The man in front smiled serenely. When his right hand appeared to pull open the screen door, Mrs. Angus noticed his fingernail.
It was at least three inches long, slightly curved, shiny, and cut at the end on a diagonal, like the blade of a guillotine. Mrs. Angus found it unnerving.
The six Orientals came in, crowding the foyer, each smiling appreciatively as they passed. The leader of the group, holding the door, entered last. He said, "How nice of you to let us in. We could not have entered otherwise."
Mrs. Angus heard one of the Orientals laugh. She thought it a strange way to say hello, but ignored the awkwardness of the situation. The valium and four glasses of uncut punch helped. "Won't you come downstairs?" she politely inquired, unable to spot any space between the six huddled bodies.
The men smiled even more broadly and began to move down into the playroom. Somehow, their moving made Mrs. Angus feel more comfortable.
She followed them into the playroom turned wake-room. The group had gathered in a tight pack in the center of the tile floor. Their long red robes and dark yellow faces made her think of a bunch of life-sized lollipops. Mrs. Angus moved to the punch bowl to pour herself another drink.
"Help yourselves," she said, waving her arm to take in the rolled up salami and olives, the tiny tuna fish on white quarters, the bacon rolled around liver, the plates of ham and cheese, and the jello molds.
She could have sworn that the head man was scowling before she said, "It was a terrible thing. What happened to my husband, I mean. Over and over, I ask myself, why him? Why him?"
The head man caught her eyes with his own dark brown ones and said, unmoving, "At least he is free."
"Maybe," said Euth Angus, gulping some punch before coming around the table, half-full cup in her hand. The punch definitely needed more vodka in it, she decided. She would spike it as soon as she had a chance. "Maybe. He doesn't have to worry about the mortgage and the taxes and all that stuff anymore. But what about me?"
She stood in front of the head man, swaying ever so slightly, and hid a slight burp behind her raised punch glass.
"What about me?" she repeated, her voice cracking this time. "What about the restaurants? The girls?"
Mrs. Angus considered the tile floor for a moment. There was no answer.
"Well, at least there's the insurance. There's that." Her fuzzy eyes moved up to the Oriental's dark ones. "But he was so young."
Her eyes clouded and tears began to cut new grooves in her cheeks. "I lived for that man. I honestly did. I lived for that man." Mrs. Angus sobbed and turned to refill her glass. Behind her was an Oriental.
She reconsidered the drink and moved to the right to sit down in the recliner for a moment. Beside her was another Oriental.
Mrs. Angus moved to the left to turn on the color TV set to get her mind off Vinnie's death. To her left stood a fourth Oriental.
She swayed forward. She felt the head man's outstretched hand steady her and take her punch glass. She half saw his long lacquered fingernail rising by her face.
"You lived for him," the man said. "Tell us what he said."
Mrs. Angus tried to focus her eyes but the man's face kept expanding into a' big yellow fuzzball. All she could really see clearly was his eyes. His dark, deep-brown eyes.
"When?" she asked uncertainly. "He said a lot of things. He said, 'What's for dinner.' He said, 'Shut up, I'm watching the game.' He said…"
"Before he went away," interrupted the Oriental. "Tell us what he told you before his hunting trip."
Mrs. Angus tried to slip between the man and the man on her left. She really wanted another drink. A fifth Oriental stood in her path.
"Lessee now," said Mrs. Angus. "I was reading before he went to bed, so he didn't say anything then. There was no ball game on that night so he didn't say anything then. He never watches 'Rhoda' so he didn't say anything then…"
The man in front of her gripped her shoulders and looked harder into her eyes.
"Vincent Angus' spirit is gone. It has been destroyed. His soul has been sent into eternity unfulfilled. His spirit shall never see the afterlife. He has died the Final Death."
A man behind her snickered.
Mrs. Angus began to cry again. She wanted to sink to the floor but the Oriental's strong hands kept her upright.
"I know, I know," she said. "He's dead. Poor Vinnie. What can I do?"
"Tell us what he told you. Reject all the falsehoods you have lived by. Reject Christianity. Reject meat. Bless the sacred…"
Mrs. Angus suddenly shook herself free with surprising wiry strength. She stumbled back into the chest of the Oriental behind her.
"Just a minute, buster," she said. "Reject what? Meat? Christianity? What are you talking about? I'm Jewish, for crying out loud."
She steadied herself. The man did not answer and her face began to crack again.
"Poor Vinnie. Do I need a drink."
A voice came from the front door at the top of the stairs. The man holding her shoulders turned to listen.
"She knows nothing," the voice called. "Get it over with. We have to get out of here soon."
Mrs. Angus had both hands up on the chest of the man behind her, politely asking if he would be so kind as to get out of her way.
The man nodded, but instead spun Mrs. Angus around to face the group's leader who swung his right arm across her neck, his forefinger slicing into her flesh.
Mrs. Angus only screamed once before the two Orientals beside her grabbed her wrists and the one behind her clapped his left hand over her mouth and used his right to cup her chin, pushing up.
The movement opened the three-inch-wide gash in her neck wider and a thin curtain of blood began to ooze down to her chest.
The head Oriental planted one hand on her shoulder and lanced his fingernail deep into the left side of her neck.
The tingling sensation exploded into searing pain for a moment as Mrs. Angus tried to scream again. The sound rose up her throat, but the yellow grip across her jaw only became stronger and the noise jangled across her tongue and died.
Slowly, the Oriental's finger, now touching her neck, his fingernail completely implanted, moved along his original incision. Blood began to pour out of the wound, founting out as much as six inches.
The pain was replaced by a nauseating sensation of drowning, as if her head were a cup being filled with liquid. Her face felt puffy and balloons filled her eyes, ears, and began to creep into her nose.
Mrs. Angus tried to pull herself above the water level, but the grips on her wrists kept her submerged. Her legs seemed like anchors and she felt a warm wetness move down her front. In another part of her mind she wondered what this wetness would do to the floor wax.
The Oriental's finger had reached the right side of Mrs. Angus' neck. He placed his other hand on her chin and pulled his fingernail out quickly. He looked at the weapon, then nodded.
The three Orientals released Ruth Angus and moved across to join their comrades on the other side of the room.
Mrs. Angus moved back, still on her feet and turned, hitting the table. Her upper body tipped sickeningly over the punch bowl.
Mrs. Angus saw the sparkling punch striped with several red strings before her eyes moved up into her lids and her body flopped back onto the wet tile floor. She never even understood that her throat had been cut.
The six Orientals waited until her body stopped moving, then began to edge forward.
"Let's get to work," said the leader. "We don't have much time."
Remo and Chiun drove Viki Angus home from the funeral. Actually, Remo drove since Chiun sat alone in the back seat of the rented automobile, scribbling furiously on a page of parchment with a feather pen.
"It's all so gross," Viki said.