Black Cat Weekly #122 E-Book

Mark Troy

• Herausgeber: Black Cat Weekly
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 314

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

This is BCW's last issue of the year—which explains why we have a New Year’s story from Elizabeth Elwood (courtesy of Acquiring Editor Barb Goffman). We also have original mysteries from Mark Troy (courtesy of Acquiring Editor Michael Bracken) and Nikki Knight (a new Grace the Hit Mom story), plus a complete short story collection by Edgar Wallace, plus a solve-it-yourself puzzler from Hal Charles.

   Five classics this time on the science fiction & fantasy front, from some of the great short story writers of the field: Robert F. Young, Jack Sharkey, Harry Harrison, Thomas M. Disch, and August Derleth (one of Derleth’s rare excursions into science fiction, in fact…in this case, a robot story.)

   Here’s the complete lineup:

Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

“Your Table’s Waiting,” by Mark Troy [Michael Bracken Presents short story]“The Hot Car,” by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]“All Decked Out for New Year’s Eve,” by Elizabeth Elwood [Barb Goffman Presents short story]“No Angels Here,” by Nikki Knight [short story, Grace the Hit Mom series]Mrs. William Jones—and Bill, by Edgar Wallace [short story collection]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

“Lord of Rays” by Robert F. Young [short story]“The Smart Ones,” by Jack Sharkey [short story]“Down To Earth,” by Harry Harrison [short story]“Utopia? Never!” by Thomas M. Disch [short story]“The Maugham Obsession,” by August Derleth [short story]

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

THE CAT’S MEOW

TEAM BLACK CAT

YOUR TABLE’S WAITING, by Mark Troy

THE HOT CAR, by Hal Charles

ALL DECKED OUT FOR NEW YEAR’S EVE, by Elizabeth Elwood

NO ANGELS HERE, by Nikki Knight

MRS. WILLIAM JONES AND—BILL, by Edgar Wallace

MRS. WILLIAM JONES AND—BILL

THE ADVENTURES OF GEORGE

ACCORDING TO FREUD

BONDAGE

THE SOCIETY OF BRIGHT YOUNG PEOPLE

THE KING AND THE EDITOR

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

LORD OF RAYS, by Robert F. Young

THE SMART ONES, Jack Sharkey

DOWN TO EARTH, by Harry Harrison

“UTOPIA? NEVER!” by Thomas M. Disch

THE MAUGHAM OBSESSION, by August Derleth

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2023 by Wildside Press LLC.

Published by Wildside Press, LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

*

“Your Table’s Waiting” is copyright © 2023 by Mark Troy and appears here for the first time.

“The Hot Car” is copyright © 2022 by Hal Blythe and Charlie Sweet. Reprinted by permission of the authors.

“All Decked Out for New Year’s Eve” is copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Elwood and appears here for the first time.

“No Angels Here” is copyright © 2023 by Kathleen Kalb and appears here for the first time.

Mrs. William Jones—and Bill, by Edgar Wallace, originally appeared in 1922.

“Lord of Rays” is copyright © 1975 by Robert F. Young. Originally published in Amazing Stories, July 1975. Reprinted by permission of the author’s estate.

“The Smart Ones,” by Jack Sharkey, was originally published in Amazing Stories, February 1963.

“Down To Earth,” by Harry Harrison, was originally published in Amazing Stories, November 1963.

“Utopia? Never!” by Thomas M. Disch, was originally published in Amazing Stories, August 1963.

“The Maugham Obsession,” by August Derleth, was originally published in Fantastic Universe, June-July 1953.

THE CAT’S MEOW

Welcome to Black Cat Weekly.

It seems I got the dates wrong last time, when I said #121 would be the last issue of the year. This is the last issue of the year—which explains why we have a New Year’s story from Elizabeth Elwood (courtesy of Acquiring Editor Barb Goffman). We also have original mysteries from Mark Troy (courtesy of Acquiring Editor Michael Bracken) and Nikki Knight (a new Grace the Hit Mom story), plus a complete short story collection by Edgar Wallace, plus a solve-it-yourself puzzler from Hal Charles.

Five classics this time on the science fiction & fantasy front, from some of the great short story writers of the field: Robert F. Young, Jack Sharkey, Harry Harrison, Thomas M. Disch, and August Derleth (one of Derleth’s rare excursions into science fiction, in fact…in this case, a robot story.)

Here’s the complete lineup:

Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

“Your Table’s Waiting,” by Mark Troy [Michael Bracken Presents short story]

“The Hot Car,” by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]

“All Decked Out for New Year’s Eve,” by Elizabeth Elwood [Barb Goffman Presents short story]

“No Angels Here,” by Nikki Knight [short story, Grace the Hit Mom series]

Mrs. William Jones—and Bill, by Edgar Wallace [short story collection]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

“Lord of Rays” by Robert F. Young [short story]

“The Smart Ones,” by Jack Sharkey [short story]

“Down To Earth,” by Harry Harrison [short story]

“Utopia? Never!” by Thomas M. Disch [short story]

“The Maugham Obsession,” by August Derleth [short story]

Until next year, happy reading!

—John Betancourt

Editor, Black Cat Weekly

TEAM BLACK CAT

EDITOR

John Betancourt

ASSOCIATE EDITORS

Barb Goffman

Michael Bracken

Paul Di Filippo

Darrell Schweitzer

Cynthia M. Ward

PRODUCTION

Sam Hogan

Enid North

Karl Wurf

YOUR TABLE’S WAITING,by Mark Troy

Though Neil had passed this building many times, he’d never taken notice of it before. On those rare days when he ventured out of his apartment, he directed his attention to the pavement in front of him, avoiding eye contact with people and steering clear of children and pets.

On this day, however, an incredible, tantalizing aroma caused him to pause in his tracks. He picked out the notes of garlic, onion, basil, ginger, and a potpourri of other spices he couldn’t name. The rich combination of ingredients overrode the neighborhood odors of garbage, dog shit, and diesel exhaust. He immediately located the source of the heavenly smell—the open doorway of the building he’d never noticed before. In the doorway stood a woman whose appearance was as tempting as the aroma.

She smiled at him and said, “I’m Norma. Won’t you come in?”

Neil hesitated. He hadn’t had any practice at responding to an invitation from a woman.

She continued to smile. “Are you hungry?”

He was hungry. Indescribably so. A minute before, he had not been, but now the aroma beckoned him towards her like an olfactory siren’s call.

“Don’t be shy. All the dishes are organic. I prepare them myself. Come in. What’s your name?”

Neil stammered out his name and followed her down a narrow hall, both walls of which were adorned with picture postcards from around the world and with photos of people, some alone, most with Norma. “My favorite customers,” Norma said. “I hope your picture will be there someday.”

The hall ended at a room that was dimly illuminated from small lamps on tables that lined the dark-paneled walls. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that many tables were occupied, but none by more than one person. Neil found that odd, but also comforting. It meant he could eat alone, which he preferred, and nobody would judge him.

Norma led him to a table set for one. “I hope this will be all right,” she said. “I’m the owner, chef, and server. What do you do, Neil?”

Neil dreaded that question, because the answer always evoked a response of incredulity or pity or just plain disgust. “I write reviews of video games for a blog.”

Norma’s reaction took him by surprise. “That’s wonderful,” she said. The smile on her face and the tone in her voice told him she genuinely believed it was wonderful. “You’re a critic, like Anthony Bourdain, but for games.”

“I guess so,” he said.

“What does your family think? They must be proud.”

“I don’t have any family. None that I’m close to.”

“Oh,” Norma said. “I’m sorry.” Once again Neil felt her emotion was genuine. “Everybody should have a family,” she said. “In here, you’re family. You’ll always be welcome. If there is anything you need, just ask. Now, we have some choices tonight.” She named four dishes with French or Italian names, none of which meant anything to Neil. She smiled at his consternation. “Beef, chicken, pork, or lamb.”

Neil liked her smile. He ordered the beef.

Norma hustled away, while Neil settled in. He took quick looks at the other diners but avoided making eye contact with any of them. For their part, they avoided eye contact with him.

The meal, served by Norma, herself, was like nothing he had ever had before. The meat was fork-tender and cooked to perfection, in a sauce that was indescribably delicious. It was accompanied by succulent vegetables, roasted potatoes, mushrooms, and pearl onions, all perfectly paired with a crisp, red wine.

Norma stopped at his table to ask how he liked the meal. Neil hated interruptions while he ate, but, to his own surprise, he welcomed an interruption from her. She took genuine interest in him. Her visit made the meal taste even better, if that were possible. He noticed, too, that she had similar effects on the other diners. For the most part, everybody ate quietly except when Norma visited their tables.

Finally, Neil could eat no more. He was completely sated. The combination of good food, good wine and Norma had him feeling light-headed and euphoric.

“I hope you come back soon,” Norma said as she walked him to the door.

Neil needed time to process the new experiences. In the following days he avoided Norma’s building, taking alternate routes whenever he went out. But on each trip, the strangers seemed more intrusive, the children and pets more irritating, the smells more noxious. Neil’s work suffered. His attention frequently drifted to thoughts of Norma and the meal she served. Exactly one week after his first visit, he returned to find Norma standing in the doorway and smiling at him.

“Come in, Neil. Your table’s waiting.”

She led him to the same table as before. Everything was familiar to him. He recognized some of the other diners. And of course, there was Norma, smiling and attentive as the first time. This time, Neil chose the pork. Once again, the meal was exceptional, the wine exquisite, and the visits from Norma all too brief.

At night he dreamed of gastronomic delights and of Norma.

Neil returned three days later. After that, he returned every evening. As always, Norma greeted him at the door. “Come in, Neil. Your table’s waiting.”

Neil tried each of her offerings and found all of them wonderful. His first disappointment came on Saturday, when, near the end of his meal (the lamb), he said he would see her the next day.

“I’m sorry, Neil. I close on Sunday. It’s my day for church.”

“Heaven wants its angel back?” Neil said. It was the first time he’d ever used a line on a woman and his boldness surprised him, even though Norma had occupied his nightly dreams and daytime fantasies.

“Listen to you,” she said. “I have to make up for my sins like everyone else.”

“You? Sins? Your only sin is depriving me of these wonderful repasts.”

Norma laughed. “Your table will be waiting on Monday.”

Neil moped around his apartment. Sunday seemed to last forever, but it was finally over and on Monday he returned to his table at Norma’s.

Neil had developed a nodding acquaintance with most of the regular patrons and had even learned some of their names from overhearing snippets of conversations with Norma. He’d had little experience with after-dinner talk except for the three years in boarding school during which the conversations were vicious and bullying. While finishing his wine after another one of Norma’s fabulous meals, he felt brave enough to try.

He turned to Andy at the next table, who was also sipping his wine. “I’d love to visit the kitchen and watch how she does it,” Neil said.

“Me too. All of us would,” Andy said.

“It would be like watching Michelangelo paint or Mozart compose.”

“Norma doesn’t like anyone observing her prep. The kitchen is her exclusive domain.”

“Nobody has seen it?”

Andy leaned in Neil’s direction and whispered. “Some have. Invitation only.”

“Who? You?”

“Not me. Only her favorites.”

“How does one get to be a favorite?”

Andy shrugged. “If I only knew.”

That night Neil’s dream was full of carnality and Norma amid pots and utensils in the kitchen. The following evening, Neil snuck quick glances at Norma as she made her rounds. She seemed to flirt with everybody. If she had favorites, he couldn’t tell. Something about her manner seemed different, however. She was still friendly, but less ebullient, perhaps? He wanted to ask, but worried about how to bring it up.

She saved him the worry. After asking how his day was going, she said, “I’m sorry if I’m a little off tonight.”

“No, no. You’re not,” he protested. “You could never be off.”

She dismissed his protest with a wave and, leaning in, whispered, “Don’t tell anyone else. I might have to sell.”

“What?” he exclaimed.

“Shh!”

“Why?” he whispered.

Norma spread her hands helplessly. “Costs. Everything’s going up so fast.”

“You could raise prices,” Neil said. “I’d pay double. Triple. Quintuple would still be a bargain.”

That brought a smile from Norma. She took his hand. “Of course, you would, Neil. But some of the others, not so much. I couldn’t bear to turn them away because they couldn’t afford my food.”

“But what will you do?”

She released his hand. “I’ll pray on it. I’ll go to church twice on Sunday. God will find a way.” Norma raised her eyes to the ceiling. “She always does.”

Norma did not mention selling the next night, nor any nights thereafter. Sunday came and Neil could only hope she was getting divine guidance. Once again, he spent the day moping around his apartment, but this time he took comfort from the knowledge that she had confided in him and not in the others. Did that mean she liked him more? Dare he hope he was edging up in her affections? So it came as a shock when, on Monday, he spotted a new photo on the wall of favorites—Andy with a meaty paw around Norma’s waist. He felt an instant pang of jealousy and disappointment.

Those feelings were quickly replaced by surprise and confusion as he entered the dining room. Much had changed. All the small tables had been pushed together to make one large table around which the customers were seated and chatting. The atmosphere was one of conviviality. Neil found an empty chair. The diner next to him, whom he knew as Phil, turned with a gleeful grin and, rubbing his hands together, said, “It’s ragout night.”

“Norma’s ragout de veau,” another diner said. “You’ve never tasted anything so exquisite.”

They informed Neil that ragout night was a rare treat. It did not occur at regular intervals and Norma never announced it ahead of time. It might be weeks before the next one. The meal required many hours of preparation with hard-to-obtain ingredients.

Norma brought out great steaming bowls of the ragout along with fresh bread and wine. Neil agreed that it tasted wonderful. It was far superior to any of Norma’s other dishes. Norma ladled serving after serving and poured glass after glass of wine. The men, who on other nights rarely acknowledged each other, talked and laughed like long-time fraternity brothers.

Neil looked around at the faces. “Where’s Andy?”

“Away on sabbatical, I heard.”

“Andy did love the ragout nights.”

Norma replenished Neil’s glass and said, “I got a card from Andy.” She took a postcard from her apron pocket and passed it around. The card had the Eiffel Tower on the front. On the back, it said, “Dearest Norma! Thank you for a good time in the kitchen. I hate to miss the next ragout night, but I will always be with you. With love, Andy.” The card was dated three days earlier. Neil recalled that he had not seen Andy in a few days, but, since he was not close to any of them, did not find his absence strange.

Once again Neil felt jealous of Andy. He tried to cover his feelings with a question to Norma. “So, you showed him a good time, eh?”

“A very good time.” Norma smiled and winked. “I thought he might wake the neighbors, he got so loud.”

“Norma, you’re incorrigible,” a man said.

The men raised glasses to Andy. Then someone proposed a toast to Stan and someone else to Ralph.

“Who are Stan and Ralph?” Neil asked.

“Some guys who used to eat here. Stan got transferred to Oregon, isn’t that right Norma?”

“Yes. And Ralph’s mother took sick in Florida.”

“Can’t imagine either of them missing ragout night if they could help it.”

“They’re family,” Norma said. “Always will be. They’ll always be a part of us.”

The dinner lasted long into the night until all the ragout was consumed, and all the wine bottles emptied. As she walked him to the door, Norma whispered, “That thing we talked about? God provided.”

Neil stumbled home feeling intoxicated with the wine, the food, and, most of all, the good news from Norma.

The next day everything was back as before. The tables were returned to their places on the wall for their solitary occupants. Norma’s smile and her superb menu choices were back. Ragout night was a pleasant memory.

Neil found the photos and the postcards from Stan and Ralph. They were both large men with round, pleasant faces. They dwarfed Norma. She had shown both men a good time in the kitchen, according to their testaments.

What puzzled Neil was the nature of the relationships. All the diners showed an intense loyalty and affection for Norma, but when consummated, they appeared to be nothing more than one-night stands. He raised his concern with Phil.

“One night,” Phil said. “I’d give the world for one night with her.”

Neil admitted that he, too, would take one night with Norma in the kitchen, or anywhere.

During the months he had been eating at Norma’s, Neil had gotten larger. He took to wearing sweaters to conceal the gaps between the buttons of his shirts. One day he could no longer button his trousers. He donned sweatpants and paced his apartment in despair. How could he go to Norma’s in those clothes? What would she say? But how could he stay away? The food, her company. He couldn’t imagine existence without either. He needed to be in her presence, even if she thought him obese.

Norma visited Neil’s table and immediately he knew he need not have worried. She favored him with her smile that seemed to light up the room. “You’re looking good, Neil. I like the new look. Casual suits you.”

“You don’t think I’m getting fat?”

Norma laughed. “I’d be insulted if you weren’t. I’d think my food didn’t agree with you.” She took his hand between hers and kneaded the flesh of his palm with her slender fingers. “I like a man with meat on the bone.” The lascivious tone in her voice made his head swim.

Neil dreamed of Norma kneading his flesh.

Poor Phil missed the next ragout night because he’d gone on an African safari. He sent a humorous postcard, a cartoon of some tribesmen around a cooking pot in which sat a man wearing a pith helmet. He thanked Norma for showing him a good time in the kitchen.

Neil was too full of the ragout and the wine to feel any kind of jealousy for Phil. He offered a toast to Phil and followed up with toasts to Andy, Stan, and Ralph.

One evening Norma said, “If you could go anywhere, Neil, where would it be?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought of it.”

“I think I’d go to Thailand. The land of smiles, exotic temples, tropical nights. I hear the beaches are lovely. I can see myself lying out on a golden beach. Can you see it?”

Neil could. Beautiful Norma, her skin glowing in the sun. “Thailand would be nice.”

In his dream that night, she was lying on the beach wearing nothing at all.

It had been a month since the last ragout night and Neil wondered when the next one might be. Soon, he hoped. He’d become so comfortable with her that he felt he could risk asking.

Her smile disappeared. Her forehead creased in a frown. “Probably never,” she said. “The bank sent me a letter of foreclosure.”

“But I thought that was taken care of.”

“There’s always something more,” she said. “And I think I’ve used up all my favors with her up above.”

Neil felt that his life was coming to an end. No more ragout nights? No more exquisite dishes? No more Norma? No more family. That, he realized, had become the core of his universe, his being. Norma and family. Family and Norma. They were one and the same. Without them, how could he live? Neil couldn’t sleep that night. He fretted. What could he do? After all she had given him, how could he return the favor?

In the morning, he made a list of his assets. The total amount surprised him. It was more than enough to stave off the foreclosure with plenty left over for a trip to Thailand with Norma. The amount surprised the banker, too. “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

“Yes,” Neil said. “I need liquidity. I’m going to Thailand.”

“It will take a few days,” The banker said.

A week later, Norma sat across from him and kneaded his hand as she often did. Her face glowed with happiness after he broke the news to her. “And a trip to Thailand? Oh, Neil.” She leaned close and whispered, “Wait until everybody else has gone. Come to the kitchen. We’re going to have a really good time.”

Neil’s heart thumped wildly. “Really good time?”

“Really, really good time.” She put her finger to her lips. “Our secret.”

For once, Neil could not finish his meal. His hands sweated in anticipation. He drank glass after glass of wine to calm himself. In the past several weeks a certain phrase had forced itself, unbidden, into his mind—one-night stand. Andy, Stan, Ralph, and Phil had all experienced one-night stands with Norma before departing for other places. Had they, like him, wanted more than one night? Could they have made a long-term go with her if they had been able to stay around? Could he do what they could not? He thought so. He had no plans to go anywhere. Except to Thailand. With Norma. The look of excitement on her face when he told her he was taking her to Thailand buoyed his spirits. Yes, it was going to happen for him. His dreams were about to come true.

Finally, the last of the other diners had left. Norma brought out her phone. “I need a picture for my favorite wall,” she said. Norma pressed against him, her head against his shoulder. Neil slid his hand down her side to her waist. He had never been so close to her, had never touched her. His hand stroked her hip, longing to feel the smooth flesh under her clothes. He inhaled her perfume, the scent of her hair. The aroma was more intoxicating than her wine, more delicious than her cuisine. Norma snapped the photo and danced away. “Give me five minutes, Neil. I want to get into something appropriate.”

Neil knocked back another glass of wine while he stared at his watch. He waited five minutes and added an extra thirty seconds, so as not to appear too eager, before heaving his bulk out of the chair. He tottered across the dining room to the kitchen. “A good time in the kitchen,” bounced around in his head. “A really good time. A really good time.”

The kitchen looked as he’d imagined—stove, sink, prep table—except for a small stand with a postcard and a pen. He turned to find Norma, wearing a full-length apron, boots, gloves, and holding a mallet.

“Sign the card, Neil.”

* * * *

Norma ladled heaping bowls of her ragout de veau. “A shame Neil’s not here,” one of the diners said. “He did love ragout night.”

“He sent a card from Bangkok,” Norma said. From her apron pocket she took a postcard showing the golden spires of a Thai temple. On the back, he thanked her for showing him a really good time.

“Neil will always be with us,” she said, as she ladled more ragout.

“To Neil,” a diner said. They raised their glasses.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mark Troy is the author of the Ava Rome private eye series. His most recent novel in the series, Splintered Loyalty, was published by Down & Out Books in 2023. Mark’s short stories include “Sundown Town” (Groovy Gumshoes, 2022) and “Dos Tacos Guatemaltecos y Una Pistola Casera” (Guns + Tacos, episode 12, 2020). Mark is retired from Texas A&M University and lives in College Station, Texas.

THE HOT CAR,by Hal Charles

No matter how hard she pressed on the accelerator, Detective Kelly Stone could never quite catch up to the silver-gray sedan that kept disappearing over the rolling hills ahead nor could she identify the make or model. When she had arrived half an hour ago at the just-robbed Midtown Bank, she had noticed the sedan in a nearby alley and grown suspicious of the driver. A look-out perhaps? When she went to investigate, the car suddenly took off.

Up ahead, she spotted the sedan turning into the Pee Wee Valley Lodge, obviously having not noticed her in pursuit. Identifying the parked car ought to be easy and that knowledge would lead to the driver. However, when she entered the motel parking lot, she found what looked like a silver-gray sedan expo.

Exiting her squad car, she started feeling engine hoods. Of the approximately forty cars parked in the lot, she placed a yellow crime-tag marker on the three still resonating heat, all of them of course silver-gray. One of them she was certain belonged to the man she had seen at the bank, but which one?

“Howdy, officer,” said a bearded man with a cane walking up to her. “I’m Calvin Koots, the owner of the lodge.”

“It’s Detective, Detective Kelly Stone,” she said, badging him.

“Couldn’t help but notice you out here checking the parking lot,” said Koots. “Anything I can help you with?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She pulled out a notepad and jotted down the license plates of the three marked cars. “Can I trouble you to go through your registration cards to see who the owners of these cars are?” She tore off the list from her notepad.

Koots took the list. “Shouldn’t take long. We’re computerized now.”

“You got cameras anywhere?” she said.

“Sure do, but not one of them works.” Koots laughed. “I had to choose between security and upgrading the registration system.”

Koots led her behind the Pee Wee Valley Lodge’s registration desk. He tapped a few keys on his computer, and immediately his printer spit out a printout.

Kelly looked at the three names and their rooms.

“As I was coming out to see you,” said Koots, “I noticed one of those three gentleman, Ellis Williams, by the pool. He was reading Joyce’s Ulysses, I think. Only person I’ve ever known to attempt that feat.”

With that description, Williams was easy to find among the brown-and-tan crowd. Williams had on glasses, and Kelly couldn’t tell if he was the man she’d spotted near the bank. Badging him, the detective said, “How long have you been here reading?” she asked.

“Since dawn,” said Williams. “They say you can read Ulysses in a day, and it’s something I promised myself in graduate school I would do my first free summer.”

“You just in your car?”

“That’s right. I drove around out back to see if I could get the ballgame. No luck.”

Thanking him, Kelly found Peter Lisk in room 22, where the tall man in a ponytail claimed he’d been asleep. He didn’t look familiar either.

“So you haven’t driven anywhere today?” said Kelly.

“Well, a little while ago, I did move my car out of the sun. It gets finicky and overheats easily.”

“Why are you here?” she pressed.

“Fishing. Great streams back behind the Lodge. I was out there at dawn, and I’ll be back at dusk.”

Matt Moran was standing beside the cornhole set, trying to get some guests to play him for a few bucks. Badging him, Kelly said, “Mr. Moran, I’d like to ask you a few questions about earlier today.”

“I’m guessing you want to ask me about some crime.”

“Good guess.”

“Well, back off, detective. I drove in this afternoon from the opposite direction.”

Kelly paused. “No, Mr. Moran, I know from which direction you came. You’re under arrest.”

SOLUTION

Kelly knew Moran was guilty when he admitted coming “from the opposite direction.” How could he know the opposite direction unless he also knew the correct direction from Midtown? A search of Moran’s phone yielded the names of his co-bank robbers plus a bonus. They had all arrived at the Pee Wee Valley Lodge a few hours earlier.

The Barb Goffman Presents series showcasesthe best in modern mystery and crime stories,

personally selected by one of the most acclaimed

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field, Barb Goffman, forBlack Cat Weekly.

ALL DECKED OUT FOR NEW YEAR’S EVE,by Elizabeth Elwood

If I’d known someone had murder in mind, I would never have set foot on the Island Queen. As it was, I was still tempted to jump overboard within five minutes of leaving the dock. Blind dates are always suspect, especially if arranged by my terminally bossy older sister, but this one had been so tempting. Not just any old costume party for New Year’s Eve; this was a dinner-dance cruise, ending in Vancouver Harbor to watch the fireworks display. The date: a civil lawyer at my sister’s firm, reputedly drop-dead gorgeous and brilliant at his chosen career.

Maureen is a corporate lawyer—no mere hack defending criminals, she—and a supermom to boot. No one disputes how admirably she arranges her life; it’s how she arranges everyone else’s that’s the problem. She’s scrupulously truthful, which is how she sucked me in, but I’d forgotten that she has absolutely no sense of humor. My date was drop-dead gorgeous, indeed, complete with the dark hair and sooty eyes she so alluringly described, but oh, how deathly dull. Helmut Frosch was as solemn as a hanging judge and as animated as the base of the scaffold where he sent his victims. He was dressed, appropriately, as a Prussian cavalry officer, and delivered stilted courtesies with the same air he would have used when talking to his horse. Having complimented me on my outfit, he launched into a discourse on the disadvantages of the Dewey decimal system, this, presumably, because Maureen had told him I was a librarian.

Maureen’s husband looked as if he’d willingly jump overboard with me if he could. Sam is a criminal lawyer and much more human than his wife. He and Maureen were dressed as Caesar and Cleopatra—Sam’s choice, I gather, because he was able to avoid hiring a costume and could be cool and comfortable wrapped in a bedsheet. Maureen’s Queen of the Nile was predictably accurate and expensive, though I suspected her black wig would become blazing hot and uncomfortable once the dancing started. I’d sensibly opted for the roaring twenties look, since my short red curls could come as they are.

People were certainly all decked out for the occasion. I tuned out the monologue assaulting my left ear and scanned the dining area. A French Foreign Legionnaire and his diaphanously draped companion were propping up the bar with Batman and Robin. A magnificent Queen of the Night floated by and took the last vacant seat at a table, where Aladdin and Jasmin were hobnobbing with Darth Vader and a somewhat overblown Princess Leia. At a table across from us, Barbie was talking the ears off a glittering white-jumpsuited Elvis and a sequined monochromatic-pink Elton, while her handsome Ken stared out the window, absently watching the ocean sweep by. A fellow bored voyager? Well, he was better off than I was. No way would Barbie be pontificating on methods of classifying books.

The table next to theirs was occupied by a couple with four children.

“That’s cute,” I said. “The Von Trapps minus three.”

Maureen sniffed disapprovingly.

“What are they thinking?” she clucked. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping our two out this late.”

I refrained from comment. Sam Jr. and Susie had been left with their grandparents for the night. My parents are far less straitlaced than my sister, and I knew that they intended to wrap the kids up warmly and bring them down to the harbor on their own boat so they could see the fireworks. Maureen was going to get a surprise when they drew alongside at midnight and waved to us from my dad’s trophy, the Optimist.

I was brought back to the present as a corpulent, middle-aged pirate, complete with eye patch, bandana, and flintlock pistol, came to a halt by our table. Behind him was a buxom blonde with a good-natured smile as bright as the artfully assembled gold coins that constituted her gown. A black skull and crossbones hat sat atop her neatly coiffured curls.

The pirate squinted at the tickets he held in his right hand.

“This is us, Amy,” he boomed. “You tuck in here by Julius Caesar.” He introduced himself to Sam, who had risen to his feet to pull out the adjacent chair: “Bill Rogers, happy to meet you,” he said, thrusting out his hand, “and this is Amy, my pirate treasure. Just call us The Jolly Rogers.”

“Ingenious costume,” Sam said affably, as Amy sat down. Courteously, he introduced the members of our party to the newcomers.

Bill Rogers’s eyes gleamed as he sat down.

“Well, shiver me timbers! A beautiful flapper at my elbow. How lucky can a pirate get?”

His wife eyed my costume shrewdly from the other side of the table.

“Fabulous beadwork,” she said, “and a glorious shade of lilac. I’d say that dress is an authentic period piece.”

I nodded.

“It is. My great-grandmother was a singer. This is the costume she wore in Showboat.”

“What a wonderful legacy,” said Amy.

Bill chortled heartily.

“My Amy can talk about legacies,” he announced to all around the table. “She’s just hit the jackpot herself. Now we can pass our contracting company down to our sons and spend the rest of our lives traveling and having fun.”

“Really?” asked Sam. “What did you do? Win the lottery?”

“No,” said Bill. “It really is a legacy. Her godmother left her three and a half million! We just received the money this week.”

“Good lord,” said Maureen, shocked, I suspected, more by the frankness of the announcement than the amount of money involved.

“She left the same amount to her four other godchildren,” Bill continued cheerily, “and there was still some left over for her favorite charities. We’re here on client-appreciation tickets from Royal Trust—and they should be bloody appreciative,” he added emphatically, “because they take a whopping whack of the estate themselves.”

Amy halted the flow from her husband. “Charlotte never married or had children of her own. She held a high position in an investment company for most of her life, but she traveled constantly and had friends all over the world. In the process, she acquired five goddaughters, two in England, one in France, one in Australia, and me in Canada. None of us ever dreamed she’d accumulated so much wealth, let alone that she’d leave it to us. When she died back in 2019, I was stunned when I heard what I’d inherited.”

Maureen’s eyes and ears perked up. Cleopatra was in lawyer mode.

“She died in 2019? It’s taken a long time to settle if you only just received the money.”

“Ah,” said Bill, “that’s because they couldn’t trace the Aussie goddaughter. They only tracked her down three months ago.”

Fascinated, we listened as Bill explained why it had been difficult to get information about the missing heir. Rose Darwin had been a loner with no living relatives. She had taken early retirement from her job and gone walkabout, but had not been seen since setting off on a hike from a small outback town. She had been presumed dead, but then, last October, she had suddenly reappeared. Two years in the boonies had been sufficient solitude, even for her, and she was more than ready to return to civilization. The accountant handling the estate told Bill that Rose had come to Vancouver at Christmas to claim her loot in person. Bill had suggested that he offer her a ticket for the cruise, as it would have been nice for Amy to meet her fellow goddaughter, but Rose was flying back to Australia on New Year’s Day.

“She’s obviously not a party girl,” said Bill, “though God knows what she’s going to do with three and a half million in some little billabong backwater. Too bad for us they found her,” he chortled. “If they hadn’t tracked her down, Amy and the other three legatees would have eventually divvied up her share.”

“It was quite the surprise when we met the accountant who was handling the estate,” Amy chimed in amiably. “Kevin Hanbury was a former client of Bill’s. We did the renos for his home five years ago. He and his wife have a lovely waterfront house in Kitsilano.”

“Did have,” said Bill. “Kev doesn’t get to enjoy it any more. He finally had one affair too many, with his secretary, yet, and his wife gave him the toss. Now he’s headed for divorce, a trophy wife, and probable bankruptcy.”

Gossip, I realized, was to be the order of the evening. Well, it was better than a lecture on the Dewey decimal system. I smiled encouragement as Amy leaned in conspiratorially and told us how Kevin Hanbury had unloaded on Bill one evening when they had gone for a drink after concluding the paperwork. Kevin, it appeared, was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He’d tried breaking off with his girlfriend, but she wasn’t having it, and Kevin being an old-school idiot—Bill’s words, not mine—didn’t understand that in the MeToo generation, affairs with secretaries didn’t end with tears and a nice present to the dumped lady; they ended with lawsuits and a canceled career.

A stentorian voice from the aisle stopped Amy in mid-sentence.

“Glad to see those tickets aren’t going to waste.”

A tall large-framed man, bald of head and dressed in a heavy dark-green robe, had stopped by our table. Beside him was a voluptuous blonde, cheekily filling out a British schoolgirl’s uniform.

Bill Rogers stared hard at the newcomers. Then recognition dawned. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Kevin,” he said.

“We had more complimentary tickets than interested clients, so I decided to use two myself.”

“What happened to your hair?”

“Under the skullcap.” He gestured to the schoolgirl at his side. “You haven’t met Georgia, have you?”

“Not Georgia tonight.” The blonde giggled. “I’m Hermione Granger. I’ve been kidnapped by Lord Voldemort.”