Борден Дил - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 12, December 1956

A flicker of amusement played in the man’s eyes. “I thought Charley was taking care of everything.”

The guests were in the living room waiting for me.

The well-built, spectacularly pretty dark-haired woman was slumped in a huge chair, smoking impatiently. The shortish man with the pot belly and the big cigar and no hair wore a frown as he stood by the window studying the scenery outside intently and working the cigar back and forth in his mouth. The young man standing beside him was tall and lean. He seemed bored. They stared at me bleakly as I entered the room.

I identified myself, suggested they return to their rooms and stay there. I told them that I. would be around shortly and interview them individually. I cautioned them to remember that this was merely routine procedure, and I expressed the hope that the entire matter could be disposed of quickly. I asked if anyone had a question. No one did.

I nodded and stepped to one side, indicating that I considered them free to leave. For a moment or two no one moved. Then I watched the woman casually dispose of her cigarette in an ash tray, and heard the gentle whine of her stockings as she uncrossed her legs and rose from her chair. Her movements were deliberate, almost contemptuous, as she sauntered past me to the stairs. The others followed her out.

Charley and Sim were in the kitchen drinking coffee. “Is the coroner here yet?” I asked them.

They shook their heads.

“Do you suppose we should take the body down?”

Bartel grinned. “You’d think they’d teach you kids more than that up at college. Hardy’d skin us alive if we touched that body before he sees it.”

“I’ll be upstairs, talking to the dudes. Let me know when he shows up.” Before I left them I motioned Sim to follow me into the dining room.

He looked at me questioningly. “Take a run into town,” I told him. “Find out what you can about Liz... who’s she been seeing lately, who her friends are. That sort of thing.”

He nodded, turned to go. I held his arm. “Then you’d better see the states attorney. Tell him I think he should be here. Tell him I think it’s murder.”

Sim stared at me.

“I’d use the phone and tell him myself,” I said, “but I don’t want the call going through Tillie’s switchboard. I don’t want everybody in town knowing about this until we’re sure.”

Elton Burns seemed friendly. “Come in, Sheriff,” he said. “Find a chair.”

I waited until he had seated himself. “You’re Miss Everly’s agent?”

“That’s right,” he nodded. “I’ve been handling her properties for... oh, nine or ten years now.”

“On vacation?”

“Partly. I’m in touch with some people in California concerning the possible sale of one of Miss Everly’s novels. Picture people. You might say that I’m combining business with relaxation.”

“And Miss Everly?”

He blinked. “How’s that?”

“Is she taking a vacation?”

“Oh. Yes, that’s about it. I was out here once before, several years ago. The country impressed me. I bragged it up a little, maybe. Anyway, when I told Marsha I was coming back here this year, she wanted to come along. She thought she might pick up some material. You know, local color. Stuff like that.”

“And Mr. Carver? Is this a vacation for him too?”

Burns snorted. “He’s been on vacation for thirty-three years.”

“He doesn’t look that old.”

“He is.”

I lit a cigarette. “There was a party here last night?”

“We had a few drinks.”

“It broke up early?”

He thought about it. “Around midnight, I guess.”

“Hear anything unusual during the night?”

“Nope. Slept like a log.”

“Sleep late, did you?”

“Around here?” He shook his head. “Not this morning. Sounded like a convention going on out in the hall.”

“That was the first you knew about the woman’s death?”

“It was.”

“Did you see her?”

“You mean this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Sure. We all did.”

“Ever see her before this morning?”

“Never.”

“I see. Did the Chief question you?”

“The little guy? Nope. He said you’d be around later.”

I smeared out my cigarette in an ash tray. “Do you get into town very much, Mr. Burns?”

“Twice, so far. Went to church last Sunday, and the Sunday before that.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Wednesday it’ll be three weeks.”

I smiled. “You don’t get around very much, Mr. Burns.”

He leaned forward earnestly. “Look, Mr.... ah, it’s Marking, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Look, Mr. Marking, I’m not trying to knock your town. But week after week, year in and year out, I get all the city living I want. I’m out here to get away from sidewalks and noise and stink.”

“The others. They feel the same way about it?”

“Marsha does. Rod — Mr. Carver — is in town half the time. Any excuse at all will do. He says he goes to the movies.”

“He gets home early, does he? From these movies, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m usually in the sack by nine.”

“I wonder what the dead girl was doing out here?”

He slapped his hands against his knees and shook his head. “You’ve got me, Sheriff. I wouldn’t know.”

I stood up. “That about covers it, Mr. Burns. Thanks for your time. You’ve been a big help.”

He looked at me searchingly. “It is suicide, isn’t it?”

“I... we don’t know. Yet.”

Marsha Everly looked older, close up. She’d been working at a small desk near the window. In horn-rimmed glasses she looked almost matronly.

“Interruptions annoy me, Sheriff,” she said coldly. “Can we make this visit as short as possible?”

I remained standing. “I’ll try, ma’am.” I looked at the pile of hand-written manuscript on her desk. “You’re an author?”

“I’m a writer,” she sighed wearily. “There’s a difference.”

“And Mr. Burns is your agent?”

“He is.”

“Just... where does Mr. Carver fit in?”

“Tod? He’s... my fiancee. Why?”

I shrugged. “Just trying to get the picture.”

“Have you got it now?”

“I think I have,” I told her.

“Good.”

“There was a party here last night?” I asked.

“You could call it that.”

“And it broke up about midnight?”

“About then. If you know all the answers, why ask me?”

“After the party, you went to your room?”

“I did.”

“Did you go to sleep at once?”

“I bathed, read a little first.”

“Did you hear any unusual noises during the night?”

“I did not.”

“You were up early today?”

“About seven, I think. Mrs. Donald awakened me.”

“Did you see the body?”

“Yes. The... the Chief took us into the death-room and asked us to view the remains.”

“Had you ever seen the dead woman before this morning?”

“Hardly.”

“I think that’s about all, Miss Everly. Sorry I had to disturb you.”

“Don’t mention it. Close the door softly on your way out.”

Tod Carver was in the bathroom, shaving. He was naked from the waist up. He was a leanly well-built, well-tanned young man with a smooth, hairless chest. I found myself agreeing with Ed. He did come very close to being pretty.

I asked him the usual questions, studying his manner and trying to evaluate his reactions. He seemed bored, his answers were careless.

“Then the first you knew of the dead woman was when you were awakened this morning?”

“That was the first I knew she was dead.”

Maybe the surprise showed in my face. “You’d known her before?”