Until You Are Dead by John Lutz Page A

repaired?"
    The air conditioner unit for the house had stopped work ing in mid-July, and week after week Eldon had debated whether or not they could afford to have it repaired at that time. They had sweltered through many an argument about the air conditioner, and now here it was August.
    "It'll be fixed soon," Eldon told her, thinking that September and cooler weather was right around the corner. "The Jantzens down the street don't even have an air conditioner."
    "The Jantzens are also in Canada," Bernice said, setting his plate of bacon and eggs before him.
    "Maybe my raise will be on my next pay check," Eldon said, nibbling a piece of bacon and ignoring Canada. "I'm bound to get a raise. The company gives everyone a raise after five years."
    Eldon was a representative of Loomis Tranquilizer Company, and he traveled almost continuously, which was fortunate for the preservation of his marriage. He was due to leave that very day on a flight to New York and would be gone six days.
    "I'm getting tired of being cooped up in this steam bath while you're in some air-conditioned hotel room," Bernice said, flouncing across the kitchen and seating herself opposite Eldon. "I'm liable to just draw some money from the savings account and call an air conditioner repairman while you're gone."
    Eldon didn't change expression. He knew she wouldn't dare do that.
    "That money's in the savings account for a particular reason," he said firmly, adding cream to his coffee. "I told you we might get the air conditioner fixed next week."
    "Always next week or next this or next that," Bernice complained, spooning sugar into her black coffee. "The only way I can get anything fixed around this house is save up enough money myself from my household allowance to pay for it."
    "So save enough to buy a new compressor for the air conditioner," Eldon said derisively. He dabbed at his lips with his folded napkin and stood from his unfinished breakfast, irritated and completely without appetite. "I have to go now if I'm going to catch my plane. I'll be at the Langton if you want to call me."
    Bernice stared up at him coldly, with her round blue eyes. "Your reservation says the Reardon Hotel ."
    Eldon's thin lips drew even thinner and a gray vein throbbed near his temple. "You've been in my attaché case, haven't you?"
    "And why not?" Bernice said indignantly. "I am your wife. I needed a pen in a hurry and thought you might have one in there. You did, clipped on that little notebook with all those people's names and addresses in it. Is that Mr. Calder the same man we knew in Buffalo?"
    "No," Eldon said evenly, "he's not."
    Bernice started to say something else, but Eldon turned and walked abruptly from the kitchen. He would file for divorce against Bernice, he told himself for the hundredth time. Then he began to ponder the various consequences, especially the alimony payments he would have to begin making.
    The main trouble with living with Bernice was that Eldon's privacy, one of the things he valued most, had diminished to the point where it was almost nonexistent. Intolerable. He had even thought — very fleetingly of course — of murdering Bernice, arranging a fatal "accident". But for all the methods he considered Eldon lacked the courage even if he could summon up the decisiveness.
    He was in the living room, by the door, with his luggage and his attaché case.
    "I'm going," he said loudly. He thought he should say something.
    "Go," came the voice from the kitchen. "I'll call the Reardon later to make sure you got there."
    Intolerable. Eldon hesitated on the porch, trying to decide if he should slam the door. He concluded that would only give Bernice the satisfaction of knowing she had angered him, and he closed the door softly and turned away to the heat of the rising morning sun.
    Perhaps it was the quest for privacy that caused Eldon to construct the room in the basement. He had an inexact layman's ability at carpentry, but he planned ahead