Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 44, No. 6, June 1999

“The world’s been none too kind to me. I’m not saying it’s not part my fault, but I decided fifteen years ago I wanted as little to do with it as I could. I been living in the hills and didn’t hear he’d died till I came into town for supplies this morning. My Jeep needs a carburetor, and I damn near didn’t make out of the woods. Let’s cut to the chase. What did Bob Pat leave his big sis?”

“In a manner of speaking, ninety-four dollars and thirty-one cents.”

She smiled sadly. “That’s more than I expected he’d leave behind. Me and Bob Pat, we’re a pair to draw to.”

“You didn’t stay in contact over the years?”

“Nope. Him and me, we were wild as kids, especially me. We left home young. I had some petty scrapes with the law and three bad marriages. He was a lifer in the military and went on to drive trucks. We were both cut out to be loners. An extra ninety-four thirty-one won’t hurt a bit. When do I get my money?”

“Mary Pat, on 11 September 1952 did you or did you not steal from under your brother’s pillow a dime payment for a lost lower incisor?”

She nodded appraisingly at me. “Yep. Like I said, I rarely forget a face. Tell me, how’d a tooth fairy go sour and become a lawyer?”

“Nobody has ever seen a tooth fairy,” I said indignantly.

“Yeah? Well, what I seen come sailing through the window trailing all that twinkly stuff wasn’t a B-29.”

“Impossible!”

“Maybe nobody ever woke up during the switcheroo. I never did,” Mary Pat said. “That don’t mean you weren’t spotted from time to time. C’mon, how would anybody believe in a tooth fairy unless there’d been a spotting or two? Kids don’t just take their parents’ word for everything, you know.”

I had no response. The Tooth Fairy was assumed to be mythical when a child reached an age when other fantastical delights such as Santa Claus became suspect. Yet we were expected to perform in a real world context. This was an edgy paradox that troubled me throughout my years in Production.

“I heard that tinkling sound you made and crouched behind Bob Pat’s dresser before you landed. I must of made noise, too. You grabbed his tooth and took off like a bat out of hell, no offense.”

“You then stole the dime I left?”

“You didn’t leave a dime, you were in such an all-out hurry. I’d gone into his room to steal it, but it wasn’t there. You bugged out so fast you must of gotten rattled and forgot to leave the money.”

My heart sank. I didn’t think I’d bungled the transaction, but it was entirely possible. The most stressful aspect of Production next to achieving quotas was fear of discovery. I was young and skittish then, not as clear-headed and confident as I grew to be in later years. I said, “You were punished for the theft and confessed to it.”

“If I hadn’t, Mom would of turned me over to Dad. He was drinking awful heavy. It was a no-win situation. When did you say I was getting my ninety-four bucks?”

I violated every confidentiality rule in the Employee Handbook. I told her everything I’ve told you. I told her I was sorry about the ninety-four thirty-one. A duplicate payment was out of the question.

“Wait a second,” Mary Pat said. “You think you’re off the hook on account of you paid Bob Pat the money plus interest you didn’t pay him back then?”

“Essentially, yes.”

She laughed. “Listen, if you close out your file by telling the truth, and this hatchet squad you got paying you a visit is half as nasty as you claim, girlie, you’re in deep doodoo.”

She was absolutely correct. I had brought the file to resolution, yes, though at great expense incurred due to my original botching. I’d done a terrible job of cleaning up my own mess.

“There is another possibility. I did do my job correctly, and you stole the money upon my departure.”

“You’ll never know, will you?”

I had a hunch she was bluffing but no proof. I could only shake my head.

“Cheer up,” Mary Pat said. “I got an idea that’ll make us both happy. Once in my misspent youth I did ninety days at the county farm for check forgery.”

“Keep talking,” I said.

We reached an agreement in principle, although “principle” was a misnomer for what we concocted. Mary Pat signed a statement admitting that she had pilfered the dime received by her brother for a lower incisor on 11 September 1952. She had an assortment of check stock in her tote bag and wrote one to “cash” for ninety-four thirty-one. The corporation upon which it was drawn would suffer no loss, for I would hold it in the file and conveniently lose it after the Quality Team had cut their swath through our repository.

I don’t think you will be surprised to learn that there was a quid pro quo. I had no personal funds and, in the given situation, no scruples either. Under the circumstances please do not expect an expression of guilt.