Free An Air That Kills by Margaret Millar

dryly, “what would it be?”
    â€œI think Ron may be trying to avoid me, for some reason.”
    It was so close to what Turee himself was thinking that he made a little sound of surprise, like a man who’s just had his mind read.
    Cavell said, “Why should your husband be trying to avoid you, Mrs. Galloway?”
    â€œI don’t—know.” She flashed another sharp look at Turee as if she half suspected that he could supply the answer if he chose to.
    Turee thought, she’s too damned bright for her own good. And too honest to hide it. No wonder she and Ron have some bad times.
    â€œYou might,” Esther added, to Cavell, “talk to Harry Bream.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe and my husband are what you might call buddies.” She put a sneer in the word. “If Ron has any secrets, Harry is his most likely confidant.”
    Turee made one more attempt to spare Harry the ordeal. “No more likely than I, surely, Esther?”
    â€œMuch more and you know it.”
    â€œAll right then. I’ll go and wake him up.”

SIX
    Harry was still asleep, lying on his stomach and without a pillow, like a baby; and, as a baby will suck at things for comfort and security, so Harry had seized a corner of the blanket and had it pressed tightly against his mouth.
    The night table beside the bed held an unlabeled bottle of red capsules and a nearly empty water glass.
    â€œHarry? Hey. Harry.”
    He did not respond either to his name or the touch of Turee’s hand on his shoulder. Turee leaned down and with great effort rolled him over on his back. Then he put his hand firmly under Harry’s chin and moved his head from side to side several times until Harry’s eyes opened.
    â€œDon’t do that,” Harry said.
    â€œCome on, wake up.”
    â€œIt’s cold.”
    â€œIt’s warmer downstairs. Get your shoes on. We have a visitor.”
    â€œDon’t care.” He closed his eyes again. “Don’t care a damn.”
    â€œHow many of those red capsules did you take?”
    â€œDon’t remember. Doesn’t matter.”
    â€œIt matters now.” Turee put his hands under Harry’s shoul­ders and forced him to a sitting position. Harry’s head lolled back and forth as if his neck was broken.
    â€œWhy?” Harry said. “Why it matters?”
    â€œThere’s a policeman downstairs, he wants to talk to you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œAbout Ron. They’re still trying to find Ron. Esther reported his absence to the police and then she drove on up here.”
    â€œEsther? Here?” He shook off Turee’s hand and sat up by himself. His tone was more alert and his eyes had begun to focus properly. “Esther shouldn’t have come here.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThe place is a mess.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œWe’ll have to clean it up a bit. Esther hates a mess.”
    Like the other fellows, Harry stood in considerable awe of Esther. It was not that she was unpleasant to them, but she had a subtle way of always being right that reduced them to a state of self-doubt and confusion. She could, without saying a word, walk through a room and indicate, merely by her posture and a faintly lifted eyebrow, that there were cobwebs on the rafters and dust under the rugs. And sure enough, if anyone took the trouble to look, the cobwebs would be there, and so would the dust.
    Harry peered down at his wrist watch. “It’s not even nine o’clock.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œEsther—she must have stayed up all night.”
    â€œPractically.”
    â€œWhy did she decide to come here?”
    â€œTo check up on Ron for herself.”
    â€œShe doesn’t trust us, I guess.”
    â€œNot very much.”
    â€œWhat does she think we’re doing, covering up for him?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œCovering up what, I’d like to know. Does she think we bring women