Calamity Town by Ellery Queen Page B

three,’ mused Pat, ‘are addressed to “Miss Rosemary Haight.” She’s Jim’s only sister. We’ve never met her. But it’s queer there’s no street or city address…’
    â€˜Not necessarily,’ said Ellery, his brows together. ‘The queerness lies in the use of the crayon.’
    â€˜Oh, Jim’s always used a thin red crayon instead of a pencil—it’s a habit of his.’
    â€˜Then his sister’s name on these envelopes is in Jim’s handwriting?’
    â€˜Yes. I’d recognize this scrawl of Jim’s anywhere. For pete’s sake, Ellery, what’s in them?’
    Ellery removed the contents of the first envelope, crumpled a bit from Nora’s clutch when she had fainted. The note was in Jim’s handwriting, too, Pat said, and written in the same red crayon:—
    Nov. 28
    D EAR SIS: I know it’s been a long time, but you can imagine I’ve been rushed. Haven’t time to drop you more than a line, because my wife got sick today. Doesn’t seem like much, but I don’t know. If you ask me, the doctor doesn’t know what it is, either. Let’s hope it’s nothing. Of course, I’ll keep you posted. Write me soon.
    Love, J IM
    â€˜I can’t understand it,’ said Pat slowly. ‘Nora’s never felt better. Muth and I were just remarking about it the other day. Ellery—’
    â€˜Has Nora seen Dr Willoughby recently?’
    â€˜No. Unless…But I’m sure she hasn’t.’
    â€˜I see,’ said Ellery in a voice that told nothing.
    â€˜Besides, that date—November twenty-eighth. That’s a month away, Ellery! How could Jim know…?’ Pat stopped. Then she said hoarsely: ‘Open the second one!’
    The second note was shorter than the first, but it was written in the same red crayon in the same scrawl.
    December 25th
    S IS: I don’t want to worry you. But I’ve got to tell you. It’s much worse. My wife is terribly ill. We’re doing everything we can.
    In haste, J IM
    â€˜In haste, Jim,’ repeated Pat. ‘In haste—and dated December twenty-fifth!’ Ellery’s eyes were clouded over now, hiding. ‘But how could Jim know Nora’s illness is worse when Nora isn’t even sick?’ cried Pat. ‘And two months in advance!’
    â€˜I think,’ said Mr Queen, ‘We’d better read the third note.’ And he took the sheet of paper from the last envelope.
    â€˜Ellery, what…?’
    He handed it to her and began to walk up and down Nora’s bedroom, smoking a cigarette with short, nervous puffs.
    Pat read the note wide-eyed. Like the others, it was in Jim’s hand, a red-crayon scrawl. It said:—
    Jan. 1
    D EAREST S IS: She’s dead. She passed away today.
    My wife, gone. As if she’d never been. Her last moments were—I can’t write any more. Come to me if you can.
    J IM
    Ellery said: ‘Not now, honey child,’ and threw his arm about Pat’s waist.
    â€˜What does it mean?’ she sobbed.
    â€˜Stop blubbering.’ Pat turned away, hiding her face.
    Ellery replaced the messages in their envelopes and returned the envelopes to their hiding place exactly as he had found them. He set the hatbox back on the shelf of the closet, closed the vanity drawer in which Pat had been rummaging, straightened Nora’s hand mirror. Another look around, and he led Pat from the room, switching off the ceiling light by the door. ‘Find the door open?’ he asked Pat.
    â€˜Closed,’ she replied in a strangled voice.
    He closed it. ‘Wait. Where’s that fat tan book—the one the envelopes fell out of this evening?’
    â€˜In Jim’s study.’ Pat seemed to have difficulty pronouncing her brother-in-law’s name.
    They found the book on one of the newly installed shelves in the bedroom Nora had converted into a study for her