100 Malicious Little Mysteries

Two Small Vials by Elsin Ann Graffam

He awoke at 6:55, five minutes before the alarm was to sound. Turning on his side, he gazed with dispassionate interest at the woman who lay sleeping beside him.

Such a cow, he thought, When he thought of who he could be sleeping next to—

Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed and pushed the alarm button in.

“Is it seven already?” Joanne asked sleepily. “I’ll get breakfast. Hotcakes O.K., honey?”

“Sure,” he said, not looking at his wife.

Her banal chatter at breakfast was almost suffocating.

“And this woman who won the jackpot was rich, from Great Oaks — can you imagine! How come poor people never win?”

Cow, he thought, rising. “I’d better get going,” he said, slipping on his topcoat.

The ride to work was pleasant. Peaceful, after a breakfast with Joanne.

He tuned in his favorite FM station and drove slowly, thinking of Chris. Chris, with her long golden hair, her youthful figure, her blue eyes.

“You’ll get over her. Bill,” Joanne had said a hundred times, humoring him, forgiving him. The placid, long-suffering wife. Cow! he thought.

He turned the car into the immense parking lot of the Willsin Chemical Plant and parked at the spot marked MR. REED.

It was nice, he thought, to be only twenty-seven years old and a production manager with his own private parking spot. Willsin Chemical Plant was relatively new, but growing fast. Maybe in five years, ten at the most, it would be rated Triple-A, Dun & Bradstreet.

He’d had the best — college, good connections, looks, ambition; everything but the right wife.

He could never have his colleagues and their wives to dinner. They’d sit down to one of Joanne’s insipid dinners — tuna casserole, say. She’d open her mouth and say, “And this woman who won the jackpot was rich, from Great Oaks — can you imagine!”

Wincing, he locked the car and headed for his office at the front of the plant.

I could have bought her off, he thought. I could have given her money and seen her through an abortion. But not Mr. Nice. I marry her.

And she loses the baby. And I’m stuck. With a cow! A —

“Good morning, Mr. Reed.”

“Morning, Susan,” he said to the bookkeeper.

“We’re getting a rush of orders for that new explosive. Harper Construction Company, Mideast Construction, Fallstaff.” She flipped through a stack of orders.

“Well, it’s good, cheap, does the job.”

“And you have to use so little of it,” she said.

Suddenly he felt light-headed. He sat down.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“No. I just thought of something, that’s all.”

Joanne glanced at the skillet clock on the kitchen wall. Five of ten. In a few minutes her TV programs would begin. She poured herself a glass of soda and padded to the living room to turn on the set. Drawing her fuzzy-slippered feet under her, she settled down.

In seven hours Bill would be home. Maybe. The week before he’d come home late three nights in a row. How late, she hadn’t known; she’d been asleep. He no longer bothered to call to say he’d be working late. He simply wouldn’t show up. In frustration she’d eat her meal — and his. All fifty-five of her overweight pounds, she reflected, were his fault.

She was willing to put up with his tomcatting. Someday he’d settle down and realize what a comfortable, homey place she’d created for him. Realize, more importantly, that he still loved her as he once had. He’d come to his senses. All she had to do was wait.

The first show, Mister Dollar, was on. Leaning back, she immersed herself in the program.

“You’re tense tonight, honey,” Chris said, drawing on her robe.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Poor Lumpkin.”

“It’s just — a lot of pressure at work.”

“Well, I’ve got my problems too.”

“I know, I know.” Bill lit a cigarette. Sometimes she nagged him a little too much for comfort.

“I mean, I don’t want to wait so long for my ship to come in that my pier collapses.”

He smiled, despite his mood. “It won’t be much longer. One of these days Joanne’ll see the light and give me a divorce.”

“And one of these days I’ll win the lottery.”

“Oh, come on, Chris. Be patient. We still have each other, haven’t we?”

“Sure,” she said. “How about a drink?”

He nodded. His mind returned to the two small vials tucked into his jacket pocket. Getting them that afternoon had been absurdly simple. Now all he had to do was figure how to combine the two chemicals.

The telephone rang.

“Damn,” she said, going to answer it. “I’ll bet it’s Mother, again.”

The alarm went off at 6:30. Quickly he reached over and silenced it. Joanne was still asleep, he saw, relieved. Easing himself out of bed, he tiptoed from the room and went down the carpeted stairs to the kitchen. The two vials were at the back of the cutlery drawer where he’d left them the night before.

The beauty of the new explosive was not only that such a small amount was needed to do the job, as Susan had said, but that just the slightest vibration — like the ringing of the telephone — would set off the explosion. Apart, the two chemicals were inert. Combined, he guessed most of the downstairs would be blown to a powder. And Joanne with it.

He knew that she sat down fatly on the sofa at ten in the morning to start watching her precious TV shows. The telephone was on the end table next to the sofa. At ten-fifteen he’d dial his home number. The vibration from the ring would be more than enough to do the job.

For a moment he clasped his hands together to stop their trembling. Then, the phone cover removed, he placed a drop of dioxorb and one of riantrin on the bell.

Did he hear her coming down the stairs? Holding his breath, he listened. No, it was just the thumping of his heart. Gently — gently — he replaced the cover of the telephone. There. It was—

She’d been thinking about him and his “Be patient” all night, unable to sleep, more infuriated with each passing hour. He had been stringing her along for far too long. How was she supposed to explain her time to her mother, her sisters, her brother, her friends?

Well, an early call at home should let him know how serious she was! When her call finally got through. She raised her finger from the cradle button and dialed again.