Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 36, No. 6, June 1991

I swelled again. “That’s all I know so far. Carol, the woman across the street from the swamp, knows one of the deputies. She’s calling him tonight. She promised to tell me if she finds out anything.”

Helen smiled her approval. “You’ll call me then? God, I feel like Nancy Drew’s mother.”

Grandmother, I thought, but laughed with her. Sobering, I said, “I don’t know what Brad will say.”

“Does my son keep a whip and a chair in the closet?” Her mouth turned down. “I never raised Brad to be traditional.”

She hadn’t raised Brad at all, according to him. His second grade teacher father had until his death when Brad was fourteen. After that, Brad was on his own. All he ever got from Helen was money. But I couldn’t say that to her. Not now. Not before.

“All right, I’ll call you.”

Helen smiled. “That’s better. I don’t know why, but this mystery fascinates me.”

I nodded. Me, too. Even to the point of defying Brad.

“They found a bullet hole in the skull, behind the ear.” Carol shifted on the lawn chair in her back yard. She turned to watch her oldest son throw a ball to Honey. “Where the ear should be, I mean. Of course there’s no ear any more.”

I shivered pleasurably, although the sun’s rays made my pores clog with sweat and the humidity made my eyes and ears stream. I had used up a packet of Kleenex already, and was blowing my way through another bundle.

One of the boys shouted. Honey barked, zooming after the ball. Two sheriff’s cars were parked across the street. Four men squished through the swamp, getting grass and mud stains on their tan uniforms.

Carol leaned over her firm twenty-seven-year-old legs. “They’re looking for more bones. Don doesn’t think they’ll find them. You know — animals.”

I shivered again. A mosquito landed on one of the blue veins on my flabby forty-five-year-old legs. I splatted it.

“They didn’t find the bullet, either,” Carol went on. “They think the victim was killed somewhere else, then dumped here. The skull’s getting a dental examination today, and the coroner’s conducting an autopsy later this week. Though I don’t know what she can see in a bunch of old bones.”

“Can’t they reconstruct the body?” Brad would know: the one person I couldn’t ask. “Find out what the victim looked like from the shape of the skull, that sort of stuff?”

Carol shrugged. “That costs money. Don said the sheriff is hoping to match the victim with dental records. He seems to think it might be someone who knows the area.”

“Of course!” I sat up straight. “Valley View Road just connects this little stretch to the main road. Even people from town get lost trying to find it. The murderer has to be from around here.”

“I’ll tell you what else.” Carol lowered her voice. “It’s a woman, and the coroner thinks it’s been buried there anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five years. She’s not telling the press, because she’s just guessing. But Don heard the sheriff telling the district attorney.”

“Does Don know the woman’s age?”

Carol frowned. “No, dammit. Someone came and Don had to leave the hallway before they got to that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We at least know she’s an adult. This is a small town, less than five thousand people. Fifteen or twenty-five years ago it was even smaller. It shouldn’t take the sheriff long to match the skeleton’s teeth with the dental records. How many missing women could there be?”

“My mother would know.” Carol looked toward the house. “She’s living in Florida now. I wonder if she’s home.”

I pushed off the lounger. Twenty-five years ago Carol had been two; I’d been twenty. I straightened, the pain in my shoulder another reminder of my age. It was time to go. These old bones needed air conditioning.

Honey and I walked home. Tired from her romp with the boys, she flopped on the kitchen linoleum and slept. I watched her for a moment, half regretful. For once I had time to play. We were having leftover roast for dinner, the house was clean, the wash done. I had a poem about a balloon to finish, but who could rhyme balloon with blue moon when your mind kept shouting “Murder! Murder!” Then I remembered Helen, and I looked up her office number.

Before she came on the phone, I regretted my impulse. Helen wouldn’t thank me for calling her at work. But I had already given my name to the receptionist. I grimly hung on.

“Ann! I’ve been thinking about you. What have you heard?”

I breathed easier, and plunged in. She sounded young on the phone, interjecting encouraging comments at all the right places. I wondered why I had ever disliked her.

“I knew it was a woman.” She tsked. “The poor girl.”

“It’s her parents I feel sorry for. All these years... never knowing...” Honey twitched and stretched, her eyes opening to slits. “That reminds me, Emily called after you left last night. She sold her chair design to a large manufacturing firm. She’s pretty excited.”

“Good for her! Frankly, I’m amazed my son supported her career. Given his views on women, that is — which he never got from me.”