Mini-Mystery: 4. Wheel of Misfortune

On American TV, there is a game show called "Wheel of Fortune", which is a word-guessing game. The player has to move the wheel before calling out a letter in the puzzle. This story, Wheel of Misfortune, however, has nothing to do with the game.  It has a twist at the end of the story.

Wheel of Misfortune

Ernest had planned the crime down to the last detail－including an ironclad alibi. He was leaving absolutely nothing to chance…

“A woman is like a tea bag: you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water.”

Ernest Morgan gazed at his wife without rancor. It was a shame the time had come to bring an end to his satisfying marriage to Beatrice and to her life, but there was no other way to keep the lifestyle. he preferred: mingling with the rich and famous in the glittering atmosphere of the best casinos. The spin of the roulette wheel was beckoning, and he’d be there as soon as he put his plan into action.

It was a plan he had used three times already. He knew when he met Beatrice on a Mediterranean cruise that one day it would come to this.

The coffee still hadn’t finished dripping, and he liked to present everything to Beatrice at one time: eggs scrambled to perfection, warm toast lightly browned and buttered, coffee steaming hot.

Beatrice sat at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and waiting impatiently.

“Have you brought the paper in?” she asked.

“I’ll get it.” He went out the front door to retrieve it. It wasn’t on the porch, of course. He looked around and finally found it behind a bush near the driveway. He shook his head. That kid’s aim was as bad as they come.

“Where was it this time?” she said when he handed it to her. When he told her, she sighed elaborately. “I swear that kid gets worse every day.” “It’s dark when he comes by,” he said. “He probably can’t see where it lands.” “And probably doesn’t care,” Beatrice added.

“Anyhow,” he said with a smile, “you canceled our subscription. Remember?”

She turned to the comics. “Don’t tease, Ernie. I know you called the circulation manager at the newspaper office and told him to keep the paper coming.”

He poured her coffee and put the plate of food in front of her. She was right－as usual. He had called Riley to apologize for her tantrum. Treating Beatrice like a queen was part of his plan. The townspeople believed he considered nothing too good for her. He knew that sometimes they laughed behind his back, for he had overheard crude remarks about how far an old man would go for a younger, richer woman.

He kept his amusement to himself. He wasn’t as old as Beatrice thought. Sixty－four. Nor was she as young as the townspeople figured. She had just turned fifty. They had married each other for the same reason. Money. He had given her the same story that he gave the other two women who once shared his life, letting her think he was in poor health and had some money. While she had let drop that she too had a little something in the bank.

But to Ernest, her little nest egg was a drop in the bucket compared to the payoff on the life insurance policy he had taken out on her.

But he’d been in no hurry. He had to be sure their marriage of two years would never raise questions later on, so they never argued and he always bragged about how happy he was.

She looked up from her plate. “You know this is the weekend I’m visiting Aunt Louise, don’t you?”

“I know,” he answered.

There was no way he would have forgotten that little news item. In fact her visit figured prominently in his plan for her “accident.”

“Are you coming with me?” she asked next.

“Not this time,” he said.

“I’m not feeling well.”

As Beatrice drove away that Friday night he waved a doleful goodbye while quietly humming a cheery little tune.

That night, near mid-night, he climbed into his sports car and headed out. He wanted the neighborhood asleep, the highway wide open. Two details of his plan were important. One, her death must appear accidental, and two, he must not be seen anywhere near her aunt’s house.

At two that morning, dressed in dark clothes and wearing gloves, he climbed the steps leading to Beatrice’s aunt’s front-door. Using a key Beatrice had given him long ago, he opened the door. Silently he climbed the stairs, leading to the room he shared with Beatrice the times he visited here with her.

He opened the door to the room and closed it behind him. Only then did he turn on the lights so as not to startle her when he awakened her.

“Ernie,” she responded at once, and sat up in bed. “What are you doing here?”

He gave a little gasp and held a hand to his chest. “I was lonesome,” he lied, “so I decided to join you, but I got sick on the way here. Come down and call the doctor.

“Aunt Louise has a phone in her room.”

“No. I don’t want to disturb her. Let’s use the phone downstairs?”

She led the way to the stairs. A forceful shove, a quick check to be sure she was dead, and he was gone.

On the drive back he congratulated himself. Now he had only to wait patiently for the pay off. This thrill was like a roulette wheel spinning with the promise of a fortune－if one was lucky.

Dawn was a faint streak when he pulled into his drive. He put on pajamas. Even though he expected to be notified when Beatrice’s aunt discovered her body, he still felt apprehensive when the doorbell rang and he saw two uniformed men.

He made a show of grief when they broke the news.

“Her aunt thinks she tripped on the stairs,” the older officer said.

“Poor Beatrice,” Ernest dabbed at his eyes.

“Where were you last night, Mr. Morgan?” the younger one asked.

“Home,” Ernest said. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“We know you went out.”

“What are you talking about?” Ernest asked.

“Where’s your morning newspaper?”

“There’s something in the paper?” He led the way outside and looked around.

“That boy…” he began.

“It’s not what’s in the paper,” the officer said, “the important thing is where the boy threw it.”

Ernest watched in horror as they pointed out his mistake. In the predawn hours he had parked directly on top of today’s morning paper.

－Grace Gray Sample