An Air That Kills by Margaret Millar Page A

laid her gloves on the mantel between two empty glasses left over from the night before. Then she picked up one of the glasses and sniffed with distaste. “Gin. When will Billy Winslow ever learn?”
    â€œThat’s a difficult question.”
    â€œDid you have a nice party?”
    â€œNot very.”
    â€œRon—he’s not here, of course?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNo word at all?”
    â€œNone.”
    â€œDamn his eyes.”
    Some time during the early morning the fire had gone out, and the room was so cold that Esther’s breath came out in little clouds of mist like smoke from a dragon’s mouth.
    Turee thought it suited her mood admirably.
    â€œDamn his beady little eyes,” she said. “All right, start making excuses for him, as usual, why don’t you?”
    Turee didn’t answer because he was afraid of saying the wrong thing and there seemed no possible right thing.
    â€œThe way you fellows stick together, it’s a scream really.”
    â€œSit down, Esther, and I’ll go and put on some coffee.”
    â€œDon’t bother.”
    â€œIt’s no bo—”
    â€œMacGregor’s coming over in a minute to set the fires and make some breakfast.” She turned and looked carefully around the room, one nostril curled very slightly. “The place needs an airing. It smells.”
    â€œI hadn’t noticed.” He had, though.
    â€œI didn’t expect him to be here, of course. I don’t even know why I came except that I couldn’t go back to sleep after you called last night, and I hate waiting, waiting and doing nothing. So I drove up here. I don’t know why,” she repeated. “It just seemed a good idea at the time. Now that I’m here I realize there’s nothing I can do, is there? Except possibly help nurse a few hangovers. How’s yours?”
    â€œI don’t have one,” he said coldly.
    â€œIt couldn’t have been a very good party, then.”
    â€œI said it wasn’t.”
    â€œYou could have another one today. Perhaps I’ll even be invited to join in for once?”
    â€œIt’s your house.”
    â€œAll right, I’ll invite myself. We’ll all sit around and be jolly until His Nibs decides to reappear.”
    â€œYou think it’s that simple?”
    She turned and addressed him very slowly and distinctly, as if she were talking to someone quite deaf or stupid. “Ron has complete identification papers in his wallet and his car registration fastened to the steering wheel. If there had been any accident I would have been notified. Isn’t that correct?”
    â€œI suppose it is.”
    â€œThere’s no supposing about it, surely. When an accident happens, it’s reported immediately. That’s the law.”
    It hadn’t seemed to occur to her, and Turee didn’t men­tion it, that laws could be broken.
    Sounds of rattling and crashing from the kitchen indicated that MacGregor was at work making breakfast. This was not part of his regular duties, and Turee knew from past experience that MacGregor would make himself as objection­able as possible; the coffee would be like bitter mud, the bacon burned and the eggs unrecognizable except for bits of broken eggshell that would crunch between the teeth like ground glass.
    â€œMacGregor’s in a sour mood,” Turee said lightly. “We’ll probably all be poisoned.”
    â€œAt this particular moment I wouldn’t care.”
    â€œEsther, for Pete’s sake. . .”
    â€œOh, I know—you think I’m a drag and a droop. You think I always go around with a long face, spoiling for a fight.”
    â€œI don’t . . .”
    â€œYou’re Ron’s friend, naturally you’re on his side. I have to admit, I guess, that Ron makes a pretty good friend. But he’s a lousy husband.”
    â€œSpare me the details.”
    â€œI wasn’t going