Jub nodded. “She must have done it on Friday, when she was there all day. Then on Saturday, after he stabbed her and looked down and saw the clock, London realized what a terrific break had been handed to him. Standing in the correct position, with six at the base, the clock showed the wrong time — not ten minutes to seven when he stabbed her, but nine o’clock — time enough for London to give himself an alibi!”
Decker, wonderment still on his face, patted the clock and broke into a broad grin. “Until now — but now we’ve got him,” he said, “got him cold!”
Robert Edward Eckels
The Last One To Know
When the husband says, “Tonight I have to go back to the office,” and then it develops that he has to work late “two, maybe three nights a week,” should the wife become suspicious?...
It was a big step for us, after all those years in the house, to move to an apartment, even a three-bedroom condominium only a few blocks inland from the lake. But we had both agreed — or said we did anyway — that it would be foolish to try to keep up that big old place just for the two of us now that the children were out on their own.
So an apartment seemed to be the answer. And actually once we made the move it wasn’t too bad. A lot of the furniture had to go, of course. But the things we really wanted we kept. The third bedroom became Paul’s study and was soon as cluttered with his books and papers as his den had been. And somehow the big walnut hutch with my good china and crystal was fitted into the dining area along with the old table and chairs.
We kept a lot of our old habits, too. Paul set up our portable grill on our little balcony, for example, so during nice weather we could continue our regular weekend cookouts.
I mention that in particular because, God help me, that’s where it all started.
It was an ordinary Saturday in late May. We had company, I remember — the Smallwoods, George and Sheila. I’d never been particularly close to her, but he and Paul had similar jobs in different branches of the same company and office politics dictated that we exchange visits three or four times a year.
Neither of the men had worked that day, of course, and now they were out on the balcony nursing their drinks and getting the cookout fire “ready.” Usually Paul has a great time poking and stirring the charcoal briquets until they’re well burned down and covered uniformly with a fine coat of gray white ash. But this particular evening when I stuck my head out to see when they’d be ready for the food, both of them were ignoring the fire and staring bemusedly at the building opposite.
Curious to see what had caught their attention, I padded quietly up beside Paul and looked, too. And there in the apartment obliquely across from us a girl stood just inside her own balcony doors doing stretching and bending exercises. She was a stunning girl, tall and dark and clad in a black leotard.
“Now I’ve seen everything,” I said. “The two of you ogling like moonstruck teen-agers.”
Paul started and looked embarrassed, but George wasn’t the least bit discomposed.
“We weren’t ogling, Myra,” he said. “We were admiring. And there’s no age limit on that.”
“Lucky for you,” I said, “because at the age you two are that’s about all you can do. Anyway, call me when the fire’s ready. If you can bring yourself to think about mundane things like that.” And, laughing and shaking my head, I went back into the apartment to share the joke with Sheila.
Paul finally got the fire burned down the way he wanted it, cooked the steaks, and the four of us settled down to eat. I forget what we talked about, but it wasn’t anything serious or important. And the Smallwoods made their excuses shortly afterward and left.
“We’ll have to do this sometime again soon,” Paul said after he’d closed the door behind them. “When they can stay longer.”
“We may not have the chance,” I said. “It’s only a matter of time before they break up.”
“What makes you say that? Did Sheila tell you something?”
“No,” I said. “But I saw the way they acted. Very strained and formal. And,” I added significantly, “she got very uptight when I told her about you two ‘admiring’ that girl. If she was as sure of George as I am of you, she’d have found it as funny as I did.”
Paul regarded me quizzically. “You really did think that was funny, didn’t you?” he said. “You know, Myra, I’m not at all sure that’s very flattering.”
Flattering or not, I still thought it was funny two days later and couldn’t resist needling Paul slightly when he came home that evening from work.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” I said. “But I saw that girl you ‘admired’ so much on the phone today. And from the way she kept playing with the cord and smiling a little cat’s smile while she was talking, it had to be a man she was talking to. A special man, too, because afterwards she got out her ironing board and started to iron a party dress.”
Paul paused in the middle of taking off his coat. “What did you do, Myra,” he said, “spend all day spying on her?”
“No,” I said, “of course not. But she practically lives in front of those glass doors and never draws her drapes. And I’m out on our balcony a lot. You know how I am about fresh air. So I couldn’t help but see what she was doing.”
“I see,” Paul said. He finished taking off his coat, hung it up, and went into the living room, loosening his tie.
I followed him. “Anyway,” I said, “seeing her getting ready for her date gave me an idea. I’ve got a special man, too. So I got out my iron and ironed my party dress, figuring we could make a night of it, too.”
Paul hesitated and even before he spoke I knew it hadn’t worked. “Gee, Myra,” he said, “I wish we could. And maybe we can tomorrow. But tonight I have to go back to the office.”
“Go back to the office? In heaven’s name why? You haven’t worked overtime since your last promotion and that was years ago.”
“I know,” Paul said. “But workloads are building up, and the old man thinks the senior staff should set an example by putting in the same hours as the troops. I don’t like the idea, but unfortunately he’s the boss.”
“So you may be working other nights as well,” I said, trying not to sound desolate.
Paul nodded slowly. “Possibly,” he said. “It all depends on what happens tonight.”
On the optimistic assumption we wouldn’t be eating in, I hadn’t laid anything out for dinner. But I threw something together out of a couple of cans plus a frozen entree that didn’t turn out too badly — although from the way Paul gulped his down it might have been ashes.
He left almost as soon as he’d finished eating, giving me a peck on the cheek as he went out the door. “Don’t wait up,” he said. “God knows when I’ll be done.”
“Sure,” I said and closed the door after him. Then I turned back to the empty apartment. God, alone here all day and now all evening, too. It was almost too much to bear. Still, there it was, and I might as well make the best of it.
The first thing I did was turn off the air conditioner and start opening up the apartment. I felt better after I’d done that, less as if I were living in a closed-in shell sealed off from the rest of the world. Fortunately, too, there was a cool breeze coming in from the lake, and I stepped out onto the balcony to savor it.
Without my really willing it, my eyes slid over to the girl’s apartment. She still hadn’t drawn her drapes and I could see her clearly through the balcony doors, perched on the edge of a sofa so she wouldn’t wrinkle her dress, and leafing through a magazine while she waited for her date to call.