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

“I’d no doubt as to where he’d be, Chief Hurley,” Nora said. “He’d be walking home, or trying to, anyway. And I knew that when he did get home there’d be a beating for me. I hoped that the rain would help sober him up. He was drunk even before he set off for the hotel. He’d been buying liquor and keeping it hid in the barn. He was more violent that night than he’d ever been. It was only because he was so smashed and couldn’t catch me that I escaped a beating earlier. And because he couldn’t beat me he tore up the kitchen and killed my little dog.”

When that piece of news filtered through to us I felt truly sick.

“Killed her little dog! Oh, Earl! That was the last gift that Charlie gave her, for her birthday, but months before he died. That sweet little white poodle she called Persha.” And for Nora it would have been so much more than the death of her little white dog. Motive? A whole pile of motives was going to have to be sifted through.

“I’ve a nasty feeling,” Earl said, looking grim, “that we’re not going to like the outcome.”

The chief, stopping by, had told us that some high-ranking detectives were coming to take the case out of his hands. “They’ll be talking to you,” he said. “Just tell them everything the way you told it to me.” I felt cold inside, for Nora. Monday morning Inspector Hardman and Sergeant Wilshire arrived.

And Monday morning it was that Reggie Crossland came from his farm into town. After a visit and lunch with his parents he came into our shop to stock up on groceries, heading then for the farm. Earl had a great many questions about the farm that Reggie was stocking, at present, with sheep.

“First rate place for sheep, Earl,” Reggie said. “Oh, yeah, I’ll have some dairy cattle by and by; I’ve some fine lowland pasture. Then I won’t have to pay this price for a piece of cheese that some folks are charging. I’ve but two milking cows as it is.”

“Sheep farming, dairy farming! You all alone! You could lose your shirt. You’d a lot of good ideas when you worked here as a lad; always thought you’d come up with something smart.”

“Smartest lad you ever had, Earl. I’m glad to see you took my advice and put wheels on those bins.” There was the same roguish grin, the devilish twinkle in the blue eyes. But the red curls now had a considerable sprinkle of grey. Tough muscled he was now, and lean, brown as a nut, too. But there was a hardness also that I had never thought to see in Reggie’s eyes.

“Smart-assed you mean,” Earl chided. “But yes, best worker I ever had. Not that we aren’t pleased with Ron. He’s a dam good lad. Now, if you’d said beef cattle—”

And as I attended to customers at the post office I heard them at it just like old times. And then Earl was saying: “You’ll find out what a pound of cheese costs before you’re much older. But there’s something you’ve not got on that farm that you’re going to need.”

“What’s that?”

“A wife. I’m hoping you’ve someone in mind, or are you thinking your ma’ll go out there to cook for you?”

“Ma? Heck, no. She’s got more than enough to do. Give me time, Earl. After all, I’m not long back.”

“How much time d’you need? You’re middle-aged as it is.”

Reggie made a deprecatory noise. “Just coming into my prime.”

They went on talking, selecting and packing items into several boxes. There’ll be no difficulty about the wife, I thought. Already female eyes were turning Reggie’s way. There was an air of maturity about him now that made him even more attractive than the youthful Reggie had been. That morning was the first time Reggie had heard of how Harry Bagley had died. He and Earl turned to that topic.

“That’s the night I drove out to my farm. I’d intended coming in then for the groceries but never did get the time. Knew I’d have to come in again anyway. I don’t have the phone, or TV. I do have a radio in the truck, but didn’t hear any mention on the news. Friday night, yeah, that’s the night I ran out of gas in that storm, would you believe it! I’d had a million things to attend to. Knew right well I was low on gas and then clean forgot. Ma had wanted me to stay over, but I’d my two cows needing milking, pigs to feed, hens to shut up so the foxes wouldn’t get ’em. And I’d my two dogs closed up in the house.”

About an hour after Reggie left the shop, word came that George Banner had been taken to the hospital following a stroke Friday night. The gloom thickened. In my post office cubbyhole I sat thinking about George. Polly came downstairs, putting her head around my door. “I’ve put yours and Earl’s tea ready upstairs,” she said. “I’ll buzz if anyone needs the post office or if the shop gets busy.” We’ve a code: one buzz for Earl, two for me or Polly. But Monday is usually our quietest day.