Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

He threw the mower into neutral and mopped his brow as the engine idled, enjoying the warmth of the October sun on his back and the sweet smell of new-mown grass.

“Sales are up ten percent,” said Zeigler over lunch. “I should give you a bonus.”

“Forget it. My price is high enough.”

“I hear you’re looking for a place to live.”

Denbow smiled. He’d casually mentioned it to one person.

“My apartment lease is running out.”

Zeigler signaled the waiter. “Let’s take a ride.”

He turned off the highway into a narrow macadam road that ran up the side of a hill, leaving it for an easily overlooked rutted lane that led into a stand of trees. He stopped the car when the trees ended.

The lane continued diagonally upward, slicing through what must have been more than two acres of velvet lawn before ending at the top of the hill before a house, gleaming like a peaked-roof Camelot, that faced the southern sun and was protected from the north wind by a stand of trees.

Below the house and off to the right of the lane was another house. The one at the crest was traditional — white, Colonial blue shutters on the windows, broad porch overlooking the lawn. The other was more Frank Lloyd Wright — one story, of native stone, with patio and floor-to-ceiling doors.

“The big house is mine. I had the smaller one built for Randy as a wedding gift, but he won’t live there. Too close to me, he says. Even his mother couldn’t talk him into it.”

Zeigler’s voice was puzzled. It would never occur to him that anyone would interpret generosity and concern as interference.

“I’ll rent it to you, Denbow,” he said.

Small-town bred and hating apartments, Denbow felt like a child looking at something in a store window beyond his reach.

He chuckled. “That’s nice of you, but I couldn’t afford it. A one bedroom apartment is my limit.”

Zeigler put the car in gear. “I want you to meet my wife.”

His first wife had been a small, delicate woman, thin and gracious and gray as a mourning dove. Zeigler underwent a transformation the moment he entered the house, humble and grateful and infinitely gentle, his devotion apparent in the softness of his voice and the way he spoke to her.

Because the loose folds of skin weren’t that obvious yet and because thoughts of death had no reason to enter Denbow’s mind, it wasn’t until he and Zeigler were sitting on the porch overlooking the lawn and sipping coffee that he realized she was thin because she was wasting away and the young woman he’d assumed was a maid was really a nurse.

He glanced at Zeigler. In no way, at any time, had the man indicated the slightest trace of concern or worry. To him everything would be fine if you simply refused to give up. But even Zeigler couldn’t defeat death. When he lost what was obviously the most important thing in the world to him, it would take time for him to recover.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” asked Zeigler. “Had some of my best ideas here.”

“Renting me that house wasn’t one of them,” said Den-bow dryly.

“What’s your apartment costing you now?”

“None of your business.”

Zeigler chuckled. “I figure about six hundred. Okay. I know your ex’s lawyer took you to the cleaners, so that’s what you pay me.”

“You can get twice that or more. What the hell makes you think I need your charity?”

“What charity?” Zeigler swept a hand over the scene. “I bought this twenty years ago because I wanted to control who lived near me. The only reason I had the house built was Randy. Never thought he wouldn’t want it. Now I’m stuck with it. It’s a crime to let it sit vacant, but I’m certainly not going to sell it and I’ll be damned if I’ll rent it to just anyone. I’ve talked to a lot of people about you, Den-bow. You’re a quiet man. You go your own way and mind your own business. You know who you are and you’re good at what you do, and if someone doesn’t like you, that’s their problem. If you move into that house, you won’t be up here annoying me, there won’t be any wild parties, and there won’t be any weird people wandering around.”

He sliced the scene with a vertical palm and moved it to his left. “You take care of everything on that side of the lane. Pay the utilities, mow the lawn in summer, shovel the snow in winter, and leave me alone.”

The houses were islands set in a sea of green and surrounded by a barrier reef of trees. No slamming of doors or loud voices in the middle of the night, no hum of traffic during the day.

Denbow kept his face impassive so that Zeigler couldn’t see how much he wanted to say yes, but living two hundred feet from a man who thought he was always right, who always knew what was best for you — and worse still, never hesitated to say so — might make any price too high.

“Leaving you alone is no problem. No offense, Zeigler, but the question is — will you leave me alone? It’s hard for you to stay out of people’s lives. Randy knew that.”