Robert Fish - Moonlight Gardener

And the fights! Oh, the fights! Ah, the fights! Mrs. Williams said piously, leaning forward, her ungainly flowered hat almost toppling, her small china-blue eyes intent upon the young sergeants unrevealing face. Awful! Awful! She paused significantly. Especially the terrible one they had the night before last Wednesday, it was, she said, and paused again, almost breathlessly. The night she disappeared, she added meaningfully.

Disappeared. The sergeant started to write the word down on his lined pad and then stopped halfway to end it in a wiggly squiggle, culminated in an almost vicious dot. He wished, not for the first time, that he had chosen a different line of endeavor for his lifes work; he had a strong feeling he knew what was coming.

Disappeared. Thats what I said, Mrs. Williams said sharply. She hasnt been seen since and thats disappearance, isnt it? The edge of poorly concealed disdain tinged her voice. And then that man trying to tell me, when I went over to borrow a cup of sugar

You were out of sugar, the sergeant murmured politely, and carefully printed the word SUGAR on his pad. He hated busybodies of all types, but particularly those like the woman facing him, and not merely because they caused the police a great deal of work that almost inevitably was pointless. He wondered how life must have been in those delightful days before neighbors-within-earshot. Beautiful, without a doubt.

Mrs. Williamss little chin hardened. Her eyes defied him to attempt avoiding the responsibilities of his office with such flimsy tactics. Her well-tended hands clasped themselves more tightly about her purse, as if it might not be safe in this world of predators, even here in the local police station.

That man was trying to tell me, she went on inexorably, a juggernaut not to be stopped, that she was out shopping. Before eight in the morning, when the stores in town dont open until nine!

The sergeant made a series of little 9s to border the mutilated DISAPPEARED and the intact SUGAR.

And she wasnt home all day, Mrs. Williams declared flatly, because I was watching. And then, this morning, I went over again, because I was worried about her, and he comes up with an entirely new story this time, about how she suddenly decided late last night to visit her sister. Which is a bit strange, since she doesnt have a sister and I know that for a gospel fact!

The sergeant carefully printed NO SISTER on the paper before him, boxed the words neatly with his pencil, and began shading the enclosed parallelogram. He kept his eyes from the rather pretty face of the woman across from him. At the moment, she wasnt all that pretty.

And how could she possibly have gone away in the middle of the night the way he said without my hearing, I mean? Mrs. Williams demanded. My house is the only one nearby and Im sure, if Mr. Jenkins had come for her in his taxi or even if he drove her to either the train or the bus station I would have heard.

Im sure, the sergeant said, and added under his breath, at any hour, day or night, and he made a series of tiny loops to border the shaded box on his pad. They intertwined with the curved 9s very nicely.

Her blue eyes studied the expressionless face across from her and then dropped to the artistic caligraphy on the pad. Her jaw tightened dangerously, but she kept her voice under control as she brought up her heaviest artillery.

And then last night, she said, her tone almost vicious, after two in the morning, he digs up one of the small peach trees in the garden, and then, fifteen minutes later or maybe a half-hour, no more I can hear him out there replanting it. And her gone disappeared more than twenty-four hours! Now, she said, her tone, her angle of incidence, her entire bearing daring him to downgrade her testimony, what is your smart-aleck answer to that, young man?

Does it make sense for a man to dig up a tree in the middle of the night, and then replant it a half-hour later? Does it? Well?

The sergeant laid aside the pencil with a certain sense of reluctance and for the first time really studied the woman facing him. The spiteful expression spoiled what he knew might have been beauty under different circumstances; the faint sneer disgusted him. But he couldnt deny the substance of her arguments.

No, he admitted in his drawl. No, it doesnt.

Well! Im glad you finally realize it, young man. And the money was all hers, too, Mrs. Williams added, almost as an afterthought. She was quite aware that the statement was anti-climactic, but she definitely wanted it included in the record of evidence.

Money?

In the safe-deposit box with her jewels. The money that bought the house, even though everything is in both their names. You wait and see, she added, leaning forward again. Hell be having it up for sale within a week. He never did a days work since they married if he ever did one before, which I seriously doubt!

There were several moments silence. The sergeant made the first move, bringing his considerable bulk to his feet, indicating the interview was over. He waited as she came to her five-feet-two-inches of height, looking up at him defiantly.

Ill take the matter up with the sheriff, maam, he said.

I should certainly hope so, young man, she retorted coldly, studying him once again with eyes that were quite unimpressed. Then she marched from the station house, the fur piece about her neck seeming to hurry to catch up with her.

I suppose well have to check it out, the sheriff said wearily. I dont know too many people in this town most of my time is spent over in Bellerville at the county seat but I do happen to know Charley Crompton. The idea of him doing away with that battle-axe he married is simply ridiculous. If he has a temper, Ive never seen it. Hes a mouse. If it was the other way around, I might believe it. But Charley! Impossible. At any rate, its just a rumor from that nosy woman at this stage.

He glanced up at the husky young sergeant. I dont suppose youve had time to do anything about it yet?

Well, the sergeant said, considering, old Sol Jenkins hes our taxi here he didnt pick her up, last night or any other time. He laughed and said he didnt believe she ever took a taxi in her life. They cost money. And if Charley drove her, or if she walked across the fields to the station, nobody caught either the eight oclock or the midnight train, and thats the last one. And the ticket men at both the train and the bus station dont remember her on any train or bus in the last two days, afternoon or night.

What about this Mrs. Williamss husband? the sheriff asked. Mr. Williams? Does he confirm or deny it?

There is no Mr. Williams, the sergeant said. His tone commended the shade of Mr. Williams for his wisdom in being the nonexistent spouse of the meddling Mrs. Williams. Shes been a widow over four years. He shook his head. Shes only forty, but I think shes been forty all her life. Doesnt have anything to do all day except sit on the telephone or write letters to the editor of the Bugle. Shes a feminist. I gather she even had Mrs. Crompton all worked up on the stuff.

The sheriff smiled. But not your wife? he said.

Not yet, at any rate, the sergeant said, and grinned back.

The sheriffs smile faded. Any other neighbors?

About a half-mile away, the nearest. Those two houses stand all alone at the end of the road. Around a curve from the others, as a matter of fact. Theyre pretty isolated.

I see. The sheriff drummed his fingers and then looked up. What about that statement regarding money?

Well, the sergeant said slowly, frowning, the money was Mrs. Cromptons is hers, I mean. Everybody in town knew that, but if every man who marries a dollar or two killed his wife for it, wed be in real trouble. And as far as Charley Crompton telling that busybody neighbor of his that his wife was out shopping, or visiting a sister that doesnt exist, I dont see where he had a duty to tell her anything. If it had been me, Id have told her my wife was off to Timbuktu, and let her make something of it.