Wife or Death

by Ellery Queen

  "Ralph, you're soaked," Norm said quickly. "How about coming upstairs? I'll give you a change of clothing."

  Crosby stooped carefully to inspect the sopping legs of his farmer's overalls. "Little water never hurt anybody," he said, and pursed his lips. A trickle ran down his forehead and dangled at the end of his nose. "Gimme a drink."

  Wyatt hesitated, then returned to his post behind the bar, Crosby in his wake. The D.A, stopped abruptly behind Angel Denton; she was still chatting with old Trevor and the cartoonist.

  Crosby said in a very loud voice, "Hey, you. Angel."

  Angel half turned. Gerald Trevor seemed startled and annoyed. Matt Fallon looked disgusted.

  "Hello, Ralph," said Angel pleasantly. "Something on your mind?"

  "Wanna talk to you."

  "Well, I don't want to talk to you," Angel said, still pleasantly. "And not so close, Ralph, please. You're all wet. And you smell. Excuse me?" And she undulated across the room toward Thad and Clara Sommers.

  Crosby glared at Angel's nakedly receding back. Then, muttering belligerently, he lurched toward the bar. Mr. and Mrs. Long stepped aside to make room for him and turned their backs. Trevor, Fallon were scowling at him.

  Norm Wyatt murmured, "Ralph, there's food in the dining room."

  "Hell with it."

  Jim Denton glanced around. Everyone was pretending in a well-bred way that the interchange between the district attorney and Angel Denton had not taken place. But that was for his benefit, Denton was sure; he noticed that people were making a point of not looking at him. He was also sure, from What he had overheard Ellen Wright and Olive Haber whisper, that Angel and Crosby were the subjects of widespread gossip around town.

  Now they had one more incident to gossip about.

  4

  People began drifting to the dining room with empty plates, returning to cluster about the bar. Norm Wyatt grinned and announced, "I resign. Mix your own drinks," and he came from behind the bar with a glass in his hand and went over to join Angel and the Sommerses.

  Denton carried his and Ardis Wyatt's empty plates into the dining room. When he returned, Crosby was standing with Wyatt and the Guests, and Angel had moved again. She was back talking to Matthew Fallon and Gerald Trevor.

  It was past two. No one seemed inclined to leave. From outdoors came the steady torrential roar.

  The party became gay. Angel was the focus of the gaiety. Some childlike quality in her amused people, even women; she was really liked by most females, in spite of her reputation. Denton had long ago concluded that this was because she posed no threat to the married women. To date, so far as he knew, she had been associated in the gossip with unattached males only.

  Two of these men were present, young Long and Ralph Crosby. The district attorney was still legally married, but he had been separated from his wife for years, and she lived in another state.

  Watching Angel skillfully avoid the intoxicated district attorney by snaking from group to group, Denton wondered again who had replaced Crosby in her affections. And once, spotting Matthew Fallon inventorying her charms with considerable concentration, it occurred to Denton that the D.A.'s successor might well be the lanky cartoonist. Angel was not in the habit of taking back discarded lovers, which should eliminate Arnold Long; and, aside from old Gerald Trevor, Matt Fallon was the only other unattached male at the party.

  Of course, Denton conceded, it was possible the new man wasn't even present. Or that Fallon, too, was a veteran of Angel's Brigade; Denton did not flatter himself that he knew the entire roster.

  He had never been able to figure out which man was currently enjoying his wife's body merely by observation of her public behavior. Her technique at the country club was to dance with a series of men. Then she would suddenly vanish by way of the powder room. He assumed, whenever this happened, that the man had already pussyfooted outside and was waiting for her at some prearranged rendezvous. Both would return separately.

  It rather amused him that she resorted to no such tactics at private parties, unless they were big crowded affairs in which she could maneuver—as she thought—undetected. Tonight there was not only the heavy rain, but the party was too small for her absence to go unnoticed. Incredible as it seemed, in view of the town gossip, Angel believed that she was being totally discreet in her adulteries.

  Crosby gave up. He came to rest at the bar, bloodshot eyes taking up the chase that his unreliable legs had had to abandon. He poured himself a shot with shaking hands, slopping more whisky on himself than in the glass.

  Angel, one eye on the district attorney, was now seated beside Ardis Wyatt on the stairway step Denton had vacated. Norm Wyatt and his father-in-law were talking to the two women. Denton strolled toward them.

  "Here's James now," Angel said, giving him a dazzling smile. "Darling, Norman thinks you'd be mad if he offered me a TV role."

  Wyatt said, "Angel, now look—"

  "It's all right, Norm," Denton grinned. "I can take it if you can."

  "But Jim—"

  "Don't pay any attention to my husband, Norman," Angel said with a reproachful glare at Denton. "He always says I left show business to marry him because I can't act. It's his idea of a joke."

  "I'm sure you're loaded with talent, my dear," old Gerald Trevor said gallantly. "How would you like to work for me?"

  "Oh, Mr. Trevor!"

  "Down, daddy," Ardis Wyatt said dryly. "You're not in Hollywood now."

  The old tycoon chuckled, and Norm Wyatt said uncomfortably, "I thought you knew I was making a funny, Angel Why on earth would you want to get back to the rat race?"

  "I see." Angel's lower lip was quivering; there were tears in her eyes. My God, Denton thought, she actually took him seriously. "That was darn mean of you, Norman. You oughtn't to go around kidding people about things like that! Anyway, how do you know I can't act?"

  "Well, of course," Norm Wyatt began.

  There was a great crackling flash, a thunderclap that shook the house. The lights went out.

  They came on again immediately. The two women had jumped up. Ardis was about to say something to her husband when the lights flickered and began to dim.

  "That must have hit a transformer, Gerald," Wyatt exclaimed. He started for the front door, his father-in-law hurrying after him.

  "I hate lightning and thunder," Ardis said. 'Td better rustle up some flashlights and candles ... Damn!"

  The lights died and remained dead. The tar-barrel darkness choked off all noise. Then some woman giggled, and everyone began to chatter and laugh. There were some scuffling sounds, a slap, a guffaw. A man's voice said angrily, "That was my foot you just jabbed with your heel!" and more laughter.

  A bare arm brushed Denton's hand as someone moved past him. Since Ardis Wyatt's Queen Elizabeth costume had long puff sleeves, he knew the arm must have been Angel's. Why didn't she stand sensibly still in the dark? The little woman's up to something, Denton thought, and he began to follow cautiously. He had taken a dozen snuffling little steps in the darkness when he bumped into someone. There was a male grunt.

  Denton said, "Sorry."

  He took a few more careful steps, this time with his hands out before him. His fingers brushed a bare shoulder, and he stopped.

  It was Angel, all right. He heard her throaty undertone, "Still set, darling?"

  A masculine whisper, farther away, nearly inaudible, breathed, "Uh-huh. Just take a suitcase." Denton could not identify it.

  "Same place, same time?" Angel again.

  The man whispered a reply which Denton could not make out. Then someone a few yards away struck a match and Denton caught a flickering glimpse of Angel's bare back directly before him. As Denton raised his sights to focus on the man she had been whispering to, someone cursed and yelped and the match went out.

  Someone else ignited a cigaret lighter just as the lights suddenly surged back on. There was a rousing cheer.

  Denton discovered that he was standing about halfway between the
staircase and the front door. Angel was a foot away. The man was gone.

  "Well, I hope that's over with," Ardis Wyatt's voice said in his ear with relief.

  "I have a hunch it is, Ardis," Denton said absently; he was making a surreptitious survey of the immediate terrain.

  Ralph Crosby was still at the bar. Young Arnold Long was just inside the living room, almost under the arch from the hall, talking to Corinne Guest. Norm Wyatt was coming back from the door, where Gerald Trevor was peering out at the storm through one of the three little panes of glass set in its upper part. Fallon, the cartoonist, was near Trevor, lighting a cigaret. George Guest was in the living room, looking around as if for Corinne.

  For an instant the image remained fixed on Denton's retina, like a film that had stopped; then motion resumed, and everything dissolved in confusion.

  "They must have cut in an emergency circuit," Norm Wyatt was saying. "Hey, Corinne, where you going?"

  Corinne said, "Home, if the rain's let up. Ardis, it's been the nicest party. .."

  The exodus began. Denton located Angel's coat, helped her into it, then remembered his sword. He retrieved it from the corner in which he had set it down and returned to the crowded hall, where everyone was clustered around the Wyatts trying to say goodbye at once.

  Crosby chose that moment to make a last attempt to corner Angel Denton. He hastened across from the bar in a sort of lurching trot. Angel was hemmed in on three sides. Crosby, coming up fast from the fourth side, caught her by the shoulders before she could escape.

  "Why've y'been 'voiding me all night?" he demanded, trying to control his thickened tongue. "Wha'ssa g'dam idea?"

  Angel was pale with indignation. "I don't like drunks, Ralph. Take your hands off me, please."

  The district attorney leered. "M'lady wasn't so g'dam p'tic'Iar—"

  Denton turned him around and gave him a light shove. Crosby reeled back, miraculously keeping his balance. He stood there swaying, glaring from Denton to Angel.

  "Oh, the gallan' cuck .., cuckold."

  "Why don't you go home?" Denton said.

  There was absolute silence in the hall. Then Norm Wyatt pushed forward. "Come on, Ralph—"

  "Get outa my way." Crosby thrust his sweating face to within an inch of Denton's. "Wanna talk to the naked tart this monkey's married to—"

  "I'm afraid I have no choice, Norm," Denton said. He handed his sword to Angel, reached out, grasped the district attorney's chin with his left hand, and slapped the man very hard with his right. Crosby uttered a strangled sound and threw a wild punch. Denton released him and hit him on the jaw.

  Crosby sat down on the floor abruptly. He stared upward with glazing eyes for a moment, then fell back with a thump and lay still.

  Wyatt said in an awkward tone, "I'd better drive him home. Jim, you want to help me get him out to my car?"

  "I'll pass, Norm, if you don't mind," Denton said mildly, "Fm a little tired of our legal eagle. Thanks for the party, and good night.**

  Taking Angel's elbow, he steered her through the Wyatts* guests and out the door.

  5

  George and Corinne Guest had said their farewells and left the house before Denton's clash with Crosby. Denton's car was blocking the driveway and the Guests were in their car, waiting. The rain had settled down to a hard drizzle, and as Denton and Angel hurried through it George Guest wound down his window and grinned at them.

  "Come on, chum, let me out of here," he called cheerfully. "Good do, wasn't it?"

  Denton replied with a noncommittal grunt. It was Angel who shouted, "Wasn't it, though! Night!" as they passed. She got in on the driver's side, hitched herself past the wheel; and Denton got in after her, tossing his sword onto the back seat, and slammed his door and started the engine and released his emergency and backed out of the driveway. On the road George passed them, tapping his horn in a derisive goodbye, but Denton did not return the signal.

  Angel said, "You're certainly in a mood."

  She was an original, all right. One in a million. Or was there any other woman like her? Denton drove, sulking. It's probably having to punch Crosby that made me rude to George, he thought. Poor old George. Have to apologize tomorrow . . .

  In a moment Angel would start speculating aloud about Crosby's conduct, he told himself. From the start she had met his accusations with wide eyes, denying any wrongdoing, very nearly as if it were true. A female Jekyll-Hyde, by God! Denton thought. Or maybe it was all part of an elaborate act; maybe she wasn't as stupidly naive as she seemed. In recent weeks, when he had stopped bothering to query her about her lovers, Angel had taken to volunteering explanations out of a clear sky. Probably she had already dreamed up some fairy-tale explanation for Crosby's night-long attempts to corner her.

  He sat there, driving and waiting for her to mention the district attorney. But they were halfway home before she spoke at all. And then it was to say, quietly, "I didn't think it was going to end this way, James."

  He was startled. He glanced at her once, and looked back at the road. "Neither did I," he said dryly. "But then I didn't know I was going to have to share you with my friends."

  She was full of surprises tonight. She became neither wide-eyed nor tearful. Instead, Angel said reflectively, "And I didn't know you lived in such a two-horse town."

  So at last she had decided to abandon pretense. Denton felt a stir of curiosity. "I didn't make any mystery out of Ridgemore."

  "You didn't tell me the social life here consisted of Saturday nights at a crummy country club. There isn't even a night club in this creeping crossroads. The country life may suit you, James, but I'm a city girl. I'm bored to death."

  "Or do you mean you've run out of unattached men?"

  She did not reply for some time. He glanced at her again; she was sitting with folded hands, staring ahead into the night and the rain. Suddenly she looked at him and said, "I want a divorce."

  "Well, I'll be damned," Denton said, almost with admiration. "You want a divorce?"

  "Yes," she said quickly. "Will you give me one7"

  "Two minds with but a single thought. I sure as hell will, my love. You just barely beat me to the bench."

  He thought he was immune to her surprises, but she actually seemed offended. "You won't have to put up with me much longer. I'm getting out"

  "Out of Ridgemore?"

  "And your life."

  So that's that, Denton thought. He was a little disappointed. "I'm getting out." No drama at all. He supposed he had been rather expecting a fine excitement for the climax.

  "Who's the lucky Lothario?"

  "You always think some man is involved." Angel sounded cross. "You don't understand. I'm simply fed up with this town."

  "And me, my Angel?"

  She said softly, "I think I’ll always sort of love you."

  Amazing gal, Denton grinned to himself. Almost a psychopathic liar. Or, against all reason, she had missed her calling. Maybe the stage had lost a natural-born actress at that.

  Neither said another syllable during the drive.

  The Denton house was a one-story ranch type of three bedrooms, with two baths and an attached garage. Denton drove through his open garage door and cut the engine, automatically glancing at the mileage meter before switching off the lights. It was a new car, and for some time Denton had been keeping a running check on its gas consumption. His mind made a mechanical note that he had put a total of twenty-eight miles on the car since driving out of the garage early in the evening.

  Angel disappeared through the garage door to the kitchen while Denton was hauling down the overhead door. By the time he got inside she was in her bedroom, with the door shut.

  From the beginning of their marriage Angel had insisted on separate bedrooms, not from coquetry but because the arrangement satisfied her groping sense of status.

  For months now, of course, he had not stepped through her doorway.

  Denton hesitated, half-tempted to go in and finish their divorce t
alk.

  But then he shrugged and decided it would keep until morning.

  Switching off the trail of lights she had left, he shut his own bedroom door and prepared for bed.

  It was 3:10 by his wristwatch when he snapped off his bed light.

  The next day being Sunday, Denton slept until noon. He showered and shaved, got into robe and slippers, and went to the kitchen. He noticed as he passed Angel's open doorway that her bed was empty.

  She was not in the kitchen, either. Must be in her bathroom, he decided, and put a pot of coffee on the range, then stepped out onto the front porch for the Sunday paper. There were traces of last night's storm in the street, but it was drying rapidly under a strong sun.

  This time something made him pause before her bedroom door. Something was wrong. Then he knew what it was. There was dead silence from her bathroom. He went into the bedroom and opened the bathroom door and looked in. She was not there.

  That was when he saw the note lying on her pillow.

  She had written it very carefully on a sheet of her best stationery in her best grade-school handwriting:

  Dear James, I am leaving you and Ridgemore for good and please don't try to find me. I will write letting you know where to ship the rest of my things. Angel

  Rather to his surprise, the note made him angry. To sneak off in the middle of the night without even discussing divorce plans! What the devil was she going to do, hang him up? He crushed the note, slammed it into the wastebasket near her vanity and began to check her closet and her dresser drawers.

  Both closet and dresser bulged with clothes.

  At first Denton was puzzled. She could not have taken much with her; certainly most of her dresses and coats and lingerie were still here.

  He poked about at the rear of the closet. She owned a set of matched airline bags he had bought her for their honeymoon. Only one of the pieces was gone, a medium-sized bag.

  And then Denton remembered the unidentifiable male whisper of the night before, during the blackout: "Just take a suitcase." This had all been plotted with her lover, this middle-of-the-night flight. Of course. That would appeal to Angel's sense of romance. One bag ... The sonofabitch must be planning to do a complete reoutfitting job on her, he thought sourly.