Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 7 & 8, July/August 2006

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The keg burst when the redheaded beauty entered the Denver Emporium.

It was just a coincidence. The bartender was setting the tap, and perhaps he used a bit too much force. Or alternately, the wood may have been weakened by age and by use so that just at the moment she entered, the seams split and that new Coors beer gushed out onto the floor. A broken old miner who hadn’t seen a town since 1872 dropped to his knees and started lapping like a dog, while the cowhands at the bar jumped up on their stools to keep the beer off their boots. As for the rest of the Emporium, they all turned to laugh and point, while the owner howled in dismay at his losses.

Everyone except the redhead, that is.

She didn’t appear to notice any of it. She just walked into the main room, smiled shyly at the floor manager, and whispered something to him. The manager straightened his jacket, stroked his beardless chin, and escorted the lady to one of the back rooms.

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