Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 32: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“And Mr. Carver?’ ds this a va- cation for him too?” Burns snorted. “He’s been on vacation for thirty-three years.” “He doesn’t look that old.” ‘He 6,” 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 -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?” “Tt was.” “Did you see her?” _ “You mean this morning?” ves. “Sure. We all did.” “Ever see her before this morn- ing?” ciNever: ~“T see. Did the Chief question ou?” “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.” unusual during “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, is tite oo I nodded. 7 “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.” “IT 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. 1 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 al- most matronly. “Interruptions annoy me, Sher- iff,” she said coldly. “Can we make 30 ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S MYSTERY MAGAZINE ECOMMICLOOO| KSa(6©