Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 126, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 769 & 770, September/October 2005

The Wrightsville Carnival by Edward D. Hoch (An Ellery Queen Pastiche)

EQ parodies and pastiches are our theme this month. EQMM reviewer Jon L. Breen summarizes how parodists and pastiche writers have treated EQ in his article on p. 6; and we have new examples of both forms. Mr. Hoch would probably have been Queen’s own choice to continue his work (he was once hired by EQ to write a novel with the Queen byline but not the EQ character). And Jon Breen and Josh Pachter, whose EQ parody appears herein, had parodies published by EQ in EQMM.

It had been many years since Ellery Queen last visited Wrightsville, and his first impression was one of change. He’d come by train the first time, and later had flown up to the tiny Wrightsville Airport north of town. This time he’d driven, because it was a glorious summer’s day and the highways north from New York made it a pleasant journey.

He entered the town from the southeast, driving in on Lincoln Street to the High Village Square. It was really a circle, not a square, with the old Jezreel Monument still standing at its center. Ellery noticed at once that the familiar Bon Ton Department Store was still on the corner, but now occupied the entire block between Lincoln and Washington Streets. He’d booked a room at the Hollis Hotel, overlooking the Square, and ate a late lunch at their Coffee Shoppe just as he had done on the first of his many visits. That was where Police Chief Anselm Newby recognized him.

“It’s Mr. Queen, isn’t it?” Chief Newby asked. He’d been a young, tough, honest cop when he took over after Chief Dakin’s retirement, and had once called Ellery a “New York wiseacre.” He still looked tough and perhaps even more muscular, but now his face was lined and his hair had streaks of gray.

“That’s right, Chief,” Ellery said, rising from his table to shake hands. “It’s been a long time. Good to see you again.”

“You’re not up here on an-other of your crime-solving junkets, are you?”

“No, I just wanted a few days’ rest. Thought I’d see how the town was getting along. Is that a Ferris wheel I see behind the Town Hall?”

The chief nodded. “We have carnival week every August. The kids love it. Keeps me busy, though, looking out for unsavory elements.”

“Any trouble with drugs?”

“No more so than other towns. Nothing bad since that trouble at the Bijou.” [See “The Death of Don Juan,” by Ellery Queen (Argosy 5/62, collected in Queens Full).]

Ellery tried to remember what year that had been. Originally a movie house, the Bijou had been closed for a time when a drive-in theater outside of town took away its business, but it eventually reopened with live theater. “Is it still a playhouse?”

“We have a good season of summer theater there. The drive-in closed when the kids didn’t need it for smooching anymore, but there’s a new multiplex out on Route 16 that just opened last year.”

“Maybe I’ll walk down to the theater later and have a look. Anyone else around from the old days?”

“The ones you knew are mostly dead and gone, Mr. Queen. Got a new lady editor at the Wrightsville Record. She’s pretty good.” He started to move on, then asked, “You staying long?”

“Just a few days to unwind. I’m here at the Hollis if you need me.”

“I don’t expect to,” he said a bit sourly, and was gone.

The Bijou Theater was across the Square and a block east on Lower Main Street. The marquee informed Ellery that it was in the midst of a two-week run of the old Shaw play Major Barbara, to be followed by a production of the musical Gypsy. His gaze drifted across the street and he was startled to see that the old Kut-Rate Drug Company had been replaced by a modern CVS drugstore with a large parking lot. And Al Brown’s Ice Cream Parlor had become a Starbucks coffee shop. Perhaps he’d come too late to recapture the charm of the town he remembered. He walked back along the street, past the newspaper office.

“Pardon me,” a woman’s voice said, “would you be Mr. Ellery Queen, the author?”

“I plead guilty,” he answered with a smile, turning to face a red-haired woman who was probably in her early thirties. “And who might you be?”

“Polly Watkins. I’m the editor of the Wrightsville Record. Chief Newby tipped me off that you were in town.” She had the intelligent, studious look of an editor, with small black-rimmed glasses that went well with her face. He was almost surprised that she wasn’t holding a pad and pencil in her hands.

“The word gets around quickly, doesn’t it? The first time I came here to live, the Record had it all over page one. But what happened to Frank Lloyd?”

She smiled a bit sadly. “Frank passed away a few years back. He was my uncle and he knew I’d studied journalism in college. I even worked here for him one summer.” She took a breath, controlling her emotions. “He left me the paper when he died. I’m the publisher and editor.”

“That was very generous of him. I’m sure you’re doing a good job.”

Her smile widened with a touch of pride. “Well, I’m selling more advertising and trying to appeal to younger readers. Local-color stories are always good, but nothing much happens in Wrightsville. I was on my way over to cover the carnival when Chief Newby told me you were in town.”

“I’m not here in an official capacity,” Ellery assured her. “I just wanted a few days off and thought a drive up here would be relaxing.”

“May I interview you?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he murmured. “I have nothing new to say.”

“Are you working on a book?”

“No.”

Polly Watkins was not about to give up that easily. “Well, if I can’t interview you, at least come over to the carnival with me. I’ll show you around.”

“All right.” She was an attractive young woman and it was a good way to reacquaint himself with the town. They crossed Lower Main Street and walked around the edge of the Square toward Memorial Park, where the Ferris wheel towered over the Town Hall. “I see the post office and the library still look about the same,” he commented as they passed the buildings.

“Oh, some things never change. The library loans videos and DVDs now, of course, in addition to books. That’s probably different from your time.” She interrupted their conversation to answer her cell phone.

“Cell phones are different, too,” he remarked as she finished the call and replaced it in her purse. “Though we see lots of them in New York.”

“You don’t have one?” she asked. “I’d think writers would need them.”

“Not if they want to get any work done.” They walked past the American Legion bandstand into the carnival midway, assaulted by barkers hawking ring-toss games or wanting to guess your weight. Folks were lined up for a ride on the Ferris wheel, while most kids preferred the bumper cars. There was even a small merry-go-round for the more faint-hearted.

“The Legion sponsors it each summer and the folks all like it. I usually interview a few of the kids and take some pictures.” She’d produced a digital camera from her purse and was aiming it at a crowd scene when someone caught her eye. “I can’t believe he’s back in town,” she said, half to herself.

“Someone you know?”

“All too well. This could be trouble.” She headed through the crowd toward a dark-haired man in jeans and a T-shirt, carrying a hammer. A tattooed eagle was visible on his left biceps. Ellery followed behind, though in her sudden anxiety she seemed to have forgotten his presence.

The man must have sensed her approach, because he turned and greeted her. “Hello, honey child. How you been?”

“Sam Nation, what are you doing in Wrightsville?”

“I used to live here, remember? Before your rag of a newspaper drove me outta town. Now I’m a roustabout with the carnival and there’s no law says I can’t travel where I want.”

“Does Janice know you’re here?”

He stood there grinning at her. “Why should she? That’s in the past, just like you.”

She stood her ground, just inches away from his smirk. “You’ve done enough harm here, Sam. If you try to see Janice I’ll plaster your face all over the Record’s front page!”

“Just like last time?” He hefted the hammer in his hand, and there was something about the gesture that prompted Ellery’s defensive reflexes. He squeezed quickly between them.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, offering a handshake. “My name is Queen.”

“Is it now?” Sam Nation asked with another smirk, but he retreated a step and shifted the hammer to his left hand. “You a friend of Polly’s?”

“I am today. She’s interviewing me for a story.”

Nation gave him a wink. “Be careful of her. She likes older men.” Then he walked away without looking back.

“What did all that mean?” Ellery asked her.

“It’s a long boring story. You know, small-town life. You’ve been to Wrightsville enough to know how it is.”

“Even long boring stories can be interesting to an author. Who is this Janice? A friend of yours?”

Polly sucked in her breath before answering. “Yes, and here comes her sister. I hope to God she doesn’t see Nation.”

The woman had already spotted Polly Watkins and headed toward them, accompanied by a slender man wearing a short-sleeved golf shirt. She was older than the editor, perhaps around forty, and gave the impression she could still be a handsome woman if she took the time. “Marge, I—”

“Did you see him, Polly? Sam Nation, standing there as brazen as all get-out!”

“We exchanged a few words,” Polly admitted. “Janice isn’t here, is she?”

“She said something about coming over tonight.” She turned her attention to Ellery. “Who’s this?”

“Ellery Queen, the author. He lived here for a time, years ago. Ellery, this is Marge Henneset and her husband Wayne.”

Wayne greeted him with a vigorous handshake. “Going to be here long, Mr. Queen? We have a nice golf course at the Wrightsville Country Club, out beyond Twin Hill Cemetery.”

“I’m afraid I won’t have time for it this trip.” The women were still discussing the sudden reappearance of Sam Nation in their midst, and Ellery was far more interested in that.

“I could get you in as my guest if you’re interested,”

“Perhaps another time,” he answered with deliberate vagueness. Golf had never been his game.

“I’m going over to see Janice,” Polly told the other woman. “We can’t let her come here and stumble upon him without warning like I did.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Marge Henneset said. “There’s someone else she’s been seeing. I’m sure he’ll keep an eye out for anyone bothering her.”

“I still want to warn her.”

“Polly,” the older woman laid a hand on her wrist. “Stay out of it. Stick to your newspaper.”

They parted and Ellery followed the editor along the midway, wondering if she still remembered his presence. Certainly the encounter with Sam Nation, and then with Marge Henneset and her husband, had unnerved her. As they reached the Legion bandstand again, he caught up with her and asked, “Are you all right?”

“Oh, Mr. Queen! Forgive me. I have to go see this woman.”

“Suppose we sit down on that bench and you tell me all about it.”

She shook her head. “This doesn’t concern you. I’m sorry I acted so unprofessionally.”

He took her arm, guiding her gently to the bench. She didn’t resist, and once they were seated he said again, “Tell me about it.”

She managed a wan smile. “Hey, I’m supposed to be interviewing you.”

“I can guess some of it. You and this Janice were both involved with Sam Nation, weren’t you?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it. He was the town’s bad boy. You could find him most any night at the pool hall on Upper Whistling Avenue. But I was attracted to him and I went out with him a few times. Then Janice Collins took over. I tried to warn her about what he was like — Ieven published the police reports of his arrests on minor charges in my newspaper — but she was getting divorced and looking for a fling.” She sighed. “You don’t want to hear the rest of it. I’ve talked too much already.”

“I’m a writer, Polly,” he reminded her. “Nothing you could say would shock me.”

“Everything’s grist for the mill? I don’t want to turn up in your next book.”

“I assure you that’ll never happen. But I would like to meet this Janice Collins.”

“What for?”

“It may be my imagination working overtime, but when you mentioned Janice to Sam Nation his grip on that hammer tightened, as if he was getting ready to swing it. That’s when I stepped between you two. Would he have any reason to be angry with her?”

“There was a baby,” Polly answered reluctantly. “Sam was gone by then and Janice put it up for adoption. Somehow he found out about it and threatened her over the telephone. But that was more than a year ago. I imagine he’s cooled down by now.”

“What did he want her to do? Raise it without a father?”

“It was a boy, and he demanded to know where his son was. Of course she didn’t know, and that just infuriated him more.”

“I really think I should see her. She could be in danger while the carnival’s in town.”

It was a struggle, but he finally convinced Polly that it would be best if he came with her to warn Janice Collins that she could be in danger. She called Janice on her cell phone and told her they were coming. Back at the newspaper office they took her car and headed out North Hill Drive. It was one of the town’s better areas and Polly explained that her friend had acquired the house as part of the divorce settlement. “Who was she married to?” Ellery asked.

“Wagner Collins, vice-president of the Wrightsville National Bank. You probably never knew him. They were married for six years and gave some memorable parties. Here we are now.” She swung her little red Saturn into the driveway of a modest white colonial, quite proper for a banker’s house in Wrightsville.

“Was she still married when Sam Nation came along?”

“Married but separated. Her pregnancy was the last straw for Wagner. He knew it wasn’t his.”

Janice Collins met them at the door. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Queen. I’ve read all your books.” She was short and dark-haired, with a topknot that added a couple of inches to her height. Her pastel lounging costume was not designed for gardening or housework.

“That’s a lot of reading,” he said with a smile.

She led them into a formal living room where everything was in its place and the mantel clock told the time to the precise second. “Now what’s this about Sam Nation?” she asked her friend.

“We saw him at the carnival in Memorial Park. He’s working there all week as a roustabout.”

Janice Collins snorted. “That’s a good job for him.”

“Has he tried to contact you?” Polly asked.

“Not yet, and I doubt if he will. I have no idea where his son is. But this must be boring for you, Mr. Queen. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you. We can’t stay long. I just wanted to warn you that this fellow Nation looked like a bad customer to me. I’d advise you to call the police if he comes here.”

“We’re not imagining it,” Polly told her. “Your sister saw him, too. He was carrying a hammer and looked as if he’d like to use it.”

“I won’t call the police,” she told them. “I’ll call my ex-husband. He’ll know how to deal with Sam.”

“Do you still see him?” Polly wondered.

“Occasionally. Wagner’s a good man. I just couldn’t live with him any longer.”

Ellery wanted to stress his warning, but he said no more. He barely knew these people and perhaps he was basing too much on the way Sam Nation had gripped his hammer. “Are you still going to the carnival tonight?” Polly asked.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Janice answered.

Polly drove Ellery back to the Square and left him at his hotel. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Wrightsville,” she told him. “And I still want that interview before you leave.”

After dinner at the Hollis Hotel, Ellery strolled around the Square for a bit, knowing he’d end up at the carnival. Beneath the bright lights and a clear evening sky it seemed even more crowded than that afternoon. Family groups with small children mingled with older teenagers on their own. There were girlish screams from the direction of the bumper cars and laughter from the high-school boys. A long line had formed at the Ferris wheel. Ellery took it all in and wondered how this perfect American setting could ever have been the locale for murder.

He was about to head back to the Hollis when he spotted Sam Nation talking to a man he didn’t recognize. They seemed to be arguing, and Ellery strolled closer to hear what was being said. The other man, wearing dark slacks and an open-necked white shirt, was older than Nation and not quite as tall. But he was making his point with a jabbing finger that was almost in Nation’s face. “Just stay away from her, that’s all you have to do!”

Sam Nation was not intimidated. “She had my kid. I just want to know where he is.”

“You don’t deserve to know. And Janice doesn’t know where he is anyway. He’s been adopted by a family who cares about him more than you do.”

“What business is it of yours, Collins?” Nation asked, launching a counterattack. “You’re not married to her anymore.”

“She asked me to speak to you. Just stay away and don’t make trouble for yourself.”

“I’ll bet she’s still a hot little number, isn’t she?”

Collins grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and yanked. Ellery moved to prevent a fight for the second time that day, but suddenly Nation saw and recognized him. “See this guy? He was here with that newspaper gal this afternoon. He’s probably Janice’s latest conquest.”

Wagner Collins turned to stare at Ellery and Nation broke free of his grasp. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Just a visitor, name of Ellery Queen. I happened to be with Polly Watkins this afternoon.”

“Do you know my ex-wife?”

“Polly and I drove out for a brief visit. It’s the first time I met her.”

Sam Nation wanted no more of Janice’s former husband. He backed away from them and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Collins merely shook his head. “Sometimes I think Janice needs a keeper. I did the best I could while we were married, but she had a habit of disappearing after parties. I’d be home cleaning up and she’d walk in at four in the morning.”

“Yet you care enough about her to throw a scare into Nation.”

“That punk! Her men friends have generally been a bit classier than him!”

“If he’s looking for his son, that could make him dangerous.”

“That sort is all talk,” Collins replied and walked away, leaving Ellery standing alone.

He strolled around, keeping an eye out for Sam Nation, but saw no sign of him. He even tried his luck at a couple of the carnival games, and came away with a small stuffed bear as a prize.

Ellery had planned to spend the following morning at the library, looking through the local newspaper file for familiar names. So many of those he remembered were gone, taken by death or the lure of the big city. He looked through a few years of the Wrightsville Record and finally decided to try the newspaper office, where they might maintain a morgue with an index of stories and obits. By that time it was the lunch hour and Polly Watkins had gone off somewhere. He decided to come back later when she was in, and walked around the Square to the carnival once more. Perhaps he was hoping to spot Sam Nation, but there was no sign of the man. He settled instead for a ride on the Ferris wheel, where the line was shorter than the previous night. From the top he could see virtually all of Wrightsville, even out to the old Van Horn estate* on North Hill Drive.

As he was leaving the park at about a quarter to two, a white convertible pulled up to the curb. He recognized Wayne Henneset behind the wheel, with his bag of golf clubs in the backseat. “Ellery, just the man I’m looking for!”

He put up his hand in protest. “No golf for me today.”

“No, no. I’ve already played. I want you to come home with me and talk to Marge. She’s worried about her sister and that carnival fellow.”

“I don’t know that I could help with that.”

“Just talk to her. It’ll set her mind at ease.”

“All right,” he agreed, slipping into the passenger seat next to Henneset. “How’d your game go today?”

“Broke eighty. First time all summer.”

It was only a five-minute ride to the house, out on Washington Street near the station, and they found Marge in the kitchen, frosting a cake. “It’s not for you,” she told her husband. “They’re having an auction of baked goods at the carnival tonight.”

“Guess I’ll have to bid on it,” he told her with a grin.

“It’s a pleasure seeing you again, Ellery,” she said. “What brings you here today?”

“Wayne said you were concerned about your sister. I can tell you her ex-husband was at the carnival last night and told Nation to stay away from her.”

“Really? I’m surprised he—”

“Our cell phone’s vibrating,” Henneset said, reaching into his pocket. He flipped it open, pressed a button, said hello, and listened. “Hold on,” he said into the phone. “It’s your sister,” he told Marge. “She sounds upset.”

He held it close to her ear and Ellery could also hear the woman’s voice on the other end. “What is this? What are you doing with that?” Behind her voice was the sound of her mantel clock striking two. Then she screamed and they heard a thump.

“Janice!” her sister yelled into the phone. “Are you all right?” But the line went dead.

“My God!” Henneset said. “We’ve got to get over there.”

“What we’ve got to do is call Chief Newby,” Ellery decided instantly. “Dial nine-one-one.”

Henneset was fast with the phone, dialing Emergency and giving Janice Collins’s street address. Then they hurried out to his car. Marge sat in front with her husband while Ellery slipped into the backseat with the golf clubs, admiring the spotless irons and the sock-covered woods. Wayne Henneset drove fast, but as they pulled into Janice’s block they saw that the chief’s car was already in the driveway. Anselm Newby was at the door with a deputy, trying to get in.

“No one answers the door,” he told them.

“I’ve got a key,” Marge Henneset said, edging him aside as she fitted it into the lock.

They found her sister’s body on the living room floor, bleeding from a terrible blow to her left temple. There was no doubt that Janice Collins had been murdered.

While Marge sobbed uncontrollably, Wayne Henneset filled in Chief Newby on Sam Nation’s presence at the carnival. Newby nodded and called in the information to his office, telling them to send the coroner and the undertaker. His deputy was already taking photos of the crime scene.

“No weapon,” Newby noted after looking around.

“Nation had a hammer last night at the carnival,” Ellery said.

“We’ll pull him in for questioning. That’s all we can do. Maybe one of the neighbors saw a car or something. And we’ll check for prints, of course.”

Ellery sat with Marge Henneset in the kitchen, trying to comfort her, while her husband badgered the police chief. Two more officers arrived on the scene to help question neighbors, but no one had noticed any visitor at the Collins house. Ellery wandered out the back door of the house, surveying the yard and its access to the next street. He felt sure that was how the killer had entered unseen.

Back inside, Marge recovered enough to tell her husband, “Someone has to call Wagner Collins. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” he said. They were dusting the phone for prints, so he used his cell phone to break the news to the ex-husband. As he hung up, the mantel clock was chiming and Ellery was surprised to glance at his watch and see that it was almost three already.

“You’d better get down to the carnival,” Henneset advised the chief. “Wagner Collins is convinced Nation killed her and he sounds like he’s out for blood.”

“I’ll ride along with you,” Ellery decided.

“I believe my officers can handle the situation, Mr. Queen,” the chief responded. His opinion of Ellery hadn’t improved with the passing years.

“I’ll drive you,” Henneset said. “Come on, Marge. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

“She was my sister, Wayne! I want to—”

“It’s in the hands of the police now. They’ll find whoever did it.”

“Do you think it was Sam Nation?”

“We’ll see what he has to say. Come on, Ellery. Climb in back.”

Once more there’d been a murder in Wrightsville. It had happened before when he came to this town, a gentle place that seemed so far removed from violence. He remembered the first time, the death of Rosemary Haight, and Nora Wright’s funeral at the Twin Hill cemetery. [See Calamity Town by Ellery Queen (1942).] He wondered if he’d be there again for the funeral of Janice Collins.

It was only a few minutes’ drive to the center of town, and Ellery spotted Polly Watkins hurrying from the Record office to head across the Square to the carnival. “Let me off here!” he told Henneset. “Polly looks as if she’s after a story.”

He left the car and caught up with her in front of the post office. She was startled by his sudden appearance. “Ellery! Where’d you come from?”

“I was with the Hennesets. Where are you headed?”

“I heard a police call about a killing at the Collins address. Then I saw the chief’s car just arrive at the carnival. What happened?”

“Someone killed Janice Collins. Her ex-husband thinks it was Sam Nation. Apparently he’s not content to leave it in Chief Newby’s hands.”

They hurried along the carnival midway, searching for Nation or

Collins or Chief Newby, but seeing none of them at first. A few children ran past, holding cotton candy and heading for the rides. “There!” Polly said, pointing suddenly. They had a glimpse of Wagner Collins, disappearing around the back of the merry-go-round, heading for the area where the carnival crew’s trailers were parked.

Ellery couldn’t run as fast as in his younger days, but he still covered the ground quickly, keeping up with Polly Watkins. They were in time to see Collins, holding something in his hand, yank open the door of one trailer. “He’s got a gun!” Polly told him. He couldn’t be sure, but he feared she was right.

“Wagner!” he shouted. “Stop!”

The man ignored him, leaving the first trailer and moving on to the second one. Ellery could see the gun clearly now. As they ran toward him, Wagner Collins turned and warned them back. “Stay away! I’ll handle this!”

Then they saw Sam Nation. He had emerged shirtless from one of the other trailers, perhaps attracted by the voices. Collins turned toward him and raised the pistol. Ellery threw himself forward, colliding with the banker just as the gun went off. They both toppled to the ground. The gunshot had brought people running from all directions. A bit dazed by his fall, Ellery looked up to see Chief Newby, with Marge and Wayne Henneset close behind him. The gun had come free from Wagner Collins’s hand, and Newby kicked it out of reach before the banker could retrieve it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the chief asked Collins. “This is a police matter, not something for private justice.”

“She was my wife,” he said, getting up slowly from the ground.

“I didn’t do it!” Nation insisted, speaking for the first time. “I didn’t even know she was dead until I just heard it on the radio.”

Chief Newby took out a pair of handcuffs. “I think I’d better take you in for questioning. It’ll be safer for all concerned.”

“You don’t need those. I’ll come with you.”

“Perhaps we should all come with you,” Ellery suggested. “It might help straighten things out.”

Back at the new police station across from the county courthouse, they crowded into Chief Newby’s office. Sam Nation had gotten a shirt from somewhere to cover his bare chest. He was seated next to Newby, and the others were careful to avoid being too close to him. Ellery sat next to Wagner Collins on a wooden bench. The banker’s weapon, shy of its bullets, now rested on the chief’s desk. Marge and Wayne were together on a second bench, and Polly Watkins had wheeled a stenographer’s chair in from the outer office.

“Mr. Queen believes he has some information on this case,” Chief Newby began. “He’s quite the New York detective, as you know.”

Ellery cleared his throat. “Before I begin, I’d like to make one telephone call. May I use the phone in the outer office?”

“Go ahead,” Newby told him.

Ellery returned after a few moments and resumed his seat. “I just had to confirm one detail,” he told them. “Now I’m ready to tell you who killed Janice Collins.”

“We know who killed her,” Wagner growled, ready to spring across the chief’s desk at Sam Nation’s throat.

“Don’t be too sure. Remember there were three of us here who actually heard the killing take place over the telephone — her sister Marge, Marge’s husband Wayne, and myself.”

“I’ll never forget hearing it,” Marge said softly.

“Neither will I,” Ellery agreed, “speaking to her killer as he swung the weapon at her head, while her mantel clock chimed twice in the background. I’d noticed yesterday that the chime came exactly on the hour.”

“Get to the point if you have one,” Chief Newby urged.

“Well, my point is that when we were out there this afternoon, after the killing, the clock chimed a couple of minutes before the hour. It couldn’t have gained that much time overnight. Mantel clocks are usually battery-operated or wind-up to avoid the necessity for a cord. Even if there was a cord and a brief power failure, or a low battery, the clock might have been two minutes slow, but it couldn’t be fast unless someone had changed the hands. I asked myself why someone would do that, and I could think of only one possible explanation — so the clock would chime twice while Janice was on the phone to her sister.

“But at first that made no sense at all. It chimed twice because it was exactly two o’clock when she called the cell phone in Wayne’s pocket. Why would the clock need to be changed when that was the correct time? But what if, I asked myself, it wasn’t the correct time? What if the killer changed the time so it would seem to be two o’clock when Janice was killed?”

Chief Newby threw up his hands in exasperation. “What are you trying to say, Queen? All three of you heard the clock chime two during that phone call, and you said the time was in fact two o’clock.”

“Then what possible advantage could that be to the killer? I can think of only one — to establish an alibi for the exact moment of the killing. What we heard on that cell phone wasn’t a phone call at all; it was a recording. Of the three of us who heard it, I could eliminate myself. That left only two — Marge and Wayne Henneset here — who could be trying to establish an alibi.”

Wayne was on his feet. “What are you trying to say, that my wife would kill her own sister?”

“No,” Ellery replied, “because if the phone call was really a recording, the killer had to be in a position to answer it at exactly the right time — a few seconds before the clock chimed the hour. The phone was in your pocket, Henneset, and we didn’t hear it ring. You said it vibrated, removed it from your pocket, and pressed a button, not to answer it but to play a recording, holding it so we’d both hear it.”

“That’s insane! What possible motive would I have for killing Janice?”

“When I was sitting in the backseat with your golf clubs, I noticed how clean the irons were, with none of the dirt or grass stains one usually sees. Most golfers clean their clubs at home, if they clean them at all. I wondered where you might have been if you weren’t playing golf. At Janice’s house? Perhaps you’d been there more than once when Marge thought you were on the golf course.”

The color had drained from Marge Henneset’s face. “Wayne,” she whispered. “You and Janice—?”

“You had just come from killing her when you saw me on the street and picked me up. It was a lucky break for you because I would be present to strengthen your alibi. Perhaps you wanted to break off the affair and Janice was threatening to confess everything to her sister. The arrival of her former lover with the carnival provided you with a perfect suspect. You might even have checked his movements and learned he was alone in his trailer at that time, without an alibi. You killed Janice shortly before two o’clock, close enough so the coroner wouldn’t notice any discrepancy in the time of death. You’d previously advanced her mantel clock to a minute before two and used the recorder built into your cell phone — the ‘voice memo’ feature most cell phones have these days — to capture her dying words as the clock chimed. That’s when she asked what you were doing and you delivered the fatal blow to her head. If she’d spoken your name, the plan wouldn’t have worked, but she didn’t. You turned her clock back to the proper time. Only in your haste you made it a few minutes fast. Just before two o’clock you told us your phone was vibrating, removed it from your pocket, and punched the last of the menu options needed to get the ‘voice memo’ to play back. That’s how we heard Janice’s dying words.”

“How do you intend to prove any of this?” Henneset challenged, ignoring his ashen-faced wife.

“You needed a weapon to kill her and I doubt if you entered her house with a hammer in your hand. It would have been something that looked more natural under the circumstances. Something like one of those golf drivers that could be returned to your bag and covered with a sock.”

That was when Wayne Henneset lost control and leaped for Ellery’s throat.

Polly Watkins got her story and Ellery suffered only minor bruising before Chief Newby had the handcuffs on Henneset. It was only later that she remembered to ask him, “Who was it you had to call before you solved it for us?”

Ellery merely smiled. “Even the best deductions need to be confirmed sometimes. I phoned the country club and asked if Wayne had played golf there today. He hadn’t.”

Copyright (c); 2005 by Edward D. Hoch.