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

Until the mail came at eleven, Phyllis had planned to spend the afternoon with Kate, repainting her doll shelves. But she received a letter from her agent. Woman’s World was interested in her revised manuscript, but they had decided the climax was still weak. She felt a familiar, obsessive pressure to get the work finished as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she told Kate after lunch. “But I’m going to have to type for awhile.”

Kate’s gray eyes clouded. “I got everything ready out on the back porch.”

“I know, but I’d be all on edge if I tried to do anything before this gets done. You run on outside now. Take your dolls down to the arbor. Or ride your bike.”

“Couldn’t I start painting anyway? I’d be careful.”

“You’d have the whole porch smeared up and get paint all over your hair. Remember what happened the last time I left you alone with a paintbrush?” She pushed Kate away gently. “Go on, now. I’ll try not to be long.”

Phyllis had already taken the cover off the typewriter. She didn’t hear Kate leave the house and walk down the path to the creek.

Whether it was because she hadn’t written for weeks or because it was hard to concentrate in new surroundings, the story just wouldn’t come off right. Before she started the third draft, she looked at the clock. Five thirty, and she hadn’t even taken the meat from the freezer. Then she remembered Kate. Phyllis called upstairs and didn’t get an answer. She went out on the porch. Kate wasn’t in the arbor. She called louder.

Finally, from under the willows beside the creek, Kate appeared. She ran toward the house, pigtails flapping wildly. Phyllis hugged her. “I was beginning to get worried. Didn’t you hear me calling and calling you?”

Katie’s face was vibrant. “We were playing. Is dinner ready?” She pulled away from her mother and threw open the screen door.

Phyllis followed after her. “By the time you get washed and set the table, it will be.” As she was searching the refrigerator for something to fix in a hurry, she thought of what Kate had said. She asked curiously, “Were you playing with someone?”

Katie turned toward her with a handful of silver, and her eyes glowed. “Her name’s Letty. She’s just my age. Seven and a half. Only her birthday’s in December. I guess that makes her a little bit older.”

Phyllis sliced some cheese. “Where does she live?”

“I don’t know,” Kate said. “But she showed me how to make a cat’s-cradle. It’s a trick you do with string. Want me to show you?”

Her fingers were still grubby.

“Young lady, you were supposed to wash your hands.”

“I did.”

“Well, take another look. And use plenty of soap this time.”

She heard Ben pull into the drive. She hoped he was in a good mood. As a rule, he didn’t like grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.

Kate didn’t mention her doll shelves the following day. Right after breakfast, she told her mother that she was going down to the creek. Letty might be there. In a way, Phyllis was glad. She could have the morning free to work without any twinges of guilt over Katie’s having nothing to do. She wrote until noon.

Katie came in long enough to wash down a peanut butter sandwich with lemonade. Then she wanted to be off again, telling her mother before she left, “Letty said she might have to go into Washington City tomorrow to visit her aunt. So we’re trying to finish our doll house this afternoon. Can I take her some cookies?”

Phyllis wrapped a handful in a paper napkin. A phrase Katie had used reverberated queerly. “Did Letty mean her aunt lives in Washington, D.C.?”

The girl stuffed two plastic cups into a paper bag. “I guess so. Letty says she loves to go there. Her mother always packs a lunch and they stop off by the canal locks to eat. I asked her if I could go, too, but she said there wouldn’t be room.” Kate filled the thermos with milk. “What’s a gig, Mommy?”

Phyllis hesitated. “It’s some kind of carriage, I think. Why?”

Kate started past her. “Oh. Well, I’d better go now.”

Phyllis caught at her arm. “Look, why don’t you bring Letty up here to play? You’d have lots of fun, showing her all your things. I feel funny about the two of you being down there all alone.”

“Why do you feel funny? You could hear us if anything happened.” Then she said evasively, “Letty’s kind of shy. I already asked her to come inside, but she won’t. She said her mother wouldn’t like it.”

Phyllis snapped, “What does her mother think we are, anyway? I never heard of anybody being so... so provincial.”

Katie squirmed. “Letty’s not like that. She’s nice. Honest, she is.”

Her mother released her. “All right, but don’t go any farther away than the creek.”