The Year's Best Mystery & Suspense Stories 1988 by Edward D. Hoch

Author:Edward D. Hoch [Hoch, Edward D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

ERIC M. HEIDEMAN

ROGER, MR. WHILKIE!

We welcome Eric M. Heideman to these pages with his first published story, winner of this year’s Robert L. Fish Awards, given annually by MWA in recognition of the best story by a new writer. We hope we’ll be hearing more from the talented Mr. Heideman.

Mr. Whilkie had just passed his forty-seventh birthday, after twenty-one years of marriage and twenty-four of faithful labor in the Government Printing Office, when he became certain that someone was trying to kill him.

The discovery was gradual in terms of evidences accumulated, but his realization that those evidences led—could only lead—in one direction came quite suddenly, at 4:22 P.M. on a Wednesday in mid-July. Mr. Whilkie drew a red slash mark through the last k in “two pairs shorts—khakki,” then looked up, sniffing rabbit-fashion as he was sometimes wont when trying to recapture a thought.

Something, he could almost sense through his pores, something was out of place on his desk. . .yes, the white-out. He reached into the top left drawer where it had predictably rested since he had been advanced to this desk eight years ago, but there was no white-out to be found.

It had been a quiet, uneventful day, as were nearly all of Mr. Whilkie’s days, from his rising at 6:15 A.M., eating oatmeal and English muffins while reading the Post, and walking out his door at 7:22, through hours of carefully examined words and punctuation, until this moment when everything fell off kilter. Vanishing bottles of white-out were simply not among the factors with which one had to contend in one’s life.

Mrs. Sylverman, waiting patiently, said, “Did you lose something, Mr. Whilkie?”

“I—no. Here it is.” (But in the wrong drawer!) He read her the next sentence. . .

. . .and heard Miss Gurney and Mr. Otani conversing on the other side of the room: “How long do you figure the old bozo will hang on?”

“Oh, he’ll be out after November, for sure.” Their words became inaudible as Mr. Whilkie’s efficient hands were discovering other things out of their proper places: scissors, masking tape, even the roll of Life Savers. Someone else had been in this desk. He continued reading to Mrs. Sylverman, fairly sure that his voice betrayed no further sign that something was wrong.

Mr. Brubbage walked up to his desk. “Hello there, Roger. Keeping up the fort?” Mr. Whilkie attempted to smile politely. “You know, we’d like you to give a testimonial for old Wortlandt two months from now when he retires. Think you can do that?”

It had been many years since it had occurred to Mr. Whilkie that he could say no to a superior. He said yes. “Knew we could count on you.” Brubbage gave his hand three shakes. “You’re a good man, Roger. You can’t find so many first class workers these days, people like Wortlandt and Carcastle.” He nodded significantly. “We’re looking to you to fill their shoes.”

Mr. Whilkie allowed himself a silent sigh. Everything going wrong all at once. Brubbage knew he was no speaker, why pick him to give a testimonial? Something about.

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