Characters in The Moving Finger

And what might that motormouth Alicia Fenster say to Vi? He finished, zipped his pants, and walked back to the mouth of the alley. After a prudent look in both directions, he proceeded down to Lah’s and bought a can of Pepsi-Cola from the smiling, olive-skinned Mrs. Lah.

With some sugar on it? “You bet you don’t,” she said grimly. “Arlene Katz was saying just the other day that when men under fifty have heart attacks, they almost never come out of the hospital again. And you’re only forty-one. You have to stand up for yourself, Howard.

Alex Trebek had been replaced by Art Fleming with his slicked-back hair and somehow prissy poor-boy-at-the-party smile. The woman in the middle was still Mildred, and she still had a satellite downlink in her ear, but her hair was teased up into a Jacqueline Kennedy bouffant and her wire-rimmed glasses …

Bill DeHorne had been a CPA in the firm of Dean, Green, and Lathrop for thirty years. He had gotten Howard his initial interview with Mr. Lathrop, had written him a glowing recommendation. . . had, in fact, done everything but give him the job himself.

I’m callin the cops.” Howard barely heard him. Dennis Feeney would have to wait; he had bigger fish to fry. He had ripped the electric hedge-clippers from the box, examined them feverishly, saw the battery compartment, and pried it open. “C-cells,” he muttered, laughing. “Good! That’s good! No problem there!”

He did not want Vi to stay home, however; he wanted her right by Dr. Stone’s side while Dr. Stone filled cavities and did root canals, but it would have been unfeeling not to have said something. She glanced up at him in the mirror.

… When the scratching started, Howard Mitla was sitting alone in the Queens apartment where he lived with his wife. Howard was one of New York’s lesser-known certified public accountants. Violet Mitla, one of New York’s lesser-known dental assistants, had waited until the news was over before going down to the …

Mr. DeHorne was retired now, but he and John Lathrop still saw a lot of each other. If Vi found out her Howie was going to see a shrink (and how could he keep it from her, a thing like that?), she would tell her mother—Vi told her mother everything.

“You currently have seven hundred dollars, Mildred—how much do you wish to wager?” Mildred, who did not have game-show-host projection, muttered something inaudible in response. Howard moved away from the door and back into the living room on legs which felt like pogo-sticks.

“I heard him all the way up on the seventh floor.” “The man’s insane,” Feeney said. “Probably killed his wife.” “No,” said Mrs. Dattlebaum. “I saw her leave this morning, just like always.” “Doesn’t mean she didn’t come back again, does it?” Mr. Feeney asked truculently, and Mrs. Dattlebaum subsided.

Mrs. DeHorne would tell her husband, of course. And Mr. DeHorne— Howard found himself imagining the two men, his father-in-law and his boss, sitting in leather wingback chairs in some mythic club or other, the kind of wingback chairs that were studded with little gold nailheads.

“You better break it down,” Mrs. Javier said. “I heard him all the way up on the seventh floor.” “The man’s insane,” Feeney said. “Probably killed his wife.” “No,” said Mrs. Dattlebaum. “I saw her leave this morning, just like always.” “Doesn’t mean she didn’t come back again, does it?”

After a prudent look in both directions, he proceeded down to Lah’s and bought a can of Pepsi-Cola from the smiling, olive-skinned Mrs. Lah. “You look pale tonight, Mr. Mit-ra,” she said through her constant smile. “Feering all right?” Oh yes, he thought.

• • • The policeman was young and he was Irish—O’Bannion was his name. By the time he finally arrived at the closed door of the Mitla apartment, several tenants were standing behind him in a little knot.

Violet Mitla, one of New York’s lesser-known dental assistants, had waited until the news was over before going down to the store on the corner to get a pint of ice cream. Jeopardy was on after the news, and she didn’t care for that show.