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

The answer that occurred to Miss Evangeline was absolutely unutterable, so she shooed the shockingly young child back to her playmates, simply refusing to reply.

Through the elms, she could see the mayor’s mansion. It gleamed whitely in the late afternoon sun. She had never seen the mayor in any one of the mansion’s many windows, but she was always expecting him to appear, if only briefly. She was a staunch supporter of his and of the party to which they both belonged. He didn’t know of her existence, of course, but she knew of his, and if things were a bit unbalanced in that regard, well, such was the way of the world.

She suddenly remembered that a mayoralty election was due — why, next week! She pulled a notebook and ballpoint pen from her knitting bag and made a note to remind herself to vote. After all, it was her civic duty.

She fed small biscuits to a boxer and a cocker spaniel who passed her bench during the next hour.

She looked out several times toward the river, but the Mulberry Mall Monster did not appear. She had seen it twice now. The first time, she had called out to the people nearby as she pointed at it, but they had missed seeing it. They had merely shaken their heads and smiled in the oddest way. The Monster was clever and had evidently been too quick for them. But she had seen it! She made another note: Tell Sergeant MacReynolds to bring depth charges.

The Mulberry Mall Monster’s days were numbered, she thought with grim satisfaction as she gazed serenely across the mall.

Now what was that man doing over there by the red maple? She squinted, damning her eyes for growing so old so soon.

Pinning a note to the maple tree, that’s what he was doing. She got up and hurried over to him, not caring that curiosity killed cats, or so people said.

“Oh, it’s you, Miss Evangeline,” the man said, turning at the sound of her approach.

“Hello, Mr. Michelson.” She squinted. “What’s that? A message for someone?”

“It’s a note offering a reward for the return of Mitzi, our poodle. She was stolen right here on the mall yesterday. I was here with my wife and little boy, and Mitzi was off the leash and running around and all of a sudden she was gone.”

“She ran away?”

“No. Mrs. Ralston was nearby, and she told me later that she saw a man pick Mitzi up and run off with her. I’m offering a two hundred and fifty dollar reward.”

“That’s a great deal of money,” Miss Evangeline said with surprise.

“My little boy cries all the time since we lost Mitzi. So the money doesn’t matter.”

“Not in terms of tears, no,” Miss Evangeline agreed sagely if a little vaguely. “I do hope you get poor Mitzi back.” She strolled back to her bench and watched the windows of the mayor’s mansion, but he didn’t appear, not even for a moment. So she shut her eyes to rest them.

When she opened her eyes again, the sun had gone out. There were stars in the sky. Why, she had been asleep! And there was Mr. Michelson at the red maple as if no time at all had passed. She watched him remove the note from the tree as she eased herself to her feet, cursing the stiffness that ached in her ankles and knees. She had almost reached the exit from the mall when Mr. Michelson came abreast of her.

“You were taking the note down,” she said. “You must have found Mitzi,” she added hopefully.

He shook his head, but there was a happy smile on his face. “No, not yet. But a man phoned and said he had her and would consider meeting me and turning her over to me if I asked no questions. I assured him I’d ask no questions. I just want Mitzi back. He might be the thief, but I don’t care about that. I’m on my way to meet him now.”

“You should have called Sergeant MacReynolds. Stealing dogs is a criminal matter.” Miss Evangeline fell silent for a moment. “No,” she mused, “it probably wouldn’t have helped all that much even if you had called him. I reported an earthquake under my house to him just last week, and he told me I was imagining things.”

“Goodbye, Miss Evangeline,” Mr. Michelson said. “Can you get home alone all right?”

“Most certainly. Good night, Mr. Michelson. Say hello to Mitzi for me.”

She walked to where she had parked the Packard and got in. She spent some time searching for the ignition key, but at last she found it in the bottom of her knitting bag. She started the motor. As she drove up the street, she passed Mr. Michelson standing in the shadowy entrance to the alley that ran behind the shops on Main Street. She drove on slowly because the darkness of the town and the dimness of her eyes urged caution on her. She glanced in the rear view mirror to be sure no one was close behind her before preparing for the turn that would lead her onto her own street.