Calamity Town Read Free Page B

Hotel…and leaving Ellery in the Wright driveway feeling irritated.
    When Ellery returned to his new residence, there was a tingle in his spine. There was something about the house, now that he was out of Mrs Wright’s clutches, something—well, blank , unfinished, like Outer Space. Ellery almost said to himself the word ‘inhuman,’ but when he got to that point he took himself in hand, sternly. Calamity House! As sensible as calling Wrightsville Calamity Town! He removed his coat, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and sailed into things.
    â€˜Mr Smith,’ cried a horrified voice, ‘what are you doing? ’ Ellery guiltily dropped a dust cover as Hermione Wright rushed in, her cheeks flushed and her gray hair no longer sleek. ‘Don’t you dare touch a thing! Alberta, come in. Mr Smith won’t bite you.’ A bashful Amazon shuffled in. ‘Mr Smith, this is Alberta Manaskas. I’m sure you’ll find her most satisfactory. Alberta, don’t stand there. Start the upstairs!’ Alberta fled. Ellery murmured his gratitude and sank into a chintz-cloaked chair as Mrs Wright attacked the room about him with terrifying energy.
    â€˜We’ll have this in apple-pie order in a jiffy! By the way, I trust you don’t mind. On my trip into town to fetch Alberta, I happened to drop into the Record office—whoo! this dust!—and had a confidential chat with Frank Lloyd. The editor and publisher, you know.’ Ellery’s heart scuttled itself.
    â€˜By the way, I also took the liberty of giving Logan’s a grocery and meat order for you. Although of course you’ll dine with us tonight. Oh, dear, did I forget…? Electricity…gas…water…no, I attended to everything. Oh, the telephone! I’ll do that first thing tomorrow. Well, as I was saying, I knew that no matter how hard we tried, sooner or later everyone would know you’re in Wrightsville, Mr Smith, and of course as a newspaper man Frank would have to do a story on you, so I thought I’d better ask Frank as a personal favour not to mention in his write-up that you’re the famous author—Patty baby! Carter! Oh, my darlings, I have such a surprise for you!’ Mr Queen rose, fumbling for his jacket. His only coherent thought was that she had eyes the colour of brook water bubbling in the sun.
    â€˜So you’re the famous author,’ said Patricia Wright, looking at him with her head cocked. ‘When Pop told Carter and me just now what Mother had snagged, I thought I’d meet a baggypantsed poet with a hangdog look, melancholy eyes, and a pot. I’m pleased .’ Mr Queen tried to look suave, and mumbled something.
    â€˜Isn’t it wonderful, dearest?’ cried Hermy. ‘You must forgive me, Mr Smith. I know you think I’m terribly provincial. But I really am overwhelmed. Pat dear—introduce Carter.’
    â€˜Carter! Darling, I’m so sorry. Mr Smith, Mr Bradford.’ Shaking hands with a tall young man, intelligent-looking but worried, Ellery wondered if he were worried about how to hold on to Miss Patricia Wright. He felt an instant sympathy.
    â€˜I suppose,’ said Carter Bradford politely, ‘We must all seem provincial to you, Mr Smith. Fiction or nonfiction?’
    â€˜Fiction,’ said Ellery. So it was war.
    â€˜I’m pleased ,’ said Pat again, looking Ellery over. Carter frowned; Mr Queen beamed. ‘I’ll do this room, Muth…You won’t be hurting my feelings, Mr Smith, if after we’ve stopped interfering in your life you change things around again. But for now—’
    As he watched Pat Wright setting his house in order under Carter Bradford’s suspicious eye, Ellery thought: ‘May the saints grant me calamities like this each blessed day. Carter my boy, I’m sorry, but I’m cultivating your Patty!’
    His good humor was not dispelled even when J.C. Pettigrew