The Houseguest by Thomas Berger

whose eldest son was Bobby’s principal rival on the tennis courts.
    Chuck was heading in a direction that would have taken him out of sight had not Bobby leaned across the counter and shouted through the screened casement.
    â€œI’m in the kitchen!”
    Chuck halted.
    â€œYou got it started?” Bobby asked. “Did it run okay?”
    Chuck nodded.
    â€œWhat the devil was the problem?” asked Bobby.
    â€œFlooded,” Chuck answered laconically. He walked away.
    Lydia lifted her upper lip. “Don’t you think that’s rude?”
    â€œI guess it was dumb of me,” Bobby said. “But if you don’t keep trying to get the motor started, how’s it going to start? Yet if you do, you flood it.”
    â€œI notice he’s keeping the keys,” Lydia pointed out.
    â€œWell, we know where to find them.” Bobby yawned, crucifying his arms. “Anyway, the moment has passed for going to the club. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
    â€œAre there extra sets of car keys?”
    â€œSure,” said Bobby. “On the hook inside the door of the cabinet in the utility room, next to the washer-dryer. Why? Going someplace?”
    Lydia shrugged. “Good to know such things.”
    Bobby grinned lazily. “We don’t get tidal waves here. Sometimes there’s the tail end of a hurricane, but you’re safer inside this house than out where you could get hit by falling trees.”
    â€œYou didn’t happen to check the tailpipe after the car stopped?”
    â€œWhy should I have done that?”
    â€œOh,” said Lydia, “I was just thinking if something, some foreign object, had been stuck in there, the result would have been just about what happened. The engine would stop if the exhaust was blocked.”
    He smiled smugly. “You’re as knowledgeable as Chuck. No, I wouldn’t have thought of that. But Chuck already said it was flooded: that’s something else entirely, though, isn’t it?”
    â€œLooks like you’re headed for a nap,” Lydia observed, changing the subject. “Mind if I join you?”
    â€œNo, but I really am drowsy.”
    â€œYou mean I should keep my hands to myself?”
    He laughed helplessly. It was flattering to him to be always in such demand.

After the belated (and, in truth, rotten) breakfast Doug told Audrey that he must repair to his study forthwith for the purpose of catching up on some work, in the course of which he might well be telephoning business associates in the city.
    â€œThe private line certainly comes in handy,” said his wife. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Otherwise,” she hastily explained, “somebody might tie up one phone with mere chatter.” She rippled the surface of her forehead. “Though, it’s true that I haven’t heard from anybody for ever so long. You’d think nobody had gotten here yet. Since we decided to cancel the party I don’t want to call anyone else first, or they’ll assume I’m calling to invite them, you see, and then I’ll have to explain, and I would have to do that again with every person I called. Better just to stay silent until someone gets in touch with me. I had expected someone would by now. After all, the party was an institution. But then, it’s only been a few days. The inquiries will come next week.”
    â€œI’m sure wrists will be slashed all over the island,” said Doug as he left. When he reached his study he locked the door behind him. It had been unfortunate that Chuck had found such easy access to the place at just the moment Connie phoned. In his years of venery he had never been caught out in such a fashion.
    Connie was a real pain, but never would he have wanted any harm to come to her, or in any event, none for which he had somehow set the stage. He was troubled by what Chuck had said, ridiculous as it was to find sinister implications in the