An Air That Kills Read Free Page B

distaste. He was the only one of the group who refused to have anything per­sonal to do with either Harry’s diagnoses or Harry’s pills.
    â€œAll right, all right. Galloway’s ulcer started kicking up and he went to the hospital. How does that sound?”
    â€œSplendid,” Harry said, beaming.
    When Hepburn returned, a conference was held and it was decided that Turee, the brainiest, and Harry, the sober­est, should drive back to Wiarton and call Galloway’s house to test the ulcer theory.
    The road wound along the cliffs above the bay and Turee had to concentrate on his driving while Harry, in case the ulcer theory might be incorrect, kept his eye peeled for signs of a Cadillac in distress. They met only two cars, neither one a Cadillac.
    By the time they reached the town of Wiarton, nearly all the lights were out, but they finally located a pay phone in the lobby of a small tourist hotel which was just opening for the season. Since both the men were wearing fishing clothes, the manager of the hotel assumed they were customers and treated them very cordially until he learned they merely wanted to use the telephone. When, in addition to suffering a disappointment, he had to make change for five dollars, he became quite bitter about the whole thing and sat behind the desk glowering as Turee stepped into the phone booth.
    It required ten minutes or more to put the call through to Galloway’s house in Toronto, and then the connection was bad and the conversation was punctuated by what sounded like static.
    â€œEsther?”
    â€œRon?”
    â€œNo, this is not Ron. Is that you, Esther?”
    â€œJust who is this, please?”
    â€œRalph. Ralph Turee. Is that you, Esther?”
    â€œYes,” Esther replied, rather coldly, since she’d been awakened from a sound sleep and even under the best of circumstances didn’t care much for Turee, Turee’s wife, or any of the little Turees. “Isn’t it rather late?”
    â€œI can’t hear you. Would you speak up?”
    â€œI’m practically screaming already.”
    â€œListen, Esther—what in hell is that noise? Operator, operator, do something about that noise—Esther? Are you there? Well, listen a minute. Is Ron all right?”
    â€œOf course he’s all right.”
    â€œNo attack of indigestion or anything?”
    â€œAre you drunk, by any chance?” This was one of Esther’s favorite questions and after long practice she read the line with spirited contempt, rolling the r in drunk and broadening the a in chance.
    â€œI am not drunk,” Turee shouted. “Why should I be?”
    â€œI’m sure you have reasons. Now what’s all this about Ron?”
    â€œWell, it’s like this. Harry’s up here at the lodge with the rest of us.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œRon hasn’t arrived. Harry drove up alone in his own car. He had a business appointment to keep in Mimico and he told Thelma to tell Ron not to wait for him but to come up to the lodge by himself and Harry would get here when he could. Well, Harry got here all right, but Ron hasn’t. The fellows were beginning to get worried so we thought we’d better call you.”
    Esther suffered from a chronic case of jealousy, and the first image that flashed through her mind was not of Gallo­way lying dead somewhere in a car wreck, but of Galloway lying cosily beside Thelma in a bed. She said, “Maybe Ron was delayed.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œIn Weston.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œHow? Ask Harry. He’s married to the woman.”
    â€œNow that,” Turee said irritably, “is the silliest remark in history. What’s got into you, Esther?”
    â€œJust an idea.”
    â€œHonest to God, I gave you credit for better sense. I can’t say more than that right now because I’m shouting as it is and Harry’s not ten feet away. Do you