Women's Wiles by Michele Slung

Author:Michele Slung [Slung, Michele]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mystery Writers of America
Published: 2017-12-15T21:00:00+00:00

No one spoke. The woman in the long black gown sat down to silence, except for the whisper of her husband’s breathing and the steady ticking of the clock hanging over his bed.

The twelve men looked at each other, at Eleanor Abbott, at the old man. They sat without speaking, spellbound, waiting, not quite sure what it was they should be doing, not at all sure there was anything they could do to prevent the murder they had been invited to witness.

They sat until ten minutes had passed, until Eleanor Abbott rose, walked quickly to the table of weapons in the center of the room, and picked up the amber bottle of poison.

Then they moved, and strong hands grabbed her from both sides before she could step away from the table. Branigan pulled the bottle away from her, and he and Coszyck led her back to her chair. She sat willingly, and they went back to their own seats without a word.

What the hell is she up to! Branigan thought. She can’t possibly imagine we’ll let her get near him. What does she think is going on?

At 10:20, she rose again. She was halfway to the table when Branigan and Coscyck stopped her, turned her around, and put her back in her chair.

This time they stayed with her, one on either side.

And still the old man’s breathing and the ticking of the clock were the only sounds in the room. There was a moment when Carpenter put a hand to his mouth and coughed softly: Eleanor Abbott seemed not to notice and Gregory Abbott stared ahead vacantly; most of the rest of them glared at Carpenter, and he turned away, embarrassed.

At 10:30, Huber jumped up and moved impatiently to the old man’s bedside. He went down to his hands and knees and carefully examined the floor beneath the bed and the bed itself. As he straightened up, dusting off the legs of his trousers, Braun and Devereaux looked at each other and got up and joined him. They ranged themselves around the three open sides of the bed, watching Abbott and his wife and the clock uneasily.

At 10:40, Eleanor Abbott suddenly stood, but Branigan and Coszyck clamped firm hands on her shoulders and forced her back into her chair.

Again, not a word was said.

The thin red second hand of the clock swept around and around as the minute hand labored slowly up the numbered face. DiNapoli glanced from the clock to his wrist, then quickly back at the clock. He scowled impatiently and adjusted his watch so the two timepieces were synchronized.

At 10:50, Maunders and Fox stood up together, grim-faced, and stepped to the table of weapons. The old Fox, his arthritic fingers quivering slightly, picked up the revolver. He broke open the cylinder, emptied out the cartridges and pocketed them, snapped the cylinder shut and placed the gun back on the table.

At 10:55, Branigan and Coszyck rested their hands lightly on Mrs. Abbott’s shoulders.

Devereaux, at Abbott’s bedside, pulled a handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped beads of moisture from his forehead.

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