Calamity Town

Thanksgiving: The First Warning

The next morning Mr. Queen was knocking at Nora’s door before eight.

Nora’s eyes were swollen. ”Thanks for¯yesterday. Putting Jim to bed while I was being so silly¯”

“Rubbish,” said Ellery cheerfully. ”There hasn’t been a bride since Eve who didn’t think the world was going under when hubby staggered home under his first load. Where’s the erring husband?”

“Upstairs shaving.” Nora’s hand trembled as she fussed with the gleaming toaster on the breakfast table.

“May I go up? I shouldn’t want to embarrass your sister-in-law by prowling around the bedroom floor at this hour¯”

“Oh, Rosemary doesn’t get up till ten,” said Nora. ”These wonderful November mornings! Please do¯and tell Jim what you think of him!”

Ellery laughed and went upstairs. He knocked on the master-bedroom door, which was half open; and Jim called from the bathroom: “Nora? Gosh, darling, I knew you’d be my sweet baby and forgive¯” His voice blurred when he spied Ellery. Jim’s face was half shaved; the shaved half was pasty and his eyes puffed. ”Morning, Smith. Come in.”

“I just dropped by for a minute to ask you how you were feeling, Jim.” Ellery draped himself against the bathroom jamb.

Jim turned, surprised. ”How did you know?”

“How did / know! Don’t tell me you don’t remember. Why, Pat and I brought you home.”

“Gosh,” groaned Jim. ”I wondered about that. Nora won’t talk to me. Can’t say I blame her. Say, I’m awfully grateful, Smith. Where’d you find me?”

“Carlatti’s place on Route 16. The Hot Spot”

“That dive?” Jim shook his head. ”No wonder Nora’s sore.” He grinned sheepishly. ”Was I sick during the night! Nora fixed me up, but she wouldn’t say a word to me. What a dumb stunt!”

“You did some pretty dumb talking on the ride home, too, Jim.”

“Talking? What did I say?”

“Oh . . . something about ‘getting rid of’ some bastard or other,” said Ellery lightly.

Jim blinked. He turned back to the mirror again. ”Out of my head, I guess. Or else I was thinking of Hitler.”

Ellery nodded, his eyes fixed on the razor. It was shaking.

“I don’t remember a damn thing,” said Jim. ”Not a damn thing.”

“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?”

“Call Doc Willoughby, somebody!”

Ellery and Jim reached the upper floor together, Jim looking around like a wild man. But Ellery was already pounding on the bathroom door.

“Nora!” Jim shouted. ”Open the door! What’s the matter with you?”

Then Pat got there, and the others.

“Dr. Willoughby will be right over,” said Lola. ”Where is she? Get out of here, you men!”

“Has she gone crazy?” gasped Rosemary.

“Break the door down!” commanded Pat. ”Ellery, break it down! Jim¯Pop¯help him!”

“Out of the way, Jim,” said Ellery. ”You’re a bloody nuisance!”

But at the first impact Nora screamed.

“If anyone comes in here, I’ll¯I’ll . . . Don’t come in!”

Hermy was making mewing sounds, like a sick cat, and John F. kept saying: “Now, Hermy. Now, Hermy. Now, Hermy.”

At the third assault the door gave. Ellery catapulted into the bathroom and pounced. Nora was leaning over the basin, trembling, weak, greenish, swallowing huge spoonfuls of milk of magnesia. She turned a queerly triumphant look on him as she slumped, fainting, into his arms.

But later, when she came to in her bed, there was a scene.

“I feel like a¯like an animal in a zoo! Please, Mother¯get everybody out of here!”

They all left except Mrs. Wright and Jim. Ellery heard Nora from the upper-hall landing. Her tone was stridulant; the words piled on one another.

“No, no, no! I won’t have him! I don’t want to see him!”

“But dearest,” wailed Hermy, “Dr. Willoughby¯surely the doctor who brought you into the world¯”

“If that old¯old goat comes near me,” screamed Nora, “I’ll do something desperate! I’ll commit suicide! I’ll jump out the window!”

“Nora,” groaned Jim.

“Get out of here! Mother, you, too!”

Pat and Lola went to the bedroom door and called their mother urgently. ”Mother, she’s hysterical. Let her alone¯she’ll calm down.” Hermy crept out, followed by Jim, who was red about the eyes and seemed bewildered.

They heard Nora gagging inside. And crying.

When Dr. Willoughby arrived, breathless, John F. said it was a mistake and sent him away.

* * *

Ellery softly closed his door. But he knew before he turned on the light that someone was in the room.

He pressed the switch and said: “Pat?”

Pat lay on his bed in a cramped curl. There was a damp spot on the pillow, near her face.

“I’ve been waiting up for you.” Pat blinked in the light. ”What time is it?”

“Past midnight.” Ellery switched the light off and sat down beside her. ”How is Nora?”

“She says she’s fine. I guess she’ll be all right.” Pat was silent for a moment. ”Where did you disappear to?”

“Ed Hotchkiss drove me over to Connhaven.”

“Connhaven! That’s seventy-five miles.” Pat sat up abruptly. ”Ellery, what did you do?”

“I took the contents of Nora’s plate over to a research laboratory. Connhaven has a good one, I discovered. And . . . ” He paused. ”As you say, it’s seventy-five miles¯from Wrightsville.”

“Did you-did they¯?”

“They found nothing.”

“Then maybe¯”

Ellery got off the bed and began to walk up and down in the dark room. ”Maybe anything. The cocktails. The soup. The hors d’oeuvres. It was a long shot; I knew it wouldn’t work out. Wherever she got it, though, it was in her food or drink. Arsenic. All the symptoms. Lucky she remembered to swallow milk of magnesia¯it’s an emergency antidote for arsenic poisoning.”

“And today is . . . Thanksgiving Day,” said Pat stiffly. ”Jim’s letter to Rosemary¯dated November twenty-eighth . . . today. ‘My wife is sick.’ My wife is sick, Ellery!”

“Whoa, Patty. You’ve been doing fine . . . It could be a coincidence.”

“You think so?”

“It may have been a sudden attack of indigestion. Nora’s in a dither. She’s read the letters, she’s seen that passage about arsenic in the toxicology book¯it may all be psychological.”

“Yes . . . ”

“Our imaginations may be running away with us. At any rate, there’s time. If a pattern exists, this is just the beginning.”

“Yes . . . ”

“Pat, I promise you: Nora won’t die.”

“Oh, Ellery.” She came to him in the darkness and buried her face in his coat. ”I’m so glad you’re here . . . ”

“Get out of my bedroom,” said Mr. Queen tenderly, “before your pa comes at me with a shotgun.”