It wasn’t six o’clock yet and the lights were still on in the grocery shop. “Hullo Sam,” she said brightly, smiling at the man behind the counter. “Why, good evening, Mrs. Maloney. How’re you?” “I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.” The man turned and reached up behind him on the shelf for the peas. “Patrick’s decided he’s tired and doesn’t want to eat out tonight,” she told him. “We usually go out Thursdays, you know, and now he’s caught me without any vegetables in the house.” “Then how about meat, Mrs. Maloney?” “No, I’ve got meat, thanks. I got a nice leg of lamb from the freezer.” “Oh.” “I don’t know much like cooking it frozen, Sam, but I’m taking a chance on it this time. You think it’ll be all right?” “Personally,” the grocer said, “I don’t believe it makes any difference. You want these Idaho potatoes?” “Oh yes, that’ll be fine. Two of those.” “Anything else?” The grocer cocked his head on one side, looking at her pleasantly. “How about afterwards? What you going to give him for afterwards?” “Well-what would you suggest, Sam?” The man glanced around his shop. “How about a nice big slice of cheesecake? I know he likes that.” “Perfect,” she said. “He loves it.” And when it was all wrapped and she had paid, she put on her brightest smile and said, “Thank you, Sam. Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Mrs. Maloney. And thank you.” And now, she told herself as she hurried back, all she was doing now, she was returning home to her husband and he was waiting for his supper; and she must cook it good, and make it as tasty
“I better turn it off for you, hadn’t I?” “Will you do that, Jack. Thank you so much.” When the sergeant returned the second time, she looked at him with her large, dark tearful eyes. “Jack Noonan,” she said. “Yes?” “Would you do me a small favor-you and these others?” “We can try, Mrs. Maloney.” “Well,” she said. “Here you all are, and good friends of dear Patrick’s too, and helping to catch the man who killed him. You must be terrible hungry by now because it’s long past your suppertime, and I know Patrick would never forgive me, God bless his soul, if I allowed you to remain in his house without offering you decent hospitality. Why don’t you eat up that lamb that’s in the oven. It’ll be cooked just right by now.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sergeant Noonan said. “Please,” she begged. “Please eat it. Personally I couldn’t tough a thing, certainly not what’s been in the house when he was here. But it’s all right for you. It’d be a favor to me if you’d eat it up. Then you can go on with your work again afterwards.” There was a good deal of hesitating among the four policemen, but they were clearly hungry, and in the end they were persuaded to go into the kitchen and help themselves. The woman stayed where she was, listening to them speaking among themselves, their voices thick and sloppy because their mouths were full of meat. “Have some more, Charlie?” “No. Better not finish it.” “She wants us to finish it. She said so. Be doing her a favor.” “Okay then. Give me some more.” “That’s the hell of a big club the gut must’ve used to hit poor Patrick,” one of them was saying. “The doc says his skull was smashed all to pieces just like from a sledgehammer.” “That’s why it ought to be easy to find.” “Exactly what I say.”