The Alibis Arrived Before the Guests

How it begins

Agnes Ward opened the first alibi with the breakfast invoices.

The guest said he had been at a pharmacy between eight and nine on Sunday evening. A receipt was enclosed.

It was Friday.

She read the letter again, then checked the booking calendar. He was due to arrive at three.

By noon, every guest had sent one.

A woman claimed a telephone call. A couple supplied a restaurant reservation. Another man included a photograph of a clock and described it as conclusive. None mentioned what the evidence was meant to explain.

Martin Shaw brought the afternoon bus up the drive at ten past two. The guesthouse stood three miles from the village, remote enough to charge for tranquility and close enough for people to complain about the bus timetable.

'You look troubled,' he said.

'Have you ever transported an alibi?'

'I've transported plenty of excuses.'

She showed him the letters. He read them standing beside the luggage compartment.

'This receipt's wrong.'

'Because it's from the future?'

'Because the pharmacy closes at six.'

Agnes looked at the second letter. Its telephone call was supposed to have been made from the guesthouse landline. She had removed that telephone last winter when the wiring failed.

In the distance, a car turned into the lane. Their first guest had arrived early, which Agnes usually appreciated. Today she wished for a postponement and a clear explanation of whatever Sunday intended to bring.

Martin folded the letters carefully.

'Could be a game.'

'Nobody paid for a game.'

The car stopped. A man got out carrying a small case and looked toward the upper windows as though checking whether something had already happened.

Agnes stepped onto the porch.

He smiled. 'I trust my letter arrived.'

'It did,' she said. 'I was hoping you could tell me which part of the weekend you're expecting us to survive.'