Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 20, No. 1, January 1975
Captain Leopold Drops a Bomb
by Edward D. Hoch
When a well-planned gift backfires, it may be more than a misadventure.
It was not a party that Leopold wanted to attend.
Celebrating fortieth birthdays, or helping others to celebrate them, was not especially his idea of a good time. He was too far past forty himself to want a reminder of it, and of the happy home life that went with it. By his own fortieth birthday he’d been divorced six years.
However, Lieutenant Fletcher had urged him to come. “Hell, Captain, it’s a night out! Pete Garraty doesn’t turn forty every day. His wife especially asked me to urge you.”
“I know,” Leopold said with a sigh. “She phoned me too. But it’s different for you and Carol. For one thing, you’re about his age. And for another, you’ve got a wife to bring along.”
“Millie said you could bring someone if you wanted to.”
Sure.
“Ah, come on, Captain! Pete’s an assistant D.A. It won’t look good if you don’t show up. He’s getting popular at city hall.”
Departmental politics could be even worse than fortieth birthday parties. Leopold surrendered and reached for his afternoon coffee. “All right, Fletcher, I’ll be there. What time?”
“Millie said eight o’clock. And it’s a surprise, so don’t say anything to Pete if you see him.”
Just before he left for the day, in a mild burst of bravado, Leopold asked policewoman Connie Trent to accompany him to the party that evening. She hesitated only a moment and then said, “Sure — it sounds like fun.”
When he picked her up at seven-thirty, Connie was wearing a blouse and long skirt. He’d never seen her so dressed up. “You look great,” he said, feeling a bit like a proud father. “Do you need a sweater or something?”
“No, it’s warm.”
It was indeed warm for late May. He drove with the windows down, enjoying the balmy breeze blowing in from the Sound. It was Friday night, the beginning of the weekend, and though he’d be at his desk as usual the following morning, there was still something festive in the air. Perhaps it was only Connie Trent at his side.
“I only had time to get him a necktie,” she said, holding up her gaily wrapped package. “Is that all right?”
Leopold had never thought about a gift. “Sure. I forgot to bring anything.”
“This can be from both of us.”
They reached the Garraty home just after Fletcher and his wife, and followed Millie Garraty into the big master bedroom of the sprawling ranch house. “Leave your gifts on the bed,” she told them, and explained that Pete had been sent off to the store on some pretext, allowing the guests to assemble in secret. There were almost thirty in all, including a sprinkling of local political figures and some familiar faces from the D.A.’s office. The rest were friends and neighbors, and a brother named Steve whom Leopold hadn’t met before.
Pete Garraty was a popular fellow, a criminal lawyer who’d joined the district attorney’s staff a few years earlier. Though he was one of twenty-odd assistants in the growing department, his skill at trial work quickly made headlines. He was a stocky man with thin blond hair, and a liking for flashy clothes, in contrast to his wife Millie, who seemed a more conservative dresser. She was a few years younger than Pete, and not really attractive. Her face was too thin and her nose too sharp, and her constantly changing hair styles hinted at a search for beauty she’d never quite found.
“Quiet now,” she told the latest arrivals. “I hope you parked your car around the comer so he won’t see it.” She passed them little cups of fruit punch and sent them to the bedroom to deposit their gifts.
Leopold was lingering in the hallway, feeling uncomfortable as he awaited the guest of honor, when Millie passed him carrying her cup of punch and some gifts from other late arrivals. A moment later he heard her give a soft curse from the bedroom. “Damn! I’ve spilled my punch!”
“Can I help?” he volunteered.
“No, no! It’s just that it went all over some of the gifts.”
Two gifts had taken most of the liquid. One was Connie’s necktie, the other looked like a cigar box. “It couldn’t be helped,” Leopold said.
“I have some paper here. I’ll just rewrap them.”
“That’s not necessary, Millie.”
“Everything must be perfect,” she insisted, already stripping the gay paper from Connie’s tie box. “I wonder who brought this box of cigars. Pete will stink up the whole house with them.”
Leopold glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight-thirty.”
“Oh, no! Go back in the other room, will you, Captain? Get everyone into the family room and out of sight. I’ll be finished here in a minute.”
Leopold found Connie deep in conversation with Fletcher’s wife. “Pete will be returning soon. Millie wants us all to hide.”
Something in his tone of voice caused Connie to whisper, “Don’t be such a grouch, Captain.”
“Am I?”
“At times. Weren’t you ever forty?”
“I think I was four the last time anybody gave me a birthday party.”
In the crowded family room, he found himself pressed into a corner with Steve Garraty. “What I won’t go through for an older brother,” Steve chuckled. “If Barbara ever pulls this on my fortieth, I’ll divorce her.”
“Quiet everybody,” Millie said, returning from the bedroom. “I think his car is coming.”
A station wagon pulled into the driveway and a moment later Pete Garraty opened the side door. “Happy birthday!” someone shouted. “Surprise!”
As the lights went on, Pete Garraty’s boyish face registered surprise and then pleasure. “Millie — did you do all this? Damn it, woman, you might have warned me at least!”
The others were gathering around, shaking his hand and wishing him well. Leopold joined in, and got a smile and a few words from the guest of honor. “Glad to see the police department’s represented here! Without you I’d be out of a job!”
Millie was busy handing but more punch, and some of the others had discovered beer in the refrigerator. Leopold saw that Fletcher had loosened his tie and settled down to some drinking and talking. Connie Trent came up munching a cracker. “This cheese dip is good. I’ll have to ask Millie what’s in it.”
“Do women always do that at parties?”
She gave his arm a little squeeze. “You’re still a grouch.” She glanced around the room, looking over both the house and its guests. “Don’t they have any children?”
“One son. He’s away in his first year at college.”
After an hour or so of drinking and chatting, Millie suggested that Pete open his gifts. He settled into a chair at the far end of the livingroom and she brought them out from the bedroom, a few at a time. Mostly they were the usual joking reminders of turning forty, references to old age or to his sex life, but Pete took it all in good humor. The few legitimate gifts, like Connie’s necktie and a popular best seller, were received with special thanks by the host. He was like a small boy opening his gifts, ripping into them with a haste that left the floor littered with torn paper.
“Now what’s this?” he asked, unwrapping the box of cigars. Then, as his fingers started to lift the lid, Leopold saw his expression freeze into one of horrified disbelief. There was a flash of fire and then an explosion.
Instantly the room was filled with smoke and panic, screaming women and terrified men. Leopold tried to find Fletcher, tried to push his way through the mass of near-hysteria.