Death Before Bedtime by Gore Vidal Read Free Book Online

remedies. “It has been,” she said in a low voice, “a
shattering
experience.”
    Especially for the Senator, I wanted to add but decided not to. Across the table Ellen was deep in conversation with Lieutenant Winters. Walter Langdon, her next fiancé (or so I had thought), seemed forgotten; he was talking to Verbena Pruitt.
    “You must have been very fond of Senator Rhodes,” I said.
    Mrs. Pomeroy nodded. “Oh, there were some
little
frictions between him and my husband … you know how men are, so
touchy
, concerned with trifles … but my own friendship with the Senator was, well, very real … and for many,
many
years.” Something in her voice made me not only believe everything she was saying but, more important, suggesteda sudden, unexpected possibility. I looked at her curiously.
    “How long had you known the Senator?” I asked gently.
    “All my life,” she said. “I was born in Talisman City, you know; Roger of course only moved there from Michigan about fifteen years ago.”
    “And you were married fifteen years ago?”
    She giggled; then she sniffled and sneezed. I looked away until she had pulled herself together. “Not
quite
fifteen years ago,” she said archly.
    “You should do something about that cold.”
    “I’m taking pills … except for occasional political differences our families have been very
very
close all these years.”
    “What were those differences?”
    “Oh, one thing and another.…” She gestured vaguely. “Political. My husband was for Roosevelt … that makes
quite
a difference, you know, out where we come from, that is.
I
was always for Dewey … so distinguished-looking, and so young. I think we need a young President, don’t you?” I said that I hadn’t given the question much thought. I was growing more and more suspicious, however; yet there seemed no way to find out what I wanted to know … unless Ellen knew, which was not likely. If Mrs. Pomeroy had been the Senator’s mistress years ago, the fact would probably not have been well known by the Senator’s family. I would have to find out, though. Mrs. Pomeroy despite her red eyes and silly manner was a very good-looking woman. If a man like Pomeroy should have a jealous nature.… An elaborate plot began to unwind in my head.
    “Did you and Mr. Pomeroy visit here often?” I asked, the roast beef on my plate getting cold as I conducted my investigation.
    She shook her head. “As a matter of fact we usually stay at the Mayflower and the Senator joins us for lunch over there.”
    “This is the first time you’ve stayed here in the house then?”
    She nodded; for a moment her serene features seemed agitated, as though she suspected that I was questioning her for other than polite reasons. Quickly I began to gabble about sure-fire cures for head colds and the crisis passed.
    We were given a little speech over the fingerbowls by Lieutenant Winters. He was as unlike a policeman as any man I’ve ever known and he was obviously delighted with the whole business … no matter what happened he was going to get a good deal of publicity; he was also going to meet a number of very important people who might do him some good one day. The murder of the Senator involved, in a sense, everyone in Washington political life, from the White House down to the most confused officeholder. He addressed us quietly, as though he were a fellow guest, anxious to make a good impression.
    “I may as well admit quite frankly, ladies and gentlemen, that we are baffled. We haven’t the slightest idea who murdered Senator Rhodes.” This unusual admission on the part of someone in authority made a considerable impression. I almost expected a polite round of applause … only the presence of death in the house prevented his audience from showing their pleasure at his originality.
    “We are fairly confident that the murderer or murderers are, if you will pardon me, in the house at this time … but even of that we’re