Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 39, No. 5, November 1976

The Eavesdropper by Ruth Wissmann

To overhear, to suspect, to go back and overhear more — that was the route Myra followed after she listened in on the two women at the next restaurant table. Slowly it all built until Myra felt she had just one way out — murder!

Even if she could find another watch she liked as well, it would never be the same, Myra told herself as she walked from the jewelry store. It had been so beautiful, she thought pensively, with its diamonds and amethists set in platinum, and Don had given it to her on their tenth anniversary. Two months ago they had celebrated twenty years of marriage and there had been no gift. Instead, they had taken a trip to San Francisco. It was there that the watch mysteriously disappeared. She had been careless, she thought. The fault was her own.

It was a few minutes after twelve when she entered a coffee shop to find that the tables were filling rapidly with shoppers and workers from the buildings along Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. Myra felt fortunate to find a small vacant booth among those built for two that lined the back wall. She felt more at ease sitting there than at a table out on the floor or on a stool at the counter.

Myra had become self-conscious about eating alone in a public place — a result, she felt, of having been married for so many years. A kind of dependency. She was wishing Don would appear. His office was only a block and a half away, but then... She shrugged, took a deep breath and looked at the menu.

As Myra assured herself later, she had not deliberately eavesdropped. She could not avoid overhearing the conversation taking place in the booth behind her. After all, the partitions were only lacy scrolls of plastic, and while the young woman who was now speaking kept her husky voice lowered, it was a voice that carried. Then, too, what she was talking about with her friend was rather interesting.

“This thing has been going on for eight months, you know, and he’s still interested in me,” she was saying. “But of course I have no hold on him — no security.”

“I suppose not.” The other feminine voice spoke without a hint of sympathy, and Myra wished she had glanced toward these two before sitting down.

“He hasn’t been like the others, though,” the first voice went on. “He’s more — well, settled.”

“And that’s for sure,” the cool one agreed. “Very much married, I’m afraid. Louise, I think you’re playing a losing game again.”

“Damn you, Kaye, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”

“But why don’t you tie up with someone single for a change?”

“Who, for instance?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’re all married. The good ones.”

“So it seems.”

Myra’s attention was diverted by the rustle of a stiffly starched uniform beside her. “Are you ready to order?” she was asked.

“Uh — yes. A tuna sandwich and a cup of tea, please.” Myra had to repeat the order, because she had almost whispered it due to the feeling that she should not be here at all. It was as if she were trespassing in a very private place. But she couldn’t help listening.

The waitress nodded and moved on while the conversation continued in the next booth. The one called Kaye was saing, “He’s generous with you, anyway. The expensive bag. The jewelry. You’re doing all right.”

“But it’s a solitaire I want,” Louise said firmly. “I’m thirty-two years old and damned tired of being cooped up in an office every day. I want to get married. I’m tired of going from man to man and having it all add up to nothing.”

Myra’s eyes studied the table before her as if transfixed. Just like a soap opera, she thought. Thursday I’ll have this story to relate at the bridge table.

“But he does help with my expenses somewhat,” Louise was saying. “However, he claims his wife watches the money closely. He has to be careful.”

“He took you to Las Vegas last weekend,” Kaye said. “I forgot to ask if you enjoyed it.”

“Yeah. It was fun, but I was beat when I got home last night. Hadn’t had much sleep, but then, who goes to Vegas to sleep?”

Myra frowned at her sandwich and thought of her weekend. She had found it difficult to fill the hours while Don was in San Diego with Bill Long. Bill was a good boss, but a demanding one. She sighed. It had been another trip to look over a site for the proposed branch office. And there had been two nights last week — or was it three? — when Don had to work late, and...

“I brought up the subject of marriage again Wednesday night when we went to dinner,” Louise was saying. “He knows that I’m getting impatient. He knows I don’t intend to go on this way forever.”

“So, what does he say?”

“The same thing. No way can he get a divorce, he claims. Do you know, I hate her? I’ve never even seen that wife of his, but believe me, I hate her.”

“I wonder,” Kaye said slowly, thoughtfully, “if he has ever asked her. I mean, really asked her.”

There was a cloud of silence now in the next booth, and for a moment only the sound of dishes, the voices at the other tables, and an occasional laugh could be heard. When Louise spoke again her voice was steady and low. “Many times I’ve asked myself that same damn question.”

“Well, just hang in there and see what happens,” Kaye said. “Or — you could look elsewhere. Maybe if he thought you were becoming interested in someone else... Make him jealous.”

“I’m afraid to take the chance. I might lose him. Oh, hell! It’s almost one o’clock. Let’s go. It means my job if I’m late.”

Myra observed the two women as they passed by her and stopped at the cashier’s counter. Louise appeared a little younger than her thirty-two years and oozed sexiness. Kaye was smaller, dark, more quietly dressed. Myra sensed an aura of coldness about this young woman that was almost sinister. As she watched them leave the coffee shop she wondered about the sudden uneasiness they had created within her.

All that afternoon their words and appearance returned to haunt her again and again. Even during the evehing they were in her mind as she and Don were talking.

“How was San Diego?” she asked at dinner.

“I told you, honey. It was raining.”

“Oh, yes, so you did,” she replied vaguely. “It was dreary here, too; so gray and cloudy.”

“Did you look for a new watch today?” he asked. “Now that you have the money from the insurance claim...”

“I looked in five jewelry stores, but couldn’t find any I liked nearly as well. It makes me furious to think... I just can’t understand. I do wonder if one of the maids took it while we were out of the hotel room.”

“I doubt it. You should have left it here at the bank in the safe deposit box.”

“I know.”

“Has the evening paper arrived yet?”

“Yes. I put it on your chair in the den.”

“Good. I’ll probably read it and fall asleep. It was a tiring weekend.”

“Was it? Didn’t you get much sleep?”

“No, not much.”

Later as Myra lay in bed she decided to return to the coffee shop the following day. Perhaps those same two women would be there again at noon. Maybe they ate there every day. It might be interesting to hear more about Louise’s love affair, she thought, and wondered if she could find a seat close enough to hear what they said. To eavesdrop was human nature, she told herself. Everybody did it.

As Myra entered the busy cafe she immediately saw them sitting in the same booth as yesterday. The booth this side, however, was occupied by an elderly couple eating hot buttered rolls and fruit salad. The one on the far side held two giggling teenagers. Now Myra wished she had stayed at home. Her shyness returned, but she forced herself to walk toward a table on the floor that bordered the booth where Louise and Kaye sat with their heads close together over their lunch.

“I could kill her,” Myra heard Louise murmur in the throaty half-whisper that was hers. “I would like to see her dead!”

A prickly sensation crossed the back of Myra’s neck as she sat down and opened the menu.

“What did he say?” Kaye was asking, and Myra had difficulty trying to read the suddenly swimming print before her eyes.

“He insists that he has discussed a divorce with her. He told me that when he got home Sunday night he asked her again. And do you know what? I believe him.”

“Well—” Kaye said tonelessly, “I don’t suppose there is any reason why you shouldn’t. When did he tell you this? Last night?”

“No, I didn’t see him last night. It was yesterday, late in the afternoon, when we had a few minutes together in his office. He said I was the only one he cared about. The only one.”

“I’ll have a fruit salad and hot rolls and tea,” Myra told the crisp uniform beside her.

As soon as the waitress moved on, Louise said, “And I’m going to get my solitaire.”

“Congratulations,” said the cool voice. “You are making headway.”

“Am I?” Louise asked after a long moment. “It’s no wedding ring.”

From the corner of her eye, Myra saw Kaye shrug. “The way divorce laws are now in this state, frankly I don’t understand why—”

“It’s a sticky situation, he told me, and promised to explain it all later. He couldn’t say much there in the office, of course.” Louise took a deep breath, lit a cigaret and looked with narrowed eyes into space. “I could kill her,” she said again in a barely audible tone. “I’d like to see her dead.”

“Maybe, Louise, she’s quite wealthy, or something.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe she has something on him.”

“Could be.”

“Maybe he’s soft-hearted,” Kaye said.

“Oh, hell!”

“Doesn’t he tell you anything about her?”

“Not much. When we went on that trip to the mountains last May, he discussed her a little. All I really know is that she’s ten years older than I am and, in his words, she’s pretty and sweet. I told him I didn’t want to hear anymore. I hate women who are pretty and sweet. Ick!” Louise crushed her cigaret violently into the ashtray.

The wife, Myra was thinking, is my age. The salad now arrived and looked wilted. The rolls were dry. Stealing a glance at Louise, Myra felt disturbed and a kind of hollowness came over her, a chilling thing that arrived with another thought, one that crept into her mind and lay there, cold and grim.

Last may? Don had been away for three days during that month on a fishing trip. Two men from the office had accompanied him — at least, that’s what he had said. Her hand trembled as she lifted a glass of water to her lips, and the room blurred.

She realized the pair from the booth beside her were walking toward the cashier, and Myra found herself following. As she left the coffee shop, the two women were ahead of her. Louise, full blown and blond. Kaye, very slender with her long black hair hanging straight and limp down her back. Myra continued to walk a short distance behind them. Then with them and a surge of others, she crossed the intersection after the signal turned green and walked along the boulevard for another long block

It was when they reached the building at the corner, that the two women turned in and Myra stopped and stood still. Bill Long’s company was in there, but then, she reminded herself, so were fifteen floors of other offices as well. However—

The worm of suspicion stayed with her all afternoon. She tried to crush it with a book she had started to read last week. She tried to stab it to death with her knitting needles as she worked on a sweater that defied completion. While preparing dinner she attempted to drown it in two glasses of sherry.

From across the table she studied Don thoughtfully, levelly with her quiet eyes. During the evening she felt a kind of smothering dark shadow descending over her, an ominous storm cloud, and while Don was watching television, she was watching him. Eight o’clock. Nine. Ten o’clock.

“Don?”

“Mmmm?”

“If you were describing me to someone what would you say about me?”

He shot her a bewildered glance. “How’s that?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“Myra, is something wrong?”

“No. I only wanted to know if—”

“Of course, you’re pretty. You’ve always been pretty. Why do you ask?”

“And what about my disposition?”

He turned again from the television screen and frowned. “What’s with you tonight?” he asked. “You’ve been looking at me ever since I got home, looking at me as if you’re wondering who I am and what I’m doing here.”

“Don, have you ever told anybody that I’m pretty and sweet?”

Again he regarded her quizzically, then slowly shook his head. “You’ve had too much sherry. You’re not accustomed to drinking, you know.”

“I only asked you a simple question. Did you tell anyone that I am—”

“Yes. Yes, many times. Many people. Why don’t you go to bed now and sleep it off?”

“I’m not sleepy.”

He shrugged. “You’ve been acting weird, real weird,” he said, as he looked again at the screen and she looked at him.

For the third consecutive day Myra entered the coffee shop. It was twelve-thirty and Kaye was seated alone at the counter eating a sandwich and reading a magazine. Where was Louise? Myra was asking herself, then her eyes narrowed and a wave of heat washed over her. Louise must be having lunch with — him.

Instantly Myra returned to the sidewalk, and when she reached the intersection the signal was green. To her it seemed significant, this green light. Her heels clicked as she drew nearer the large building at the next corner. When she entered it she nearly ran to the elevators. When she stepped off on the tenth floor her body was trembling, and when she tried to open the double doors of Long and Marshall Enterprises, she found them locked.

Everyone was at lunch, of course, she realized, and seethed as she left the building and again joined the noonday crowd. Looking in all directions she asked herself where they might be and what she would say to Don and this Louise if she found them together. No doubt, she thought, the right words would come to her later, and she hurried along the busy street. After entering and making quick exits from four restaurants, Myra realized it was one o’clock. Louise had said she always had to be back by one, had she not?

It was then that Myra knew she had made a foolish mistake. She would have waited near the entrance of the building for their return. Anger had made her stupid, plain stupid, she told herself. She would have waited and watched and seen the expression on Don’s face — that would have provided the proof. Then she would have known that what she suspected was true. Myra went home and waited in a dark well of dread and dismay and wrath.

“I’ve had a headache all afternoon,” Don said that evening at dinner. “Too many cocktails at lunch, I’m afraid.”

“Where did you eat?”

“At the Hilton. Mind if I turn in early tonight? It’s been a rough day.”

“Yes, it has been,” she said icily.

It was Thursday. When Myra entered the coffee shop at twelve-fifteen they were already there, Louise and Kaye, sitting in the last booth. Next to it was a small vacant table, and Myra hurried to it, for seats were being taken swiftly. The place was noisy, and seemed to be filled with voices and faces and everyone trying to get settled and ready to eat. She slipped onto the chair as inconspicuously as possible and opened the menu.

Several minutes passed before the noise abated and Myra was able to hear what was being said by the two so close to her. “How do I know it could be done safely?” Louise was asking in her low breathy voice.

“He guarantees it.”

“But — there might be a slip-up. I mean—”

“He’s no amateur.”

“Well — I just don’t know. That’s a lot of money.”

“You want her out of the way, don’t you? You want her de—”

“Shh! For God’s sake!”

After a moment of silence, Kaye said, “Do you or don’t you?”

“You know I do. I’d take care of the matter myself if I thought I could get away with it,” came the half-whispered reply-

“It’s better to hire a pro.”

Myra became immobile. Only her heart moved — hammered — pounded in her chest and in her throat and in her ears.

“Tomorrow,” Kaye said in a voice as cold as Myra’s hands and feet and spine. “If you want it done, I’ll see him at noon tomorrow and give him the word. It’s up to you.”

Myra’s eyes slipped surreptitiously toward Louise for a fleeting instant and saw the woman’s full pouty lips emit a cloud of smoke from her cigaret with the words, “I’ll sleep on it. I’ll let you know in the morning.”

Through a world that had become strangely distorted and grotesque, Myra drove home. When she entered the house the telephone was ringing. She answered it and heard Don’s voice. “What’s the matter?” were his first words. “You sound weird again.”

“I’m all right.”

“Mmmm. Well, I called to tell you that I’ll be having dinner with Bill and some wheels up here from San Diego. I may be a little late. Don’t wait up for me.”

“I won’t.” After putting down the telephone, Myra walked the floor. Twice she picked up the instrument again with the intention of calling the police. Twice she put it down. How could she explain it all? She wondered. They might even think her demented. Someone is going to be murdered, she could imagine herself telling them, and I may be the one. Then there would be questions, and Don would hear of it and—

Myra walked into the bathroom and was sick.

It was ten-thirty when she heard Don enter the house. In darkness she crawled into bed and feigned sleep. When he joined her she heard him sigh, and a moment later his breathing become deep and regular. Midnight. One o’clock. Two.

Quietly she left the bed and went to the medicine cabinet, where she swallowed two sedatives. After three A.M. she slept.

When Myra awoke she found the bed empty beside her and, glancing at the clock, saw she had overslept. Don would be gone, and she was relieved. In a half-daze she showered and dressed and, as she poured herself a cup of coffee, she stared at the wall.

There is no proof, she thought, I could be wrong. However...

The telephone rang, but she did not answer. Probably one of her friends calling, she told herself, someone wanting to know why she had not arrived for bridge yesterday.

As she knew she would, Myra entered the coffee shop this fifth day and her eyes, spanning the room, stopped at the counter. Louise was sitting there alone, and for a moment Myra could not breathe. The stools on either side of the woman were taken but, as Myra stood here unmoving, she saw the man seated to the left of Louise stand up and leave. As one in a nightmare, she walked stiffly over and took his place.

It was a moment before Myra became aware of the wide mirror upon the wall that was reflecting the faces at the counter. The woman who looked so pale and frightened was herself. Then she saw the composed face beside her, the self-satisfied expression. Yes, Louise had made her decision and was pleased with it, and as she lit a cigaret, the gray smoke floated over Myra’s face, erasing it.

It was as Louise reached toward an ashtray that Myra nearly cried out. She turned hot. She turned cold. Diamonds, amethysts and platinum swam in the smoky haze, and her mind seemed to shriek, My watch! She has it! Don gave her my watch!

She felt her hands turn moist and trickles of perspiration crawled down from her temples. I am the one to die. I am the one!

Louise stood up and, hips swinging, approached the cashier.

In this nightmare Myra also rose and followed her. Together they joined the pedestrians along the sidewalk, moving toward the corner, where the signal was blood red. Here the waiting group in a large tight knot was crowding impatiently onto the curb. The cars. A truck. The roar as each driver trued to squeeze through as the light turned yellow.

No one seemed to see Myra’s foot dart out sharply to her side. There were screams. Brakes shrieked. Louise’s body fell into the street, into the path of the truck.

Pandemonium!

Silently Myra was blending into the crowd, and in it she vanished. I tripped her, a voice within was whispering. I deliberately tripped her. I did it.

That afternoon at three o’clock the telephone ran and the sound slashed through the quiet house like a sharp knife. Myra let it cut the air six times before she picked it up.

“Myra?” Don’s voice.

“Yes.”

“You and I are going to San Diego for three whole days,” he said. “Business mixed with pleasure. Okay? Pack a few things. I’ll be home by five.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound very enthused. Don’t you want to go?”

“Of course, I do,” she heard a small voice say that did not seem to be her own.

“Good! I’d like my gray slacks and a sweater. Also my leather jacket. Oh, and take a warm coat for yourself, Ocean breezes, you know.”

“Yes.”

I’ll never be warm again, she thought. Never!

“A terrible thing happened down here during the noon hour,” he was saying. “One of the women who worked in this building was hit and killed by truck while coming back from lunch. I don’t know who she was, but I’ve heard she was employed by an insurance firm on the next floor. A hell of a thing to happen. Horrible!”

“That was too bad,” Myra said.

How smoothly he lies.

“Yes. Well — hurry and pack and we’ll drive down to the beach and have dinner along the Coastal Highway somewhere.”

After replacing the telephone in its cradle, Myra slowly walked to the bedroom and pulled some garments from her closet. She frowned, tossed them aside and chose others. As she brushed cold perspiration from her brow she could not recall ever before having felt so exhausted, so weak. She picked up an overnight case, but it slipped from her moist and trembling hand, landed on its corner and sprung open. She looked down at it and froze.

There it lay — the wristwatch. Jarred loose from the satin folds of a gathered pocket where it had been caught and concealed, it looked up at her, its face gray, its hands pointing to quarter of one.