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.”