The Mystery Megapack: 25 Modern and Classic Mystery Stories

by Talley, Marcia

  Finally Shannon saw me. “Hey, Regina. Did you hear? Bane picked me. I guess I’m not going to be able to help out with security tomorrow.” She actually giggled.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t want you on the team anymore anyway.”

  “Hey, I know I haven’t been at my best, but—”

  I forced a laugh. “No, I think this was your best.”

  “Now, now,” Bane said soothingly, “I’m sure Shannon’s been trying.”

  “Then how did that woman nearly get past her at the meet-and-greet? And you didn’t see the mess she made in the signing room.”

  “That wasn’t my fault!” she protested.

  “Maybe not, but you didn’t show up to help, either.”

  “I told you I didn’t hear the call.”

  “That’s right, you forgot your walkie-talkie, didn’t you?” I said with a sneer. “Where’d you leave it this time—there sure as hell isn’t anyplace to put it in that getup.”

  “You know I’m not on call tonight,” she said defiantly. “It’s locked up in my room!”

  “Then how did you hear the Linus when Pinky fell down the stairs?” I asked.

  She went white. “What?”

  “For once, you were where you were supposed to be—you got there faster than Andi. So how did you know there was a Linus?”

  “Someone told me.”

  “Who? I’ll buzz whoever it was right now to confirm.”

  “I … I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  She was right, of course. I wasn’t a cop, and I wasn’t going to beat it out of her. Fortunately I didn’t have to, because Bane took her in his arms, and looked at her with those indescribably blue eyes, and said, “You didn’t mean to kill him, did you, luv?”

  “No,” she whispered. “I mean, it wasn’t me.”

  He gave her the smile that had melted the heart of the werewolf hunter herself, not to mention countless fans. “Of course it was, but you didn’t mean for him to get hurt. Just tell me what happened.”

  I was almost afraid to breathe. If she hung tough, I didn’t think there was anything else we could do. But she was a fan, through and through. She’d killed to get close to Bane—she couldn’t lie to him. As long as she basked in his attention, Elliot and I might as well not have existed.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said in a tiny voice. “I only came up here to talk to you about using me in your scene, but Pinky wouldn’t let me come in. He said he knew I was lying about working security. He knew which conventions I’d said I’d worked at, and he actually called to check up on me. Can you believe that?”

  Bane shook his head in shared dismay.

  “I’ve worked at other conventions, honest I have, but I was just a gopher, and I knew a gopher wouldn’t get to see you up close. I just had to meet you.”

  He nodded understandingly.

  “Then Regina got mad at me, and you and that other girl—”

  “She meant nothing to me,” Bane said convincingly, both because he was an actor and because it was true.

  “I know, but Regina had already given you to Pinky, and I knew tonight might be my last chance to talk to you. That’s all I wanted. But Pinky said I was a phony, and that you wouldn’t want to waste time with me. He was going to buzz Regina to tell her about me. So I knocked that damned walkie-talkie out of his hand. It fell down the stairs, and when he reached for it, he lost his balance and fell. I tried to grab him, really I did. I didn’t push him.”

  Bane nodded again, but I’m not sure if she saw it, because she’d looked away from him at last, either from shame or guilt. “Then what happened?” he prompted.

  “I meant to get back to the masquerade, but I saw all the redshirts coming, and knew Regina must have called a Linus. Since I couldn’t get back without them seeing me, I acted as if I’d come with them.” She looked at him imploringly. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “What he believes doesn’t matter nearly as much as what the cops believe.”

  “Bane would never turn me in,” she snarled. “It’s your word against ours.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” Bane said, stepping back from her.

  “Besides,” I said, “we’re not the only ones who heard you.” I held up my walkie-talkie so she could see that I was holding the button down. Every redshirt had heard her confession, and they all heard me say, “Linus in Bane’s room.” Then I put down the walkie-talkie to say, “Elliot, call the cops.”

  “You’re the boss,” he replied.

  “Damn straight I am.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Toni L.P. Kelner is all about multi-tasking. She writes the “Where are they now?” mysteries featuring Boston-based freelance entertainment reporter Tilda Harper (the latest is Blast From the Past), co-edits urban fantasy anthologies with Charlaine Harris (their most recent is the NYT bestseller Death’s Excellent Vacation), and sneaks in short stories whenever possible. As is apparent from her story in this collection, she’s a fan of science fiction conventions and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Kelner lives north of Boston with author/husband Stephen P. Kelner, two daughters, and two guinea pigs.

  A CROOK WITHOUT HONOR, by Johnston McCulley

  CHAPTER I

  His lips curled in a sneer, his little eyes glittering, Jim Morlan stood against the bole of the tree in the darkness and watched the patrolman go slowly along the walk, swinging his stick, his helmet on the back of his head, sniffing at the roses that grew along the edge of the lawn, looking up at the big moon, enjoying the perfect summer night.

  “Ass!” Jim Morlan growled to himself.

  It was the habit of Jim Morlan to regard almost everybody in that light. To him, all other human beings were inferiors. It was a state of mind he had acquired in boyhood, and it had grown with his great body until it had taken full possession of him and molded his character. It had cost him all his friends and a great majority of his mere acquaintances. Jim Morlan, in that particular corner of the underworld, stood alone. He was known as a crooked crook. He did not possess even the questionable honor of his profession. Openly, he said that he would as soon rob another crook as an honest man. The “honor among thieves” idea he called “bunk.”

  The unsuspecting patrolman, possibly thinking of his cottage, his wife, and his children, passed on down the street and finally turned a corner. Jim Morlan knew, because he had made it his business to know, that he would not return to this vicinity for more than an hour. This was the select residence portion of the city, and the patrolman had a big beat. There were a few private watchmen scattered around, but Jim Morlan knew them and their habits and had nothing to fear from them.

  Yet he hesitated for a moment to be sure, and then he crept like a shadow into another shadow cast by a clump of shrubs, and from that to still another made by a big tree, and in this manner he worked his way from the street to the side of the big house he intended to rob.

  Morlan knew all about that house, too. He knew that the family had gone to the mountains for a month, that the master of the house spent a part of the time in town, that there were but three servants in the place, and that they slept on the third floor in the rear. They were no more than caretakers. The better servants had been sent to the mountain lodge with the family. Morlan had nothing to fear from the three who remained.

  In the library of that residence, there was a safe hidden behind a panel in the wall. Jim Morlan knew that it contained some old jewelry that never was used, but which would bring considerable cash when properly handled by a “fence.” He expected to find some ready money, too, for he had ascertained that it was the policy of the master of the house to keep a supply in the safe at all times.

  Nor was that all. There was a tray of ancient coins in the safe, so the fence had said, and an unscrupulous collector in another city would pay a big price for a particular coin in the tray. Jim Morlan expected to make a good thing out of this night’s work.

  A
nd it was necessary, he told himself. He was almost out of funds, thanks to an idea that he could play poker. He knew that the men who had strapped him were exulting, not only because they had taken the money, but also because they had taken it from him.

  For Jim Morlan was cordially hated by the others of the underworld. He never played fair. He always worked alone. He did not give loyalty to his kind, and expected none. He belonged to no class, but stood alone. He had gone out of his way some months before to swindle a pair of crooks.

  And there was a keen determination throughout the underworld to “get” him. There was no idea of turning him over to the police. The idea was to make him a laughingstock, to kill him with ridicule.

  Morlan did not think of these things as he came finally to the side of the big house and crouched in the darkness near the wall. He watched and listened for a time. In the distance, some clock struck the hour of one. The district was quiet. There was scarcely a light to be seen, save here and there a soft glow from a entry hall or servants’ quarters.

  Morlan slipped along the wall until he came to a basement window. He did not break the catch with a jimmy. He guessed that the window was connected with a burglar-alarm system. Putting a rubber suction cap in the middle of the glass, he held it there with his left hand and, with his right, cut out the window close to the sash, using a glass cutter of the most approved pattern.

  A quick pull, a snap, and the pane of glass came away with scarcely any noise. Jim Morlan crawled through and found himself in a laundry room.

  Now he flashed his electric torch and found a piece of carpet, which he stretched before the open window. None knew better than Morlan that a sudden gust of wind might come through that window, slam a door somewhere in the house, and awaken the servants.

  The window covered, Morlan flashed his electric torch again and made his way into a hall. Finding a flight of steps, he crept upwards and presently found himself on the ground floor of the house. He stopped for a moment to watch and listen, the torch extinguished. Then he padded through the hall toward the library.

  Once inside the library, with the hall door closed behind him, Morlan felt his way around the walls until he had drawn all the window shades tightly. Only then did he flash the torch again. He did not want a sudden flash of light to go outside, possibly to be seen by some passing watchman and arouse curiosity.

  He knew where the safe was located and how to slide back the panel in the wall, and he lost no time in doing so. And then he knelt before the safe and played the light of the torch on the combination knob.

  Jim Morlan always was well prepared when he turned a trick. He knew a great deal about this particular safe. It was an imposing thing, but as a matter of truth, it presented no great difficulties to a finished cracksman. What it had in appearance it lacked in security.

  He worked at the combination slowly, his ear pressed close to the steel dial. He made a mistake once, growled low down in his throat, and began anew. And finally he triumphed and, with a grunt of satisfaction, swung the heavy door of the safe open.

  Now his torch was extinguished again for a moment, while, holding his breath, Jim Morlan listened again. He heard not the slightest sound to indicate the presence of danger. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he once more flashed the torch.

  The strong box was before him. Morlan took a tool from the lining of his coat and snapped the lock. He pulled the strong box out. Jewels flashed in the light, gems in old-fashioned settings that made Morlan’s eyes glitter with avarice.

  Morlan extracted them and put them in a pile on the carpet before him. He opened another drawer and found a package of currency—a couple of hundred dollars, he guessed. It was not so much as he had expected, but it came in handy. And now he would have to find the tray of old coins.

  It did not take him long to find them. Putting the tray on the bottom of the safe, he glanced over it rapidly, seeking the particular coin he had been told to get. He wanted to put that in a special pocket, away from the others. It was to be the best part of the night’s haul.

  A sound reached his ears. Morlan snapped out the torch and remained silent and motionless, crouching before the safe. He heard the sound again—steps in the hall.

  A door creaked as though it was being opened slowly. Morlan took a revolver from his pocket and held it ready. He was caught, in a way, if this unknown entered the library and snapped on the lights. But he would have the advantage of surprise, perhaps—and he could make a get-away. He did not have time to scoop up the coins and the jewelry and currency and slip the loot into one of his pockets. He heard the rustling of silk. And then the lights flashed on.

  Just inside the hall door stood a young woman in evening dress.

  CHAPTER II

  Jim Morlan sprang to his feet and menaced her with the revolver.

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  “Silence!” Morlan commanded. “Shut that door behind you! Not a sound or I’ll shoot!”

  She seemed stupefied, but she obeyed mechanically, as though through the force of the fear he had inspired. She closed the door gently, and then swayed against the wall, one hand to her forehead.

  “Sit down over there by that table!” Morlan commanded in a hoarse whisper.

  She staggered across the room and collapsed in the chair. Her eyes were wide, and she appeared to be badly frightened.

  “You—you’re a burglar!” she whispered. “You—you were robbing the safe—””

  “Naw, I’m just the rent collector,” Morlan whispered in reply, grinning. “Seems to me you butted in at the wrong time. What’re you doin’ here? I understood the family was in the mountains.”

  “You—robbing the safe—”

  “Yeh, I suppose so. You just be quiet now and don’t make a move, and as soon as I collect these little trophies I’ve found I’ll decide what to do with you. I can’t be havin’ my get-away spoiled by any young skirt.”

  She seemed to be breathing easier now. She bent forward a bit in her chair. Morlan glanced sharply at her and stooped to pick up the swag.

  “Wait!” she implored. “I—I don’t belong in this house—”

  “Then what are you doin’ here?” Morlan asked. “Burglar yourself?”

  “I—yes, in a way.”

  “That’s good! You don’t look the part,” said Morlan. “Folks don’t burgle in Paris gowns and with their hair dressed that way. Are you tryin’ to play some kind of a game on me? Anybody else comin’ after you?”

  “No.”

  “You play a trick, my lady, and it’ll be your last. This gun I’m holdin’ is a businesslike little article.”

  “I—please listen to me,” she begged. “Maybe you—can help me—”

  “I don’t quite get this.”

  “Listen,” she begged again. “I—I came here—to get something, I had a key to the front door. I don’t belong in this house, but I—I’ve been a guest here often. I belong to the same social set—”

  “What’s all this?” Morlan wanted to know.

  “Do you know whose house this is?” she asked.

  “Sure. It’s Blakeley’s house.”

  “And do you know Blakeley? A polished gentleman, isn’t he—rich, has social position, charitable, all that!”

  She sneered. “Do you know why I am here?” she asked.

  “I’m listenin’.”

  “Blakeley is a man of fifty-five, a widower.”

  “I know all that. Get down to cases.”

  “And he—he wants to marry me. Can you imagine me marrying a man like him? There—there is another man, you see, but that doesn’t stop Blakeley. And so—”

  “Pardon me, lady, but I ain’t got time to hear the latest society news.”

  “Please wait—listen, and help me. I’ll make it worth your while. See—see these rings? They are worth several thousand, I suppose. I—I’ll give them to you if you’ll help me!”

  “Very nice. But I can just take ’em without helpin’ you at all,
” said Morlan.

  “But you wouldn’t do that, I’m sure. And it is such a little thing I want.”

  “Go ahead with the story.”

  “I’ve got a foolish young brother. Blakeley got him gambling at the club, and he—he forged a check. And now Blakeley has it—and if I don’t agree to marry him—”

  “He’ll hand the boy over to the cops?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “It’s an old scheme, of course, but it is terrible for all that. I want to save my brother—and myself. I knew the family was away, and I slipped here from a party. I had some wild idea of getting that check.”

  “You think it is in the safe?”

  “Possibly. Either there or in the desk. Get it for me, and I’ll give you these rings. Here—take them now!”

  She stripped them from her fingers, and Morlan took them from her hand and stepped back. His eyes glittered as he looked at them. Three or four thousand, at least, he thought. He chuckled as he looked at her again. “Well, I’ll play fair for once, lady,” he said. “I’ve already got the safe open, and if the check’s here, you can have it.”

  “And I hope—hope you take everything else!” she whispered. “Blakeley deserves it. But just get me the check and then let me get away. And I’ll thank you—and thank you! It is for eight hundred dollars, made payable to Peter van Lyne.”

  Jim Morlan knelt before the safe and pulled out a bundle of documents, bonds, receipts, lists of securities. Perhaps the check would be there, he thought. He’d give it to the fool girl, then take the other stuff and make his get-away. He would have nothing to fear from her. He might even learn her identity, and there would be possibilities of blackmail in the future.

  He began going through the papers. Once he glanced at her, and she had settled back in the chair again and was breathing heavily, evidently listening intently. She was frightened half to death, Morlan decided.