Calamity Town

Christmas: The Second Warning

The first snows fell. Breaths steamed in the valleys. Hermy was busy planning her Christmas baskets for the Poor Farm. Up in the hills skis were flashing, and boys watched restlessly for the ponds to freeze.

But Nora . . .

Nora and Jim were enigmas. Nora recovered from her Thanksgiving Day “indisposition,” a little paler, a little thinner, a little more nervous, but self-possessed. But occasionally she seemed frightened, and she would not talk. To anyone.

Her mother tried.

“Nora, what’s wrong? You can tell me¯”

“Nothing. What’s the matter with everybody?”

“But Jim’s drinking, dear. It’s all over town,” groaned Hermy. ”It’s getting to be a¯a national disgrace! And you and Jim are quarreling¯that is a fact . . . ”

Nora set her small mouth. ”Mother, you’ll simply have to let me run my own life.”

“Your father’s worried¯”

“I’m sorry, Mother. It’s my life.”

“Is it Rosemary who’s causing all these arguments? She’s always taking Jim off and whispering to him. How long is she going to stay with you? Nora darling, I’m your mother. You can confide in your mother¯”

But Nora ran away, crying.

Pat was aging visibly.

“Ellery, the three letters . . . they’re still in Nora’s hatbox in her closet. I looked last night. I couldn’t help it.”

“I know,” sighed Ellery.

“You’ve been keeping tabs, too?”

“Yes. Patty, she’s been rereading them. They show signs of being handled¯”

“But why won’t Nor face the truth?” cried Pat. ”She knows that November twenty-eighth marked the first attack¯that first letter told her so! Yet she won’t have the doctor, she won’t take any steps to defend herself, she refuses help . . . 1 can’t understand her!”

“Maybe,” said Ellery carefully, “Nora’s afraid to face the scandal.”

Pat’s eyes opened wide.

“You told me how she retreated from the world when Jim left her on their scheduled wedding day several years ago. There’s a deep streak of small-town pride in your sister Nora, Pat. She can’t abide being talked about. If this ever came out¯”

“That’s it,” said Pat in a wondering voice. ”I was stupid not to have seen it before. She’s ignoring it, like a child. Close your eyes and you won’t see the bogeyman. You’re right, Ellery. It’s the town she’s afraid of?”

* * *

The Monday evening before Christmas, Mr. Queen was sitting on a stump just beyond the edge of the woods, watching 460 Hill Drive. There was no moon; but it was a still night, and sounds carried crisply and far.

Jim and Nora were at it again.

Mr. Queen chafed his cold hands.

It was about money. Nora was shrill. Where was he spending his money? What had happened to her cameo brooch? “Jim, you’ve got to tell me. This can’t go on. It can’t!”

Jim’s voice was a mutter at first, but then it began to rise, like lava. ”Don’t put me through a third degree!”

Mr. Queen listened intently for something new, a clue to conduct. He heard nothing he had not already learned. Two young people screaming at each other on a winter’s night, while he sat like a fool in the cold and eavesdropped.

He rose from the stump and, skirting the fringe of woods, made for the Wright house and warmth. But then he stopped. The front door of Calamity House¯how much apter the phrase seemed these days!¯had slammed.

Ellery sprinted through the snow, keeping in the shadows of the big house.

Jim Haight was plowing down the walk unevenly. He jumped into his car.

Ellery ran to the Wright garage. He had an arrangement with Pat Wright: she always left the keys of her convertible in the ignition lock for his use in an emergency.

Jim’s car sloshed down the Hill at a dangerous pace, and Ellery followed. He did not turn on Pat’s headlights; he could see well enough by the lights of Jim’s car.

Route 16 . . . Vic Carlatti’s . . .

It was almost ten o’clock when Jim staggered out of the Hot Spot and got into his car again. By the weave and lurch of the car Ellery knew Jim was very drunk. Was he going home?

No. The turn-off to town. Going into town!

Where?

Jim skidded to a stop before a poor wooden tenement in the heart of Low Village. He reeled into the dark hallway.

A 25-watt bulb burned drearily in the hall; by its light Ellery saw Jim creep up the stairs, knock at a door with a split, paint-blistered panel.

“Jim!” Lola Wright’s exclamation.

The door closed.

Ellery slipped up the stairs, feeling each step for its creaky spot before putting his full weight on it. At the landing he did not hesitate; he went swiftly to Lola’s door and pressed his ear to the thin panel.

“But you got to,” he heard Jim cry. ”Lola, don’ turn me down. ‘M a desp’r’t man. ‘M desp’r’t . . . ”

“But I’ve told you, Jim, I haven’t any money,” said Lola’s cool voice. ”Here, sit down. You’re filthy drunk.”

“So I’m drunk.” Jim laughed.

“What are you desperate about?” Lola was cooing now. ”There¯isn’t that more comfortable? Come on, Jim, tell little Lola all about it . . . ”

Haight began to weep. His weeping became muffled, and Ellery knew that his face was pressed to Lola’s breast. Lola’s maternal murmur was indistinct.

But then she gasped, as if in pain, and Ellery almost crashed through the door.

“Jim! You pushed me!”

“All ‘a same! Goo-goo. Tell Lola. Oh, yeah? Take your han’s off me! I’m not tellin’ you anything!”

“Jim, you’d better go home now.”

“Gonna gimme dough or you gonna not gimme dough?”

“But Jim, I told you . . . ”

“Nobody’ll gimme dough! Get in trouble, his own wife won’ shell out. Know what I oughta do? Know what? I oughta¯”

“What, Jim?”

“Nothin’. Nothin’ . . . ” His voice trailed. There was a long interval. Apparently Jim had dropped off. Curious, Ellery waited. And then he heard Lola’s faint cry and Jim’s awakening snort.

“I said take your han’s off me!”

“Jim, I wasn’t¯you fell asleep¯”

“You were s-searchin’ me! What you lookin’ for? Huh?”

“Jim. Don’t . . . do that. You’re hurting me.” Lola’s voice was beautifully controlled.

“I’ll hurt you plen’y! I’ll show you¯”

Mr. Queen opened the door.

Lola and Jim were dancing on a worn patch of carpet in the middle of a poor, neat room. His arms were around her, and he was trying drunk-enly to bend her backward. She had the heel of her hand under his chin. His head was far back, his eyes glaring.

“The United States Marines,” sighed Mr. Queen, and he plucked Jim from Lola and sat him down on a sagging sofa. Jim covered his face with his hands. ”Any damage, Lola?”

“No,” panted Lola. ”You are a one! How much did you hear?” She straightened her blouse, fussed with her hair, turned a bit away. She took a bottle of gin from the table and, as if it didn’t matter, put it in a cupboard.

“Just a scuffling,” said Ellery mildly. ”I was coming up to pay you that long-overdue visit. What’s the matter with Jim?”

“Plastered.” Lola gave him her full face now. Composed. ”Poor Nora! I can’t imagine why he came here. Do you suppose the idiot’s fallen in love with me?”

“You ought to be able to answer that yourself,” grinned Ellery. ”Well, Mr. Haight, I think you’d best say nighty-night to your attractive sister-in-law and let your old pal take you home.”

Jim sat there rocking. And then he stopped rocking, and his head flopped. He was asleep doubled up, like a big rag doll with sandy hair.

“Lola,” said Ellery quickly, “what do you know about this business?”

“What business?” Her eyes met his, but they told nothing.

After a moment Ellery smiled. ”No hits, no runs, one error. Someday I’ll fight my way out of this unmerciful fog! Night.”

He slung Jim across his shoulders; Lola held the door open.

“Two cars?”

“His and mine¯or rather Pat’s.”

“I’ll drive Jim’s back in the morning. Just leave it parked outside,” said Lola. ”And Mr. Smith¯”

“Miss Wright?”

“Call again.”

“Perhaps.”

“Only next time”¯Lola smiled¯”knock.”

* * *

With unexpected firmness, John F. took command for the family.

“No fuss, Hermy,” he said, waggling his thin forefinger at her. ”This Christmas somebody else does the work.”

“John Fowler Wright, what on earth¯?”

“We’re all going up to the mountains for Christmas dinner. We’ll spend the night at the Lodge and roast chestnuts around Bill York’s fire, and we’ll have fun.”

“John, that’s a silly idea! Nora took my Thanksgiving away from me; now you want my Christmas. I won’t hear of it.”

But after looking into her husband’s eyes, Hermy decided his command was not a whim, and she stopped arguing.

So Ed Hotchkiss was hired to drive the Christmas gifts up to Bill York’s Lodge on top of Bald Mountain, with a note to Bill from John F. concerning dinner, and lodgings, and “special preparations”¯old John was mighty mysterious about the whole thing, chortling like a boy.

They were to drive up to Bald Mountain in two cars directly after dinner Christmas Eve. Everything was ready¯the snow chains were on the rear tires, old Ludie had already left, released for the holiday, and they were stamping about outside the Wright house waiting for Jim and Nora to join them . . . when the door of Nora’s house opened and out came Rosemary Haight, alone.

“Where are Jim and Nora, for goodness’ sake?” called Hermy. ”We’ll never get to the Lodge!”

Rosemary shrugged. ”Nora’s not going.”

“What!”

“She says she doesn’t feel well.”

They found Nora in bed, still and weak and greenish, and Jim prowling aimlessly about the room.

“Nora baby!” cried Hermy.

“Sick again?” exclaimed John F.

“It’s nothing,” said Nora; but it was an effort for her to talk. ”Just my stomach. You all go on ahead to the Lodge.”

“We’ll do no such thing,” said Pat indignantly. ”Jim, haven’t you called Dr. Willoughby?”

“She won’t let me.” Jim said it in a lifeless voice.

“Won’t let you! What are you¯a man or a worm? What’s she got to say about it? I’m going downstairs this minute¯”

“Pat,” faltered Nora. Pat stopped. ”Don’t.”

“Now Nora¯”

Nora opened her eyes. They burned.

“I won’t have it,” said Nora through her teeth. ”I’m saying this for the last time. I won’t have interference. Do you understand? I’m all right.

I’m-all¯right.” Nora bit her lip, then with an effort continued: “Now please. Go on. If I feel better in the morning, Jim and I will join you at the Lodge¯”

“Nora,” said John F., clearing his throat, “it’s time you and I had an old-fashioned father-and-daughter talk . . . ”

“Let me alone!” Nora screamed.

They did so.

* * *

On Christmas Day, Ellery and Pat drove up to Bald Mountain, retrieved the gifts from Bill York at the Lodge, and drove back to Wrightsville with them. They were distributed in a distinctly unhallowed atmosphere.

Hermy spent the day in her room. Pat fixed a Christmas “dinner” of leftover lamb and a jar of mint jelly, but Hermy would not come down, and John F. swallowed two mouthfuls and dropped his fork, saying he wasn’t hungry. So Pat and Ellery ate alone.

Later, they walked over to see Nora. They found Nora asleep, Jim out, and Rosemary Haight curled up in the living room with a copy of Look and a box of chocolates. She shrugged at Pat’s question about Jim. Had another fight with Nora and ran out. Nora was fine . . . weak, but getting along all right. What does one do for excitement in this one-horse town? Wrightsville! Christmas! And, petulantly, Rosemary went back to her magazine.

Pat ran upstairs to satisfy herself about Nora. When she came back, she winked urgently, and Ellery took her outside again.

“I tried to talk to her¯she wasn’t asleep at all. I . . . almost told her I knew about those letters! Ellery, Nora’s got me frightened. She threw something at me!”

Ellery shook his head.

“She won’t talk. She got hysterical again. And she’s sick as a cat! I tell you,” Pat whispered, “the schedule’s working out. Ellery, she was poisoned again yesterday/”

“You’re getting to be as bad as Nora,” said Ellery. ”Go up and take a nap, Pat. Can’t a woman be sick occasionally?”

“I’m going back to Nora. I’m not going to leave her alone!”

When Pat had run back, Ellery took a long walk down the Hill, feeling unhappy. The day before, while the others had been upstairs with Nora, he had quietly gone to the dining room. The table had not yet been cleared of the dinner dishes. He had sampled the remains of Nora’s corned-beef hash.

It had been a minute sample, but the effects were not long in making themselves known. He felt extreme stomachic pain and nausea. Very quickly, then, he had swallowed some of the contents of a bottle he had taken to carrying about with him¯ferric hydroxid, with magnesia, the official arsenic antidote.

No possible doubt. Someone had mixed an arsenic compound into Nora’s corned-beef hash. And only Nora’s. He had tasted the hash on the other two plates.

The pattern was working out. First Thanksgiving, then Christmas. So death was scheduled for New Year’s Day.

Ellery recalled his promise to Pat: to save her sister’s life.

He plodded through the drifts. His mind was swirly with thoughts that seemed to take recognizable shapes, but did not.