Wife or Death by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online Page B

“Yes, Ted? What about it?”
    â€œWell, I’ve been checking the society page, and I don’t see it. Isn’t it going to look funny for the Clarion not to print a social item about the wife of its publisher?”
    Denton thought it over. The day before, several people had made perfunctory inquiries about Angel, and he had given them the same story that he had told George Guest. The story would keep spreading, as stories did in Ridgemore, and people might start speculating. The printed word had a magic of its own; people were far readier to believe what they read than what they heard. Publishing the item would probably tend to hold the gossip down.
    Eventually Ridgemore was going to have to know that he and Angel were through. It would be less awkward for him if it were kept from them at least until he knew where Angel was and what her plans were. The hiatus would also accustom them to Angel’s absence, and so cushion the impact of the fact when he was ready to make it known.
    So Denton nodded. “You’re right, Ted. I clean forgot about it. You do the item. Say Mrs. James Denton is visiting her parents in Titusville, Pa.”
    Winchester scribbled a note. “What’s their name?”
    Angel’s professional name had been Angel Varden, which she always gave as her maiden name. The “Varden” was a phony. She was the daughter of an immigrant coal-miner of Polish origin. For some reason she had considered this a mark of shame.
    He got a small measure of satisfaction out of saying to Winchester, “Koblowski, Mr. and Mrs. Stanislaus Koblowski,” and spelling it out like any conscientious editor.
    When Denton got home Tuesday afternoon he found a house that sparkled even to his eye, dulled by long exposure to Angel’s slovenly housekeeping.
    How Bridget White had managed this legerdemain of cleaning and straightening up in a mere two hours defied his sense of the miraculous. She had even changed the beds and stowed the soiled bed linen in the laundry bag. A stickler for detail, Denton thought admiringly, roaming about in wonder. She had not been satisfied merely to empty the wastebaskets, for example; she had burned their contents in the trash burner out back.
    On Wednesday, during the late morning, Corinne Guest stopped by the Clarion office with an item about her Garden Club.
    â€œHow’s Bridget working out?” she asked.
    â€œTerrific,” Denton said enthusiastically. “She must be the Houdini of cleaning women. Be sure to thank Clara for me.”
    â€œI’m so glad. Incidentally, have you heard from Angel?”
    â€œShe almost never writes.” The old trouble, Denton thought; no lie stands on its own feet, it has to be propped up. “The most she’ll do is send a card, ‘Arrived safely,’ and another one toward the end telling me when and how she’s coming home.”
    Corinne laughed. “Sounds like George. Only he sends wires.”
    â€œSpeaking of George, I was just going to lunch. How about if I phone him to meet us and we can make it a threesome?”
    â€œGeorge carried his lunch today, Jim. He can’t leave the store. Emmet’s uncle over in Olean died, and he had to go to the funeral.” Emmet was George’s clerk.
    â€œWell, how about a twosome?”
    â€œIt’s a little early for me. I don’t get up at the ungodly hour you do. But I’ll have a cup of coffee with you.”
    As they waited in the booth at Jordan’s for his sandwich and milk and Corinne’s coffee, Denton looked her over with approval. She was wearing a jewel of a tailored suit and a cocky little hat.
    â€œWhy are you looking at me that way?” Corinne said. “You’ll have me blushing in a minute. Is something wrong?”
    â€œWrong!” Denton said. “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking that you’re the only woman in the place who isn’t wearing a dish towel tied