves underfoot. Especially after sunset, when the sky dropped its curtains, lights sparkled in isolated farmhouses, and an occasional whinny or howl came from some black barn.

Wiley Gallimard came into town with five truckloads of turkeys and got rid of them in no time.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Queen to himself. ”Thanksgiving’s in the air-everywhere except at 460 Hill Drive.”

Then there was Pat, whose recent habit of peering over her own shoulder had become chronic. She clung to Ellery so openly that Hermione Wright began to make secret plans in her head and even John F., who never noticed anything but flaws in mortgages and rare postage stamps, looked thoughtful . . . It made work very difficult.

But most of all it was watching Jim and Nora without seeming to that occupied Ellery’s time. Things were growing worse in the Haight household.

For Jim and Nora no longer “got along.” There were quarrels so bitter that their impassioned voices flew through the November air all the way across the driveway to the Wright house through closed windows. Sometimes it was about Rosemary; sometimes it was about Jim’s drinking; sometimes it was about money. Jim and Nora continued to put up a brave show before Nora’s family, but everyone knew what was going on.

“Jim’s got a new one,” reported Pat to Ellery one evening. ”He’s gambling!”

“Is he?” said Mr. Queen.

“Nora was talking to him about it this morning.” Pat was so distressed she could not sit still. ”And he admitted it?shouted it at her. And in the next breath asked her for money. Nora pleaded with him to tell her what was wrong; but the more Nora pleads, the angrier and harder Jim gets. Ellery, I think he’s touched. I really do!”

“That’s not the answer,” said Ellery stubbornly. ”There’s a pattern here. His conduct doesn’t fit, Patty. If only he’d talk. But he won’t. Ed Hotchkiss brought him home in the cab last night. I was waiting on the porch?Nora’d gone to bed. Jim was pretty well illuminated. But when I began to pump him?” Ellery shrugged. ”He swung at me . . . Pat.”

Pat jerked. ”What?”

“He’s pawning jewelry.”

“Pawning jewelry! Whose?”

“I followed him at lunch today, when he left the bank. He ducked into Simpson’s, on the Square, and pawned what looked to me like a cameo brooch set with rubies.”

“That’s Nora’s! Aunt Tabitha gave it to her as a high-school graduation present!”

Ellery took her hands. ”Jim has no money of his own, has he?”

“None except what he earns.” Pat’s lips tightened. ”My father spoke to him the other day. About his work. Jim’s neglecting it. You know Pop. Gentle as a lamb. It must have embarrassed him dreadfully. But Jim snapped at him, and poor Pop just blinked and walked away. And have you noticed how my mother’s been looking?”

“Dazed.”

“Muth won’t admit anything’s wrong?even to me. Nobody will, nobody. And Nora’s worse than any of them! And the town?Emmy DuPre’s busier than Goebbels! They’re all whispering . . . I hate them! I hate the town, I hate Jim . . . ”

Ellery had to put his arms around her.

* * *

Nora planned Thanksgiving with a sort of desperation?a woman trying to hold on to her world as it growled and heaved about her.

There were two of Wiley Gallimard’s fanciest toms, and chestnuts to be grated in absurd quantities, and cranberries from Bald Mountain to be mashed, and turnips and pumpkins and goodies galore . . . all requiring preparation, fuss, work, with and without Alberta Manaskas’s help . . . all requiring concentration. And while her house filled with savory odors, Nora would brook no assistance from anyone but Alberta?not Pat, not Hermione, not even old Ludie, who went about muttering for days about “these snippy young know-it-all brides.”

Hermy dabbed at her eyes. ”It’s the first Thanksgiving since we were married, John, that I haven’t made the family dinner. Nora baby?your table’s so beautiful!”

“Maybe this time,” chuckled John F., “I won’t have indigestion. Bring on that turkey and stuffing!”

But Nora shooed them all into the living room?things weren’t quite ready. Jim, a little drawn, but sober, wanted to stay and help. Nora smiled pallidly at him and sent him after the others.

Mr. Queen strolled out to the Haight porch, so he was the first to greet Lola Wright as she came up the walk.

“Hello,” said Lola. ”You bum.”

“Hello yourself.”

Lola was wearing the same pair of slacks, the same tight-fitting sweater, the same ribbon in her hair. And from her wry mouth came the same fumes of Scotch.

“Don’t look at me that way, stranger! I’m invited. Fact. Nora. Family reunion an’ stuff. Kiss and make up. I’m broad-minded. But you’re a bum just the same. How come no see little Lola?”

“Novel.”

“Your eye,” laughed Lola, steadying herself against his arm. ”No writer works more than a few hours a day, if that. It’s my Snuffy. You’re making love to Pat. ‘Sail right. You could do worse. She’s even got a brain on that swell chassis.”

“I could do worse, but I’m not doing anything, Lola.”

“Ah, noble, too. Well, give ‘em hell, brother. Excuse me. I’ve got to go jab my family’s sensibilities.” And Lola walked, carefully, into her sister’s house.

Mr. Queen waited on the porch a decent interval and then followed.

He came upon a scene of purest gaiety. It took keen eyes to detect the emotional confusion behind Hermy’s sweet smile, and the quivering of John F.’s hand as he accepted a Martini from Jim. Pat forced one on Ellery; so Ellery proposed a toast to “a wonderful family,” at which they all drank grimly.

Then Nora, all flushed from the kitchen, hustled them into the dining room; and they dutifully exclaimed over the magazine-illustration table . . . Rosemary Haight holding on to John F.’s arm.

* * *

It happened just as Jim was dishing out second helpings of turkey.

Nora was passing her mother’s plate when she gasped, and the full platter fell into her lap. The plate?Nora’s precious Spode?crashed on the floor.

Jim gripped the arms of his chair.

Nora was on her feet, palms pressed against the cloth, her mouth writhing in a horrid spasm.

“Nora!”

Ellery reached Nora in one leap. She pushed at him feebly, licking her lips, white as the new cloth. Then with a cry she ran, snatching herself from Ellery’s grip with surprising strength.

They heard her stumble upstairs, the click of a door.

“She’s sick. Nora’s sick!”

“Nora, where are you?”