Magician's Wife by James M. Cain

Author:James M. Cain [Cain, James M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-9160-3
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-11-27T21:25:00+00:00

15

MONDAY, WHEN AT LAST it came, was ushered in by a call from Grace. He had called her once or twice, to keep her “posted,” as he said—actually, to keep her from growing suspicious. He had been pleasant enough, saying how busy he’d been, what with Mankato affairs, “and what with Sally’s affairs—I may as well tell the truth and own up I hauled in my horns, letting her handle things her own way, as this death changed the picture, in more ways than one, and I can’t pretend that it didn’t.” She had been understanding enough, seeming to believe all he said, and this morning was full of friendly, vibrant enthusiasm. “I just called to tell you,” she said, “how happy my daughter is making me and how happy you’re making her—it must be you, it couldn’t be anyone else.” She said Sally had asked her to dinner, “tonight, at the house, along with two other women, who live in the same block—it’s a hen party, but what she ought to have! Clay, I’ve tried to impress on her that women, to women, are important—that toadying to Bunny Granlund isn’t nearly enough. Men decide who’s a sexpot—which may or may not be a help. Women decide who’s a lady, and there’s no appeal from their verdict.” Clay said that was funny, he had never quite seen it that way, it was an interesting point—and more things, quite as inane, feeling a queer impulse to string the call out—and string it out still more. At last she hung up, he telling her: “Let’s keep in touch.”

He usually got his own breakfast, but this morning couldn’t quite face the chore and so went out to the drugstore two blocks up Kennedy Drive, the druggist greeting him deferentially and keeping him company while he ate. Walking back, he got out the car and drove to the shop, conferring with Hal Daley and stopping to chat with Miss Helm, who was helping out in Accounting. Then it was time for lunch, and he drove to uptown Portico, where Sally was working that day, for a last-minute confab with her. She seated him, had a girl take his order, then came back and stood facing him, as she had the first day they met—though there was no discussion, this time, about the contours of her stomach. “Well?” he asked in a low voice. “Anything?”

“Yes,” she answered. “About tonight, and my alibi. I’ve asked Mother and two other crows to have dinner with me and—”

“They’re not crows!” he snapped.

“... What?”

“They’re the witnesses on whom your life can depend—so don’t start saying crows or even thinking crows. If you’re giving them dinner, they have to like your dinner and like you. So—”

“Well, thanks for the lesson in manners!”

“They’re not crows! Anything else?”

“Yes—in regard to Alec.”

“O.K. What about him?”

“I told him, since I’d be up, if he’d skip the visit to Buster and get home in some kind of time, we could talk divorce. So he bit—he’s coming straight home as soon as he winds up his show.

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