Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 152, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 926 & 927, November/December 2018

The corpse smelled of cheap liquor. Stuart noticed a pint of bourbon lying next to Twinning, empty but for a swallow. He almost reached for it.

Taking a step back, he thought, “I should just leave here. This has nothing to do with me — there’ll be police and questions. I did offer him the job, after all.”

Looking round the darkened home, Stuart noticed that all the curtains were drawn though it was the middle of the day. He also saw that the living room was missing its television, a dusty rectangle on the wall being all that remained.

When he glanced into the dining room it was empty of furniture, the hardwood floor coated with dust as well. There were no rugs, which accounted for the echoing acoustics he had noticed over the phone, and the air in the house felt thick with clammy moisture, as if the furnace had not run for some time.

Now the unmowed lawn, the unused car, began to make sense — Twinning’s life had been winding down, the homey comforts first, then the necessities, one by one, as he used up his savings.

Stuart recalled now that Twinning had been unemployed for over a year when he had applied to Calypso Technologies, and wondered how Brad’s wife and kids had reacted to the dissolution of their shared lives. He knew how his own would — Rita would have packed up the children and fled to her parents with the first missed mortgage payment.

This made Stuart remember the discarded bicycle in the front yard and Twinning shouting to his wife earlier. He turned his head to look up the staircase. If Twinning’s wife or kids were up there and didn’t yet know, then saw Stuart leaving, it would look strange, he reasoned, even incriminating.

“Hello!” he tried again. “Mrs. Twinning... are you home?” His voice echoed up the stairs and into the darkness of the second-floor landing.

Reaching out, he flicked the wall switch for the stairwell’s light fixture. Nothing happened. Extracting his cell phone from his jacket pocket he activated its flashlight function as he began to make his way up the stairs.

Gaining the landing, he swept the beam from side to side, revealing all the doors lining the hallway to be closed.

“Hello!” he tried again, but not as loud. The powerful shaft of light created deep shadows that appeared to grow or shrink with his nervous movements. Reaching the closest door, he took a breath, then turned the handle. It gave way without resistance and he peeked through, flooding the dim room with light.

It appeared empty but for a single bed made up with a pink cover and dust ruffles. Some posters on the wall featured pouty-looking teenage boys that he recognized as pop stars. Stuart pulled the door closed once more.

Glancing down the stairs, he could see the side of Brad Twinning’s face and his curly mop of hair, his corpse straining against its leash.

Forcing himself on, Stuart tried the next door and found another made bed, this time a teenage boy’s room, if he were any judge, but again no occupant.

Opening the third with more confidence, he discovered this room to contain a king-sized bed. Sweeping the light across its expanse, he saw at once that it was as carefully made as the others, but unlike those it was... occupied.

Beneath the taut covering three distinct figures could be discerned lying side by side, a blackish stain spreading outward from them.

With a cry, Stuart staggered back, turning in the same moment to flee down the hallway. Running headlong down the stairs, he was just able to maintain his footing, even as he tried to avoid the kneeling figure he had to pass. Bumping into it despite himself, he set it swaying side to side at the end of its short tether.

“Goddamnit,” Stuart cried, rushing out the front door and slamming it shut behind him.

Reaching the walkway, he slowed, then stopped, his breath coming in gulps as he gripped his knees and drew in the fresh, clean air. Outside, the world was just as he had left it, greening and silent but for the sound of distant freeway traffic, the street devoid of pedestrians, most of the driveways empty of vehicles. It was the middle of a typical workday — the moms and dads at their offices, the kids at their schools — the Twinnings dead... every one.

Straightening, he realized that he was still clutching his cell phone, the flashlight still on. With shaking fingers he switched it off and stared at its keyboard for several moments.

If I call the police, he thought, I’ll have to answer their questions, very likely be mentioned in the reporting of the incident. This kind of thing would make big news. Everyone would associate Stuart Carlson with murder and suicide.

And what would Sonia think? He could almost see the look on her face when she learned of what had happened — the smug flattening of her lips, the shaking of her head that would say, “I told you to call Twinning weeks ago. Maybe if you had done as you were told this would never have happened. You’re a self-important little prick, Stuart.” That’s what she would be thinking... and that’s what she’d be saying behind his back.