Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 35, No. 10, October 1990

Earl had come back white-faced, shaking. “That horse he was riding earlier and abusing something shameful has finally finished Bagley off,” he said. “Threw him and kicked him in the face.” Chief Leonard Hurley had joined us but minutes after Earl had put through a call. Dr. Entwistle, also the coroner, had reported that a shotgun blast, rather than the horse, was responsible for Harry’s death.

“How’d you know it was Harry?” the chief asked. “I mean the way his face—”

“I don’t know, really,” Rose said, hurrying to reply lest the chief be moved to describe what Harry’s face had been reduced to. “Clothes, I suppose. We’ve been used to seeing him around for a long time. There was no sign of the horse.”

“It would head for home once Harry let go of the bridle rein.” He took down the names of all who had been at the bridge party and prepared to leave. “If any of you come up with something you forgot to tell me, be sure to get in touch. We’ll talk some more later.” He headed for the stairway, Earl following to let him out. “Thanks for the coffee, Emma. Good night, Polly. Oh, wait. You ladies will have to take the long way home after all. If you care to come now, I’ll drive you over to the Terrace. Don’t want anybody going walking over the lot until we’ve had a good look at it in the daylight.”

Thelma, Rose, and Mary accepted the offer with alacrity. And Earl, Polly, and I were left to tidy up. Bed, for the time being, seemed out of the question. “I was tired as all get out when I first came upstairs,” Earl said. “Now I doubt if I could get to sleep for thinking about this.”

We sat at the kitchen table going over what had happened, trying to come up with answers as to who and why.

“Who’d go to such lengths?” Polly said. “Good for nothing as Harry is — was — folks in Longvalley aren’t the vindictive kind. Not that the most of us wouldn’t have gladly removed Harry if there’d been some way.”

“He wasn’t overdone with friends,” Earl agreed. He was attacking a plate of leftover sandwiches. “Outside of Nora I can’t think of anybody who even moderately tolerated him. Always thought that one day he’d go too far, a beating maybe, but hardly this.”

“What about Nora?” I said. “She’s got to be told.”

“The chief was driving out to the farm right after he left us,” Earl said. “Nora, she’ll be wondering — but no, this isn’t the first time that horse has galloped home without Harry, him lying in a ditch until he sobered up enough to walk.”

“Why such a sweet person as Nora Fitzmaurice married Bagley is past any understanding,” Polly said. “This past year for her must have been hell.”

Nora, although Bagley’s wife for the past year, was still referred to as Nora Fitzmaurice. Everyone in Longvalley had been astounded when Nora had married Bagley so soon after Charlie Fitzmaurice died.

“Bamboozled into it by that rascal,” Earl said. “Trusting little woman, thinking all men were like her dad, or Charlie. That’s where she was wrong.”

I sat thinking about Nora. She hadn’t been to town much after marrying Harry. About a month ago she’d come into the shop. I’d been shocked at her appearance. Her once shining blonde hair had straggled about her neck in rattailing strands. The cream and roses complexion had looked old. And behind her dark glasses, as she’d raised them briefly, I saw that her lovely blue eyes were sunken and ringed about with purple bruises fading to yellowish grey. I’d mumbled something about why didn’t she stay for lunch, as I’d be going upstairs in a matter of minutes. And Earl, tactless as usual, said, “Right, Nora, stay for lunch. Looks to me like you ain’t been eating right.” She had smiled then, for a brief second looking like the lovely Nora we’d always known.

Her voice hadn’t been the same either, low pitched now, and hoarse. And then, as she waited for Earl to box her purchases, she’d said to me, in an intense whisper: “Emma, did you know that Reggie Crossland’s back from Australia?” Her voice and manner had taken me by surprise, for a glimpse of the old, vibrant Nora had shone through. It was after she’d gone that I thought about how close she and Reggie had once been. But it was only a momentary thought at the back of my mind.

“These sandwiches are good,” Polly was saying. She and Earl, the plate between them, settled into the pleasant task of finishing them.

Nora and Reggie Crossland. Was it eighteen or twenty years ago? Both of them eighteen then. Sweethearts they’d been, crazy about each other, it had been easy to see. And I remembered “crazy” was the word Nora’s father had used when he’d put his foot down at their wanting to become engaged. “That crazy Reggie Crossland. I’ll not have him for a son-in-law.” He’d succeeded in separating them by sending Nora off to nursing school. The war coming right about then had helped, I suppose, for Reggie was among the first to join up.