Congratulations to the Corpse E-Book

Arthur Leo Zagat

• Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Doc. Turner Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 34

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Congratulations to the Corpse by Arthur Leo Zagat is a gripping and darkly humorous mystery that will keep you guessing from start to finish. When a seemingly benign congratulatory note is discovered at the scene of a high-profile murder, it sets off a chain of events that leads to a web of deception and intrigue. As detective Dan Ellis delves into the case, he uncovers a tangled conspiracy involving jealousy, betrayal, and hidden motives. Each clue reveals a deeper layer of the mystery, and Ellis must navigate a labyrinth of suspects and secrets to find the truth. Can he solve the case before another life is claimed? Prepare for a thrilling ride with unexpected twists and a touch of sardonic wit.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Congratulations to the Corpse

Synopsis

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Landmarks

Table of Contents

Cover

Congratulations to the Corpse

Doc. Turner Series

By: Arthur Leo Zagat

Edited by: Rafat Allam

Copyright © 2024 by Al-Mashreq Bookstore

First published in The Spider, July 1939

No part of this publication may be reproduced whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the author

Synopsis

They had gathered together to celebrate in his honor—those tenement dwellers whom Doc Turner had long bravely defended against the Underworld. But not one of the merrymakers had the slightest idea that their chief guest was already being fêted by a toastmaster from hell!

The Spider, July 1939, with "Congratulations to the Corpse"

1

SOMETHING unusual was brewing on Morris Street. Standing white-haired and frail-seeming in the doorway of his ancient pharmacy, Andrew Turner sensed the excitement that motivated the shifting throngs. There was a strange new ring to the raucous shouts of the hucksters whose pushcarts made vivid splashes of color in the dusk. Furtive whispering passed among the shawled housewives, among the swarthy, alien-countenanced laborers plodding homeward from their day's weary toil. Even the tattered, dirty-faced urchins took time out from their play to huddle in low-voiced conferences, little eyes darting furtively as if to make sure that they were not overheard.

"I don't like it." Doc Turner's acid-stained, fleshless fingers tugged at the bushy droop of his mustache. "Jack, my boy, I don't like it at all."

"Hell, Doc!" Jack Ransom shrugged burly shoulders, a broad grin on his freckle-sprayed countenance. "You're always looking for something to worry about." Carrot-topped, barrel-chested, the sturdy young garage mechanic spoke confidently. "There's nothing wrong. I'm sure of it."

"The Lord knows I hope so,—" Doc sighed. "But tomorrow morning I shall have been dealing with these people for fifty years, and I ought to know when something's exciting them."

"Fifty years, huh!" An odd twinkle suddenly came into Ransom's brown eyes. "That's a long time."

"A very long time," the old druggist agreed. "Morris Street was little more than a country road when I opened this store. Those tenements—" he waved a hand at the dingy facades—"were all shiny and new. Instead of these iron 'El' pillars, elms marched along here, tall and proud. One breathed the fragrance of flowers from the stately homes whose lawns sloped down to the river, instead of this stench of over-ripe vegetables, of unwashed bodies and clothing worn too long."

"Yes," Ransom murmured. "You've told me about that."

"Then the 'El' came to roof Morris Street with shadow and with noise, and those lovely houses down by the river gave place to factories and warehouses. And the immigrants flocked here, from every quarter of the world." Doc sighed. "They dreamed of streets paved with gold, and found only granite cobbles; of a bright, new life, and found only toil and bitter struggle; of a brotherly welcome, and found themselves only despised as outlanders, scorned for their bewilderment and their helplessness."

"But they found you too, Doc,"—Jack added. "And in you they found a damned good friend. That faded sign overhead only says that you're a druggist. Yet you've been far more than a druggist to them. You've helped them in a thousand ways; advised them. Dozens of times you've risked your life fighting for them against those lousiest of crooks—the ones that prey on the ignorance and superstition and friendlessness of the poor. And these people know it. Don't make any mistake, they know it and love you for it.

"Perhaps so," the old man demurred. "But they haven't yet learned to come to me as soon as some new trouble shows up. You've been my good right hand, Jack, in most of my battles for them, and you're aware how clannishly secretive they are. Time and again we've found out only by accident that they were being victimized. Time and again we've had to fight their enemies in the dark—and because of that have more than once come uncomfortably near the brink of death."

"Yeah," Jack grunted. "They sure are hellish close-mouthed."