Тимоти Уилльямз - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 126, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 769 & 770, September/October 2005

“Pardon me,” a woman’s voice said, “would you be Mr. Ellery Queen, the author?”

“I plead guilty,” he answered with a smile, turning to face a red-haired woman who was probably in her early thirties. “And who might you be?”

“Polly Watkins. I’m the editor of the Wrightsville Record. Chief Newby tipped me off that you were in town.” She had the intelligent, studious look of an editor, with small black-rimmed glasses that went well with her face. He was almost surprised that she wasn’t holding a pad and pencil in her hands.

“The word gets around quickly, doesn’t it? The first time I came here to live, the Record had it all over page one. But what happened to Frank Lloyd?”

She smiled a bit sadly. “Frank passed away a few years back. He was my uncle and he knew I’d studied journalism in college. I even worked here for him one summer.” She took a breath, controlling her emotions. “He left me the paper when he died. I’m the publisher and editor.”

“That was very generous of him. I’m sure you’re doing a good job.”

Her smile widened with a touch of pride. “Well, I’m selling more advertising and trying to appeal to younger readers. Local-color stories are always good, but nothing much happens in Wrightsville. I was on my way over to cover the carnival when Chief Newby told me you were in town.”

“I’m not here in an official capacity,” Ellery assured her. “I just wanted a few days off and thought a drive up here would be relaxing.”

“May I interview you?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he murmured. “I have nothing new to say.”

“Are you working on a book?”

“No.”

Polly Watkins was not about to give up that easily. “Well, if I can’t interview you, at least come over to the carnival with me. I’ll show you around.”

“All right.” She was an attractive young woman and it was a good way to reacquaint himself with the town. They crossed Lower Main Street and walked around the edge of the Square toward Memorial Park, where the Ferris wheel towered over the Town Hall. “I see the post office and the library still look about the same,” he commented as they passed the buildings.

“Oh, some things never change. The library loans videos and DVDs now, of course, in addition to books. That’s probably different from your time.” She interrupted their conversation to answer her cell phone.

“Cell phones are different, too,” he remarked as she finished the call and replaced it in her purse. “Though we see lots of them in New York.”

“You don’t have one?” she asked. “I’d think writers would need them.”

“Not if they want to get any work done.” They walked past the American Legion bandstand into the carnival midway, assaulted by barkers hawking ring-toss games or wanting to guess your weight. Folks were lined up for a ride on the Ferris wheel, while most kids preferred the bumper cars. There was even a small merry-go-round for the more faint-hearted.

“The Legion sponsors it each summer and the folks all like it. I usually interview a few of the kids and take some pictures.” She’d produced a digital camera from her purse and was aiming it at a crowd scene when someone caught her eye. “I can’t believe he’s back in town,” she said, half to herself.

“Someone you know?”

“All too well. This could be trouble.” She headed through the crowd toward a dark-haired man in jeans and a T-shirt, carrying a hammer. A tattooed eagle was visible on his left biceps. Ellery followed behind, though in her sudden anxiety she seemed to have forgotten his presence.

The man must have sensed her approach, because he turned and greeted her. “Hello, honey child. How you been?”

“Sam Nation, what are you doing in Wrightsville?”

“I used to live here, remember? Before your rag of a newspaper drove me outta town. Now I’m a roustabout with the carnival and there’s no law says I can’t travel where I want.”

“Does Janice know you’re here?”

He stood there grinning at her. “Why should she? That’s in the past, just like you.”

She stood her ground, just inches away from his smirk. “You’ve done enough harm here, Sam. If you try to see Janice I’ll plaster your face all over the Record’s front page!”

“Just like last time?” He hefted the hammer in his hand, and there was something about the gesture that prompted Ellery’s defensive reflexes. He squeezed quickly between them.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, offering a handshake. “My name is Queen.”

“Is it now?” Sam Nation asked with another smirk, but he retreated a step and shifted the hammer to his left hand. “You a friend of Polly’s?”

“I am today. She’s interviewing me for a story.”

Nation gave him a wink. “Be careful of her. She likes older men.” Then he walked away without looking back.

“What did all that mean?” Ellery asked her.

“It’s a long boring story. You know, small-town life. You’ve been to Wrightsville enough to know how it is.”

“Even long boring stories can be interesting to an author. Who is this Janice? A friend of yours?”

Polly sucked in her breath before answering. “Yes, and here comes her sister. I hope to God she doesn’t see Nation.”

The woman had already spotted Polly Watkins and headed toward them, accompanied by a slender man wearing a short-sleeved golf shirt. She was older than the editor, perhaps around forty, and gave the impression she could still be a handsome woman if she took the time. “Marge, I—”

“Did you see him, Polly? Sam Nation, standing there as brazen as all get-out!”

“We exchanged a few words,” Polly admitted. “Janice isn’t here, is she?”

“She said something about coming over tonight.” She turned her attention to Ellery. “Who’s this?”

“Ellery Queen, the author. He lived here for a time, years ago. Ellery, this is Marge Henneset and her husband Wayne.”

Wayne greeted him with a vigorous handshake. “Going to be here long, Mr. Queen? We have a nice golf course at the Wrightsville Country Club, out beyond Twin Hill Cemetery.”

“I’m afraid I won’t have time for it this trip.” The women were still discussing the sudden reappearance of Sam Nation in their midst, and Ellery was far more interested in that.

“I could get you in as my guest if you’re interested,”

“Perhaps another time,” he answered with deliberate vagueness. Golf had never been his game.

“I’m going over to see Janice,” Polly told the other woman. “We can’t let her come here and stumble upon him without warning like I did.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Marge Henneset said. “There’s someone else she’s been seeing. I’m sure he’ll keep an eye out for anyone bothering her.”

“I still want to warn her.”

“Polly,” the older woman laid a hand on her wrist. “Stay out of it. Stick to your newspaper.”

They parted and Ellery followed the editor along the midway, wondering if she still remembered his presence. Certainly the encounter with Sam Nation, and then with Marge Henneset and her husband, had unnerved her. As they reached the Legion bandstand again, he caught up with her and asked, “Are you all right?”

“Oh, Mr. Queen! Forgive me. I have to go see this woman.”

“Suppose we sit down on that bench and you tell me all about it.”

She shook her head. “This doesn’t concern you. I’m sorry I acted so unprofessionally.”

He took her arm, guiding her gently to the bench. She didn’t resist, and once they were seated he said again, “Tell me about it.”

She managed a wan smile. “Hey, I’m supposed to be interviewing you.”