Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 38, No. 13, Mid-December 1993

“Lord, if you aren’t a real busybody — she comes in twice a week but doesn’t move trash. Doesn’t do windows, either.” She wagged a forefinger. “Stop complaining and pull. As I told Barr, I didn’t see much. Heard the shot, opened my eyes, and saw a figure disappear alongside the church. Didn’t know what had happened, of course, because I couldn’t see under the trees. Minute or two later, Marji’s porch light came on. Then I heard her scream. When I got to the street, she was standing over Moser, in her robe and barefooted, and still screaming.”

I settled the container into position at the curb. “You know Marji?”

“My family and the Sutters have always been friends. I suppose they’re all spinning in their graves — Marji taking up with a middle-aged, fat little man with fake hair. You’d think she’d have shown better judgment. Not criticizing what she did, understand, but who she did it with. She was brought up to show better taste.”

“My sensitive side tells me you didn’t like him.”

“Potbellied, arrogant little jerk. Strutted in and out of the house as if he owned it, whether she was there or not. Giving a man a key is always a mistake. When the romance dies, you have to get the key back or change the locks.”

She sounded as though she’d learned the hard way. “Whether she was there or not? Why? No attraction in an empty house.”

“As the boss, his time was his own, you see, but she was an employee, so on the nights the dealership was open late she’d have to stay until closing. Coworkers may not mind if you’re shacking up with the boss, but you’d better not take advantage of it by not doing your share of work. He was there first that night.”

“What time did she get home?”

“I have no idea. I may be nosy, but I don’t make a career of it. What difference does it make? You and the sheriff go find the man I saw running away.” She held out a thin hand. “Thank you for the assistance. I really don’t have anything important to do, but deluding myself that I have a heavy schedule keeps my blood flowing, so goodbye.”

The ex-marine in Woody would have been proud of the way she marched into the house.

In the office, I found Mary ready to leave with a couple dressed as though the best they could afford was one of the small, old houses along the river. Until they’d won the lottery, it had been. Now, with an annual income of two hundred thousand for the next twenty years, they wanted something better. Who wouldn’t? The one I’d intended to show them came with five acres, a three car garage, a driveway a quarter mile long, state-of-the-art security, five bedrooms, a swimming pool, spa, and hot tub, and so many bathrooms no one had yet found them all, and she knew it.

She held out her hand for the Ronstead key, smiled at the look on my face, and said, “Trust me.”

When they pulled up outside several hours later, I could see that everything was settled except for signing papers. The woman actually hugged Mary and kissed her on the cheek.

She settled at her desk, expression smug, lighted a cigarette, and held it with her fingertips, watching the smoke curl upward. She smoked only when she made a sale. The real estate business being what it was, there were occasions when her pack grew stale.

“It’s called know your client,” she said. “The house you had in mind wasn’t for them. They wanted something they could live in, not display their good luck. Five kids. She took one look at that big kitchen and saw herself getting them off to school. One look at the dining room and she saw all her relatives there for dinner. One look outside and she saw all the room she wanted for her roses. Him? One of those husbands who doesn’t give a damn where he lives as long as she’s there. If she wanted a tent, he’d buy the biggest one he could afford.”

“Do me a favor,” I said. “Go home and humiliate someone close to you.”

Even if this had been one of those evenings we held the office open, I’d have closed it to celebrate. You don’t often move a house like the Ronsteads’ in one day. I turned the door sign to “Closed” and walked to Woody’s office in the basement of the municipal building down the street.

Woody leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “Well?”

“I looked the scene over and talked to Mrs. Guidron. What time did Marji get home?”

“Never asked. Is it significant?”

“Who knows? Moser had a key. He let himself in to wait for her that night. Common practice, according to Mrs. Guidron. Also, in deference to Alfie’s chosen field, have you considered that you’ve been stalled for a week because someone sold you a car with a hidden defect?”

He let that stir around in his head until he translated it. “You mean someone is lying. Mrs. Guidron?”

“Not necessarily, but I’ve talked to no one else.”

“Why should she? When I got there, she was propping up the Sutter girl, and when I asked, she could have simply said she’d seen nothing. How would I have known anything different?”

“That’s your problem. Mine is talking Norma into having dinner with me this evening.”