But when he got downstairs and opened his pill container, he felt his hands grow clammy. The familiar shiny salmon-pink ovals were there, but the number looked wrong. He counted and found that an extra pill had been added to each of the tiny slots allocated for the rest of the week. Had he done this? He had never seen Ellen pay any attention to this routine, except to ask occasionally if he needed anything at the pharmacy when she was on her way there. Charlie picked out the extra pills, dropped them in the sink, and turned on the garbage disposal. Stop, he told himself. There’s an explanation.
She picked up on the third ring.
“Charlie, sweetheart, hold on a sec. I’m just helping one of the Kellner twins find something.” She kept him waiting for four long minutes.
She had no idea what he was talking about. She never touched his pill container, she assured him. She knew how he liked everything just so. In fact, she said she had been trying lately to be more conscious of how he wanted the house to be run. She knew he found her scatterbrained sometimes — here her voice trembled a bit — but she was really trying.
But there was something off in her voice, Charlie thought; the trembling sounded stagy and he wondered if she had an audience. Hadn’t there been a character in one of her books who played the devoted wife — up until the very moment that she bludgeoned her elderly husband to death with a large French cookbook? One of the kids had mentioned it the last time they gathered for a family brunch. Ellen had made crepes.
He muttered something reassuring to Ellen and hung up. His next call was to the doctor’s office. Dr. Jones was in with a patient, his receptionist said in her chirpy, efficient voice, and transferred his call to a nurse Charlie remembered from his last visit. He had liked her up until the end of the visit when he heard her telling the receptionist what a “sweet old guy” Mr. Porter was.
“You were right to call,” she told him. “It sounds like you felt faint because of the extra dose. So I want you to take it easy for the rest of today. Drink plenty of water, lie down if you need to, and if you have any more symptoms, call us back.
“Chances are this isn’t anything to worry about,” she added. “Lots of people your age make this kind of mistake. But in the future, please be extra careful when you fill up that pill container. Maybe someone at home can help you.”
“I’ll manage fine on my own, thank you,” Charlie told her drily as he hung up.
Charlie sat at the kitchen counter. Could he really have done this? Ellen was the one who was scatterbrained, not him. He was the one in the family who paid attention to details. He felt feverish and cold at the same time. The clammy feeling in his hands grew more intense. It might be a good idea to let someone else know what was happening. That’s what they did in books and movies, wasn’t it? He thought about which one of their friends was the most rational and settled on Annie Johnson. She had known both of them since the early days of their marriage, and never played favorites.
It took just a few minutes to scribble a letter to her, describing briefly what had happened, then added, Annie, You know I’m not the type to imagine things. And there’s probably nothing going on here, but I wanted to tell you. Just in case. Either Ellen has changed in some frightening way or else I am losing my mind. Anyway, if something happens to me, show this note to someone in charge. Whatever you do, don’t show it to Ellen.
On the way to the Johnson house, Charlie stopped for a donut and coffee as a pick-me-up. He was headed back to the car when a young man behind him tapped him on the shoulder.
“I think I’ve seen you around town,” he said. “You’re married to the mystery writer, right? Tell your wife my girlfriend loves her books. She especially likes it when the husbands get it. Guess I need to watch my back, right?”
“They’re just books,” Charlie replied irritably. “I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about.” And he watched the good-humored expression leave the other man’s face.
Back in his car, Charlie headed for the Johnsons’, where he slipped the note through the mail slot. At home he began to feel foolish and wondered if he was sick again. He picked up the paper and stretched out on the couch.
He was still dozing when Annie Johnson came to the door and rang the bell. Getting up suddenly, he felt the black margins coming back around his vision. Shaking it off, he was within three steps of the door when he fell. Outside, Razzie was barking and Annie failed to hear the thud Charlie made when he landed or the cracking sound of his skull against the base of the iron hat rack. She waited a few minutes, but when there was no answer, she headed for the library.
When Ellen let herself in late in the afternoon she felt a weight against the front door as she pushed it open. It wasn’t like Charlie to leave things in the way, but he had been acting odd lately. Nervous and secretive. Just that afternoon, Annie Johnson had stopped by the circulation desk and asked if she could have a word with her. Stepping into the vestibule, Annie had handed Ellen a sealed letter addressed to Annie in Charlie’s handwriting. On the envelope he had scrawled, In case of emergency.
“Charlie must have left this at our house this morning,” Annie told her, pushing the envelope into her hands. “But I felt funny about it and didn’t open it. Martin agreed and told me to throw it away and forget it. Frankly, he’s been wondering if everything was all right with you two. I hope you don’t mind my repeating that. But I worry and I don’t like to interfere with anyone else’s marriage, so...”
Ellen took a couple of deep breaths and thanked Annie. She was right, she told her. Charlie had grown suspicious and sullen, ever since the night of the party. Why, he had called her not more than a few hours ago, insinuating that she had given him the wrong number of blood-pressure pills, she confided to Annie. Even though she never touched his medication. At first she thought it was retirement, that he just had too much time on his hands. She hadn’t wanted to face it, but she would now. She shed a few tears as she told Annie that she realized Charlie needed some help.
Ellen’s shift ended shortly after Annie left. In the car she checked her hair and lipstick in the rearview mirror before turning the key in the ignition. Poor Charlie, she thought. Maybe she should agree to go on vacation with him. It had felt wonderful to be the center of attention after so many years, to ride on the good feeling of her success. But she hadn’t anticipated this resentment and paranoia. It was almost more annoying than the years of fastidiousness, the pained looks and sighs. If he were a character in one of my novels, I suppose I’d have him killed. She quickly suppressed the thought as she turned into the driveway.
By pushing her hip hard against the front door Ellen was able to open it enough to slip in sideways. Charlie’s body was sprawled at an odd angle and there was a pool of blood from his left temple that had seeped into the carpet. Ellen put her hand to her mouth, then set her bag down and looked down into his blue eyes. “Oh dear, Charlie,” she said, shaking her head with regret, “that’s going to leave a stain.”
Stepping neatly around him, she thought that what to do was to be orderly, just the way Charlie liked her to be. There would be phone calls to make, the police, the children, and, of course, Annie Johnson, who would be terribly sympathetic. Later, her publisher should know. She felt stressed thinking about it, though, and dreaded the evening ahead of her. Maybe a quick shower, she thought, just to calm her nerves before she got started. Charlie wasn’t going anywhere.