The first prong, leveled at Wilma, stemmed from the fury which filled him at the knowledge that she could make love with him and then go on to commit those disgusting acts with a woman. Somehow that she did this was a reflection on his manhood. It was almost as if she were telling him that even a woman was a more satisfactory lover than he was. For years, Ambler’s wife had been rubbing it into him that he was too fat to be any good in bed. He knew she’d cheated on him. Now that the same thing was happening with Wilma—and with a woman!-—all the rage he’d been afraid to show toward his wife was directed toward the redhead.
On the other hand, he was filled with jealousy of Glory. And this was compounded by the suspicion and hatred toward outsiders which was ingrained in Glenville residents. That a New York girl should steal his mistress was all the excuse Joe Ambler needed to contemplate murder.
He contemplated it now; calmly, coldly. Suppose one of those girls should be found dead on the highway some dark night? Suppose Wilma’s body were found with a couple of .22 slugs in it? Suppose the New York bitch turned up with a noose around her neck, hanging from a tree? Nobody would ever know who did it. It was just exactly what the perverted tramps deserved! Either one of them! Both of them!
Luke Partidge and his wife, Annie May, were arriving at the same conclusion. Luke had been so shocked by what he’d heard from Beau Barker that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from spilling it all out to Annie May as soon as he got home. His wife was aghast and had immediately run to her Bible for comfort. To her simple mind, these girls were possessed of the devil and only death could exorcise the demon-spirits within them.
Luke, as always, was swayed by his wife’s simple piety. She confirmed his own judgment that these girls were downright evil. And in Luke Partridge’s world, where everything was black and white, evil had to be punished by death. His personal animosity toward Wilma for her blackmail of him truly didn’t even enter into it. To him, as to Annie May, both these girls were perverts and both should die for their sin against God.
Like the Partridges, Harvey and Johanna Henshaw were obsessed by what had been revealed. “Musta been goin’ on right under our noses,” Harvey told Johanna.
“It’s a mortal sin,” Johanna observed indignantly. “But that Wilma Malden was never no good. Lord knows we got reason to know that.” Her eyes met Harvey’s and they both looked away guiltily. “An’ that girl from NewYork,” she went on hastily, “well, what can you expect? Them New York folk is alla buncha degenerates anyhow.” It never occurred to either of them to question the morality of their own sex lives.
They were both silent a moment. Then Harvey spoke. “What you think’ll happen to ’em, Johnnie?”
“Way folks is round here, word gets about an’ they’s a good chance they’ll take the law in their own hands.”
“You mean lynch ’em?”
“May be. More likely somebody gonna take care of it quiet-like.”
“Both of ’em?”
“l reckon.”
Harvey shot her a small smile. “That wouldn’t be so bad for us. We ain’t gonna have to worry ’bout Wilma tellin’ on us no more if they shut her up for us.”
“Now ain’t that the truth. sweetie,” Johnanna agreed.” ‘Bout the best thing could happen to us’d be if someone shut Wilma Malden up permanent.”
“Well, maybe we could sorta take a hand ourselves.”
They talked about that possibility far into the night.
Rafe Proctor also lay awake that night. The pain of what Wilma had done to him still lingered on as a throbbing ache which made sleep difficult. More, the humiliation of how she’d destroyed his manhood -- perhaps for good -- had changed into a desire for vengeance which filled his very soul.
He wanted to kill Wilma. He made and discarded one plan after another by which he might murder her. With each one, his mind dwelt on how he would make her suffer before she died. And his mind kept skidding away from these plans to how she’d used him. He saw it all clearly now. Her father had nothing to do with it. Wilma had really been after Glory all along. That’s why she’d used him to break up Glory and that fellow, Don Corrigan. It had been that little blonde bitch from New York that Wilma wanted all along.
Maybe He’d kill Glory, too. Maybe he’d just do that. But first, he’d kill Wilma!
There was no such rage in Angus Morton. His will to murder was made up of the cold logic of necessity. He wasn’t shocked at the lesbian bit. He’d known about it as long as Beau Barker himself had. He only welcomed the revelation because now there would be many people desirous of both girls’ deaths, many people who would look upon such killing as justified. if murder did become necessary then, there would be a moral motive and no shortage of suspects. That could be very helpful.
Angus’s attitude stemmed from the fact that he might be forced into doing the killing. His life was closing in on him and he was being squeezed by Vito D’Angelo as well as Wilma. The signs were that if he hoped to escape his downfall at the hands of one or the other of them, he might have to do their dirty work.
Wilma had paid him a visit that very afternoon, before he’d gone to the Barker home. She’d spoken vaguely about the pressures being brought to bear on her father to sell his farm. And she’d hinted—just barely hinted -- that perhaps the only way to make Dawes let up might be violence. Also, she’d mentioned that if that became necessary, the target for such violence could be easily supplied by her. She left no doubt in Angus’s mind that the target she was speaking of might be Glory.
And then there was D’Angelo. He’d spelled out for Angus how Wilma had applied pressure on the syndicate to halt any action they might take against her father. He told Angus of his own predicament and how it might be necessary to “eliminate” Wilma before she got completely out of hand. Vito implied that he might do the deed himself. But then, he pointed out that as an outsider he might be a natural suspect and therefore might call on Angus to kill Wilma for him. He told Angus he knew he’d be glad to do the syndicate a little favor like that, because if he wasn’t glad, the syndicate just might pull the rug out from under him but good.
On the other hand, D’Angelo had considered, the best thing might be to stay on Wilma’s side. Maybe kill the Dawes girl as a way of stopping her father’s maneuvers against Malden. With a murdered daughter, he wouldn’t be likely to bother much about business.
Thus murder hung over the Morton Motor Lodge. . . .
And murder also crept into the bedroom of Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard Barker. But it crept in by the back door and it hadn’t arrived yet as they lay side by side in bed, talking. The conversation had started when Beau reached for his wife with tentative lust. He hoped maybe tonight. . . .
“Wait,” she said. “First I want to know why you told them all about those two girls tonight.”
“You were eavesdropping!” he accused.
“Oh, Beau. I was not. You just don’t realize how your voice carries. Now tell me what you’re up to.”
“What makes you think I’m up to anything more than what’s on the surface? Those two girls are the worst kind of perverts. We can’t have that kind of thing going on in Glenville,”
“You know very well that you’ve incited those riffraff to take some kind of violent action against those girls. The question is why?”
“They’re filth! And they should be punished! Don’t you agree with that?” Beau asked.
“They deserve anything they get. But I know you well enough to know there’s more to it than that. Now what is it?”