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

“It’s not so amazing.” Honey ambled over to lick my swollen ankles, and I chuckled. “What he wants for his wife isn’t necessarily what he wants for his daughter.”

“My dear Ann, don’t you mind?”

“Not at all. I have my poetry.”

She sighed. “Well, if that satisfies you... Although I think every woman should be prepared to support herself.”

“So does Brad. That’s why he’s heavily insured.”

“Very foresightful, my son.” She paused. “Still, there are other reasons besides widowhood why a woman would need to support herself.”

“Divorce, you mean.”

“Not only divorce. Brad could have a long illness. The stock market could plunge. Your bank could go belly up. Anything could happen.”

“Brad and I won’t get divorced, our bank account is insured, we have excellent health insurance, our investments are diversified.” Even though she couldn’t see me, I shook my head. “It’s not as if I wash the floor every day for something to do. I have my poetry.”

“Then why are you so interested in the skeleton?”

“I found it. Why are you?”

Carol’s mother knew of six women who’d disappeared under mysterious conditions. Two had been in their teens, the oldest forty-three. The disappearance of three of the women, according to Carol’s mother, had been reported, and the sheriff’s deputies were probably all over their families. That left three who were free game.

“I went to grade school with Ginny,” Carol said, her eyes on the twisting lane. Her two boys were with a cousin; Honey was in my basement. The road straightened and Carol pressed down on the gas pedal. “Ginny’s family belongs to a church in West Linden. No dancing, no drinking, no fun. My mom says Ginny’s sister drank, danced, and had a lot of fun. Her dad kicked her out when she was seventeen. Ginny was a baby when it happened, but I don’t know anyone else in the family. They keep to themselves.”

After that I expected to meet someone in a long black dress with her hair covered. But the young woman who welcomed us into the living room with a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace and an oak entertainment center wore shorts and a brief top.

Carol introduced me, saying we were collecting old clothes for our church. Ginny had just dropped off two bags of clothes at Good Will, but she invited us in for iced tea.

We sat in the living room while Ginny checked her baby, then clinked glasses in the kitchen. I admired the beamed ceiling and the leather furniture. Carol told me Ginny’s husband — a member of the church in West Linden — was a plumber.

Ginny had barely returned with a tray of iced tea when Carol began. “Did you hear about the skeleton by my house? Ann found it.”

“Did you?” Ginny’s face lit with interest. “Mike and I were talking about it last night. Isn’t it terrible?”

Carol nodded. “Terrible. Sheriff Brooder thinks it’s someone from around here.”

“No kidding.”

“That’s right. I’m surprised you haven’t been contacted.”

“Me!”

“Your parents, anyway. Because of your sister, you know.”

I winced. Carol was as subtle as a bolt of lightning.

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t talk about Margaret.”

“That’s your prerogative.” Carol shrugged. “After all, it’s not me you’ll have to make the explanations to.”

“You really think the police...” Ginny glanced around the room, as if searching for spies. Her voice a whisper, she said, “But Margaret’s alive.”

“Alive!”

“She writes me. It would kill Mom and Dad to know.” Ginny’s chin lifted a fraction. “Mike knows about it. He understands. It’s just that—”

“Where is she?” Carol asked.

Ginny hesitated, and Carol sliced her hand across the air. “Come on, Ginny. We won’t tell your parents.”

“Why are you asking me these questions?” Ginny’s jaw hardened and she stood. “Margaret lives in Chicago with her husband and two children. I’ll give the police her address, but it’s nothing to do with you.”

My face burned. Carol and I walked to the door, carefully not looking at each other. On the stoop, Carol turned around.

“Ginny, I don’t understand. If your sister’s respectable now — a husband and two kids — why are your parents still shunning her?”

Through the crisscross pattern of the screen, Ginny blinked. “Because Margaret turned Catholic,” she said, and closed the door in our faces.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Carol said.

“Me, too.”

“Do you think we should go home?” She took her eyes off the S-curve coming up and looked at me.

“If you think that’s best...”

I turned around to put the beans on the counter and caught Brad glaring at the platter of baked chicken. I started, so busy with my thoughts I hadn’t heard the back door. Outside, Honey barked excitedly, wading in to greet her daddy.

“Rough day?” I asked.

“I stopped off to get my oil changed.” Brad’s fists bunched.

“Oh.” I thought of the garage owner ranting at his missing wife, his red face turning purple.

“Goddammit!” Brad shoved the platter with his fist. Chicken flew, skidding across the floor, smacking into the wall. “You know I don’t want you mixed up in this business.”