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

His glance was amused. “It’s almost over, Tess.” He tried to pat my knee, but I jerked it away.

When we pulled into his driveway and the engine died, Hal turned to me. “Tess,” he said gently, resting one elbow on the wheel, “I promise no one else will get hurt.”

I started to tremble and could feel my throat tightening — with anger, I told myself “That’ll do Deenie a lot of good,” I gulped.

Hal came around to open my door. He pulled me up out of the car and held me close.

“How touching,” a dry voice said. I twisted out of Hal’s arms to find Jeff watching, arms akimbo. Behind him stood a gangly redheaded man in jeans and a tank top.

“Sandy!” I stared at Deenie’s husband, who should be in his Boston laboratory. “Where did you come from? Did they—”

“Zeke just called, Tess,” he said grimly, his eyes on Hal. “I was supposed to be trying to reach my dying wife, wasn’t I, Hal?”

A frown developed between Hal’s brows. “What are you talking about?”

“You gave the medics my lab number,” Sandy bit off the words, pale blue eyes flashing, “but security switched it to my cellular phone last week. I’ve been staying in your boathouse since yesterday afternoon.”

“We thought Mr. Durham might need to be... uh... mobile,” Jeff grinned, but his eyes stayed cold.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, Sandy,” Hal said, running a hand through his hair. “The paramedics—”

“—think Deenie will make it,” Sandy interrupted. “You didn’t wait long enough for the drugs to work.”

“Did a better job on his own wife,” Jeff suggested.

The breeze off the harbor was cool, but not enough to give me that sudden sensation of freezing. “Hal couldn’t—” I croaked, then swallowed painfully. “His kids were killed! Sandy!”

“Sharon was supposed to leave the kids with the sitter, wasn’t she, Hal?” Sandy asked, his voice tight with suppressed anger. “You didn’t know she was leaving for good and taking them along.”

I turned slowly to look up at Hal. He was watching Sandy intently.

“Mrs. Benson called our office,” Jeff added, “before she left home. Said her husband might be hawking the lab’s programs. Sour grapes from a neglected wife, we thought. If you’d left her alone, we might never have given it a second thought. Pretty nasty people you were dealing with, professor. Why did they try to fry you the other day? Cutting their losses?”

Hal took a step backward, moving into the angle between the open passenger door and the car. His face still looked as though he were striving to understand a foreign language. I turned to speak to Sandy, to question, to demand, but a flash of movement brought me swinging toward Hal. A small gun had sprouted in his hand — and was aimed point-blank at my midriff. His eyes, however, were fixed on Jeff, who had gone rigid.

“You’re finally going to listen to me,” he spoke quietly. Let us reason together. “Who do you suppose planted those stupid suspicions in my wife’s mind? The same man who tampered with my car’s steering column, maybe? Killing Sharon wasn’t his plan, but it worked — it got me out of the lab. And once I was gone, he finally had access to all the data, not just the crumbs.”

Hal’s knuckles were white, and the gun was developing a decided tremble. I found I couldn’t swallow any more.

“You saying Mr. Durham went to all that trouble just to get you out of the way?” Jeff drawled, looking skeptical.

“You’d better go back to the shrinks,” Sandy blurted. “You’re paranoid. What would I have to—”

“Whose wife has been drinking like a fish and might let something damaging slip?” Hal was unrelenting. “Deenie’s had a long time to mull over Sharon’s accident. Did Sid’s death start her thinking some nasty things about you, Sandy? For instance, how did Sid get into your cabin?”

Jeff cocked his head and slanted a glance at the man beside him. “There was no—”

“He had a key.” Sandy looked defiant, like a child caught with a shattered piggybank. “I’ve already told them. We’d been having an affair. We met at the cabin sometimes. That’s why Deenie—” his voice choked off and he put a hand to his forehead.

Hal snorted. “You mean poor Deenie was so shocked she tried to kill herself?” he scoffed. “Amazing — since she told Sharon two years ago that she knew all about your so-called affairs. You’d be surprised what women tell each other. What was so different about this one with Sid? Or was Deenie just a bit nervous about how the kid died?”

“You’re wasting our time, professor,” Jeff interrupted. “We’ve been over all this—”

Hal ignored him. “How did Sid die, Sandy?” he demanded, voice thickening. “You wouldn’t dirty your own hands. Must have been the same punks you sent after me, right? Same bizarre sense of humor. I’ll bet it was a shock when you found out he died in your own cabin. But you still needed them to eliminate me, didn’t you, so your meal ticket would be safe? So you could have the house in the Berkshires and the cottage out here and diamonds to keep Deenie quiet — and the job you thought you deserved.”