Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 50, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2005

But Simon only glanced at the guy in the uniform. He’d caught a glimpse of a familiar face in a crumpled photo turning yellow. There were two people in it, a little black boy and a white woman. The boy could be any boy, even though he knew it was Willie, but the woman could only be one person. They were standing before the stable — how often Simon had described it as a model for its time — and Dorothea’s arm was around Willie’s shoulders.

“What you got there?” Hannah leaned over to look. “Oh, that’s that rich lady Willie used to work for. She started that place you work in.”

Simon couldn’t take his eyes off the picture. The droopy little shirt, the ragged pants, the big smile, the encircling arm. Dorothea looked dashing in riding clothes; there were a lot of pictures of her in that outfit in the museum. He swallowed and said, “I wonder who took this.”

“Most likely her husband. They was real fond of Willie. We thought it was mean of her to let him go, and at Christmastime too. He always felt bad about it.”

Hannah reached for the picture, but he said, “Can I keep this?”

“Sure, honey.”

He sat staring at it as Hannah limped to the door, grumbling about her arthritis. His mother was washing the mugs. She said, “What hours are you working tomorrow?”

“Noon to closing.”

“Then you can go over and see Willie in the morning.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Good thing Volanda had worked late tonight; she wouldn’t be there in the morning to bug him. He had to pump poor Willie for information while there was still the possibility of learning more.

When Simon walked into Senior Years at eight o’clock next morning the daytime lady, Mrs. Woodman, waved to him and he went through the doors and into Willie’s room. It was too early for visiting hours and there were still breakfast trays on beds and baths in progress, but everybody knew that Willie didn’t have long. A nurse was holding a glass of juice under Willie’s chin. She said, “Good timing, Simon. Make him take this.”

“Sure.” She drew the curtain around them and left. Simon sat on the side of the bed. Willie’s mouth was set in a tight slit. He opened to say, “Why ain’t you in school?”

“It’s Christmas vacation.”

“Then why ain’t you painting?”

But Willie turned his head away and gazed out the window. He said, “Guess who I was talking to just now.”

“Who?”

“My mama.”

Simon was accustomed to Willie wandering in and out of time; today it could be useful. “What did your mama say?”

“She says she like that picture of the heron I done.”

Perfect. “Now, that’s a coincidence. I was just talking to somebody else who likes your pictures.”

Willie’s eyes turned back to him. “Who that?”

“Drink some of this and I’ll tell you.”

Willie sipped weakly. Simon put the glass down and said, “Mrs. Fox-Nugent.” He waited but Willie didn’t react, so he went on cautiously, “She asked me to tell you something.”

“Mrs. Fox did?” Willie shook his head slowly. “No, she wouldn’t have anything to say to me. She mad at me.”

“Not any more,” said Simon quickly. “She knows now you didn’t steal that napkin ring.”

“Napkin ring? Napkin Ring? What’s that?” Willie’s face was a blank, then it lit up. “Oh, you mean — why, I thought it was a lady’s bracelet! And she knows I didn’t steal it? Then she found it!”

“I guess so.” Simon was at sea but kept going. “She didn’t say where she found it, though. Would you know?”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Willie was almost crying. “I was too scared to go back ’cause of that big fella so I give it back the best way I could and now she found it! Oh, that makes me so happy!”

What the heck was this? Simon said urgently, “Uncle Willie, what do you mean you ‘gave it back’? You said you never took it.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t!” The voice was going shrill.

“Simon!” Volanda stood beside him. “Are you on this kick again?”

Simon said sulkily, “What do you do, work here around the clock?”

“Practically, when we’re shorthanded.”

“Voley.” Willie was struggling to sit up. “She found it! Mrs. Fox found that thing!”

“Sure she did, honey, and why isn’t this juice gone?” She held the straw to his lips. “Come on, a sip for me and a sip for Si and a sip for your mama and a—”

“First he says he didn’t take it—” Baffled, Simon stood up. “—and then he says he gave it back. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to!” Volanda was really mad now. “And I wish I’d never said a word about all this. If I’d thought you were going to get so hung up...”

But Willie had begun to talk quietly, his eyes closed. “Oh, them soft white rolls her cook used to make, and half the time they didn’t all get ate up, bits of ’em, sometimes whole rolls in the garbage pail on the back porch. Oh, I’d fill my pockets... especially that night with all the company I knew they’d be throwing stuff away, maybe even meat, and I waited and waited and the dinner party was done and big hunks and chunks start coming out to the pail and I’m filling my pockets and even my shirt and then—” His eyes flew open. “—out he come!”