Flash and Bang

by J. Alan Hartman

  Roy got still. “What? What notes?”

  His son shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. The ones that said ‘If anybody gets hurt it’ll be their own fault?’”

  Murder on Elm Street

  Su Kopil

  The BANG reverberated throughout every house on Elm Street, startling the inhabitants and plunging them into darkness on an icy winter night. Cold wind sliced through the cracks and caulking of windows and doors in three of the four houses.

  Mona Pearson in Number 1 searched for candles while keeping up a steady barrage of commands to her husband, Ralph, who took advantage of the power outage to chug back two more beers.

  In Number 2, Emerson Creswell, successfully clawed his way through the maze of furniture, books, tools and discarded debris in every stage of rot that seemed to erupt from the floorboards and rain down from the ceiling. That he found a flashlight was a miracle in itself; that the batteries were dead, merely par for the course.

  Elsa Dunn, in Number 3, had just laid down with a headache when she heard the boom. She ignored it as something not pertaining to her, until the frigid air found her beneath the heavy blanket. She flicked the bedside lamp in vain then stumbled on numb feet to the closet. She found a pack of matches in the worn smoking jacket hanging next to the fur coat she hadn’t worn in a decade.

  The power company couldn’t get through on the icy roads. Hour after hour, the residents of Elm Street paced, shivered, and huddled under covers—waiting. By 9 p.m., the wind started flinging pellets of ice against their French doors and oversized windows, and they could no longer feel their limbs.

  Emerson was the first to notice that not all the houses on Elm Street were dark. From his dining room window, past the tangle of trees and yard junk, he saw Number 4 glowing like a beacon in the forest. He pulled on a pair of rubber boots he’d dug out from under a pile of old pizza boxes, shrugged into the old leather jacket from his writing days, and shoved his head into a black knit cap, then climbed his way to the front door.

  At the same time, Mona Pearson screamed at Ralph to “get back inside this house this instant.” If she hadn’t paused for breath, she never would have heard his grunt. “The old Vanderhall place got lights. I’m going over.”

  Elsa Dunn, in Number 3, couldn’t believe it when she spotted a shadowy figure coming out of Emerson’s house. It had to be Emerson but she hadn’t seen him use his front door in eons. Then she noticed the Pearsons slipping and sliding down their driveway. What on earth was going on?

  Mona glanced in Elsa’s direction before following the two men down the street. “Wait,” Elsa yelled, but, of course, they couldn’t hear her inside the house. Already dressed in four layers and a coat, she waddled to the door and flung it open. The frigid wind kicked her in the face. Fighting back, she screamed “Wait!” again.

  Emerson turned, then Mona. They waited a heartbeat, but the cold demanded they keep moving, and so they did, with Elsa playing catch-up all the way to the gates of Number 4. Here they paused and looked at one another. They hadn’t visited Number 4, nor spoken to one another for that matter, in twenty-two years. In all that time, the house had remained empty, set back from the road on a little rise of land, while the trees crept up to cradle it within their limbs. But there was no denying now, as they stood at the open gates of the drive, the warm glow of light and life from within.

  By the time they made their way up the steps to the entrance, the front door was open, spilling out warmth and light and silhouetting the figure of a young woman. “We’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

  The startled group glanced at each other with apprehension, and perhaps a touch of fear. Their last time together had been here in this house for the Vanderhalls’ anniversary party—a celebration that had ended in murder.

  Ralph Pearson was the first to move. He stepped out of the cold and into the foyer. “Got anything to drink?” he asked.

  The young woman led the group to the double parlor. Unlike their own cold, electric hearths, a real fire blazed in the fireplace. The room was cozy and well lit by a generator humming somewhere in the distance. A man stood by the bar, nodding to them as they walked in.

  “I’m Madigan, and this is my husband Tom.” The woman couldn’t have been much more than twenty, with dark hair worn loose to her shoulders. She had a clean, scrubbed look. No makeup, no jewels, just a simple blue sweater that matched her eyes, and soft denim pants.

  “Excuse me.” Emerson stepped away from the fire where everyone had automatically huddled hands outstretched. “What did you mean you’ve been waiting for us?”

  “With the roads impassable and the power still out, there was really only one place to turn in your hour of need. Please…” She gestured to the same overstuffed sofa and chairs that had been there the night of the party twenty-two years ago. There was no sign of dust or mold, not even a musty smell. “Have a seat. Let me get you some refreshments.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Ralph Pearson dumped his considerable girth in the chair closest to the bar.

  “Tom, I believe Mr. Pearson wouldn’t object to a Jack on the rocks.”

  “That’ll warm my insides.” Ralph rubbed his hands together and smiled for the first time.

  “And I just boiled a pot of tea.” Madigan poured from a silver tray and carried the steaming cups to the sofa where Mona and Elsa sat, backs rigid, on opposite ends. Mona accepted the Earl Grey with a grateful smile.

  Elsa shook her head. “I can’t abide tea even in this weather.”

  Unruffled, Madigan handed the second cup to Emerson who nodded his thanks and stood with one elbow resting on the fireplace mantel. She returned to the tea tray and picked up a thermos. “I also made hot chocolate just in case.” She poured the brown liquid into a mug and brought it to Elsa.

  Elsa breathed in the chocolaty aroma. “Mmmm.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Mona said. “When exactly did you move in? Neither Ralph nor I noticed any moving vans.”

  Madigan glanced at Tom. “Oh we just slipped in during the night.”

  Ralph laughed. “Got you there Mona, didn’t she?”

  “We’ve been here about a week.” Madigan took a seat in a wing chair across from the sofa. “Our own things haven’t arrived yet. Fortunately the house was already furnished. We planned to introduce ourselves, but as you can imagine, we had quite a bit of cleaning to do.”

  “Lucky for us you’re here.” Emerson set his cup on the mantel and picked up a heavy silver candlestick. The room grew quiet and all eyes turned to him. He awkwardly replaced the decoration. “Mind if I put another log on the fire?”

  He asked Tom but it was Madigan who replied. “Please.”

  They all watched as he fed the flames, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

  “It doesn’t look like power will return anytime soon.” Madigan lifted the teapot. “We may as well get comfortable. Refills anyone?”

  Drinks were refreshed and politely sipped while the silence expanded to uncomfortable lengths.

  “Still writing them books?” Ralph’s loud voice startled everyone including the man to whom the question was directed.

  Emerson shook his head. He had been discreetly moving the knickknacks on the mantel into a cluster on one end.

  “How would he have time to? He’s too busy these days collecting junk.” Elsa had been watching Emerson out of the corner of her eye. She’d been trying to decide whether she thought the gray in his hair was distinguished or not.

  “And how is your husband, Elsa?” asked Mona. “Still traveling, I take it.”

  Elsa turned to Mona with an icy smile. “My, what a lovely necklace. Is it yours?”

  The air between the two women crackled with the tension of buried grudges.

  “It is lovely.” Madigan spoke from the wing chair. “I noticed it when you took your coat off. It must be awkward, all of you here again, under this roof. Oh, don’t be surprised. The real estate agent told us of the house’s history
—about the murder. You were all here that night, weren’t you?”

  Again an uneasy glance passed between the guests.

  Emerson cleared his throat. “We’ve failed to introduce ourselves. Yet it would appear that you already know us.”

  “I’ve done my research. Tom will tell you I’ve always liked a good mystery.”

  Tom remained in his position behind the bar, silent and still, except when refilling Ralph’s drink.

  “It’s only natural,” Madigan continued, “to be interested in what happened in the house you’re to live in. You were best friends with Claudia Vanderhall, weren’t you?” Madigan peered at Elsa over her cup of tea.

  “We were close.” Elsa shot a look at Emerson who turned away.

  “To kill her husband on their anniversary.” Madigan shook her head. “It’s hard to understand. Did she talk about problems in the marriage with you?”

  Elsa fussed with the hem of her sweater. “We didn’t talk about such things.”

  Mona snorted into her teacup.

  Elsa glared at her.

  “An affair is a problem, ya ask me.” Ralph set his empty glass down hard on the bar.

  “Rafe Vanderhall was having an affair?” Madigan asked.

  “Not Rafe.” Mona looked at Emerson. “Claudia.”

  Once again Emerson found himself the center of unwanted attention. By this time, he had surrounded himself with a collection of objects, including an ottoman and various fire pokers. He tugged the collar of his shirt, his back stiff.

  “Claudia asked for a divorce,” he said. “Numerous times. ’Course, I shouldn’t have told the police that. They found her prints on the candlestick. Not this one.” He fingered the thick silver candlestick on the mantel. “But one like it. It was an anniversary gift from a guest, so, of course, her prints were on it. Rafe was hit from behind. Anyone wearing gloves could have done it. Her prints would still be there from when she opened the gift.” The rigidness evaporated and he collapsed onto the ottoman with his head in his hands. “If only I hadn’t begged her to get a divorce…”

  The lights flashed then dimmed considerably. Madigan stood. “Tom you better check the generator, and I’m afraid the tea has gone cold. We won’t be but a moment.” She left with the teapot, trailed by her husband.

  Elsa got up and knelt at Emerson’s side. At this range, she could see the new wrinkles that went with the graying hair and decided they were distinguished. She wondered if he smoked a pipe now, and almost giggled at the thought.

  “It was long ago.” She patted his back. “That woman is awful for dredging it up again like this. You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Really Elsa.” Mona rolled her eyes to the vaulted ceiling. “Are you still carrying a torch after all this time?”

  Elsa jerked away from Emerson like she’d been burned. Her cheeks flamed red.

  “You didn’t think it was a secret, did you?” said Mona. “Everyone knew you were in love with Emerson. We didn’t need Claudia to tell us, although she did, you know. At least, she told me. We laughed about it behind your back.”

  “You evil witch.” Elsa lunged, but Emerson grabbed her wrist. “Tell me,” she said, “was that before or after you stole Claudia’s necklace?”

  Mona’s hand flew to the diamond necklace dripping from her neck. “Why you—”

  “Are you accushin’ by wife?” Ralph sat up spilling his Jack Daniels.

  “Yes.”

  “O-kay. Justcheckin’.” He lapped up the whiskey dribbling down the side of his glass.

  “You must have a nice stockpile of jewels by now,” Elsa continued. “I remember every time we went shopping you’d come home with something you didn’t pay for. Only we were too polite to call you on it. But the nerve, to steal the anniversary present from a dead man before he had a chance to give it to his wife.”

  The lights flickered then brightened, momentarily blinding the guests. When they had blinked the spots clear, Tom once again stood guard at the bar and Madigan was pouring tea into two fresh cups. The room had grown cold but no one got up to fan the embers.

  Madigan handed hot tea to Mona and Emerson. To Elsa she brought another mug of steamy chocolate. “You look flush,” Madigan said. “Are you coming down with something?”

  “I’m fine,” Elsa replied. “Just cold.”

  “Drink up then.” Madigan returned to her seat, and Elsa did as she was told, not caring when she burned the roof of her mouth. The sweet chocolate tasted too good.

  “There is one thing I wondered.” Madigan spoke to the room at large. “Did any of you stay in touch with Claudia after she went to jail?”

  “I should have. I wanted to.” Emerson’s face was pale and drawn. He looked ten years older since entering the house. “But I couldn’t bear it. I needed a clean break so I could get on with my life.”

  “You call barricading yourself behind piles of junk getting on with your life?” asked Mona.

  “Look who’s talking.” Elsa came to Emerson’s defense. “The only difference is your junk glitters and costs more.”

  “At least I went to see Claudia.” Mona caressed the diamonds at her throat. “It was after the hearing. I tried to be a friend to her but she told me to leave. Ask Ralph, he was there.”

  “Thaaat’s true,” Ralph said.

  “And what about you, Elsa?” Madigan asked. “You said you were close. Why didn’t you stay in touch with Claudia?”

  “I did.” Elsa blinked and slurped the last of her chocolate.

  Madigan’s eyebrows lifted. “You did? Then you know what happened to her?”

  “What happened to Claudia?” Emerson’s teacup was on the floor in front of him, along with two books he’d found somewhere, and a pillow.

  “She’s still in jail, of course.” Elsa waved her hand.

  “No, she’s not.” Madigan’s voice was clear and sharp. “Claudia is dead. She was convicted of a murder she didn’t commit and thrown in jail. Eight months later she died.”

  “Dead?” Emerson rose to his feet stepping on the teacup and shattering it. “How?”

  Madigan also rose. “None of you have any idea who I am, do you?” She stared at each of the guests. “I am Madigan Vanderhall, Claudia’s biological daughter. My mother died giving birth to me in jail.”

  Mona gasped. “What are you talking about? Is this some kind of trick?”

  Madigan turned on her. “I believe that diamond necklace you’re wearing belonged to my mother, and rightfully belongs to me.”

  “Ralph.” Mona stood. “Are you going to let this woman talk to me that way?” She glared at her husband who snored softly in his chair.

  Madigan, the charming hostess, had transformed in front of them—a rebellious, vindictive teenager bent on getting her way.

  “My mother didn’t kill my father.” She paced the room, her hands punctuating each of her words. “I knew it, but I had to be sure, which is why I brought you all here. The bad weather was timely, wasn’t it? A gift from mother, perhaps. And did I mention Tom is an electrician? Creating a power outage wasn’t a problem for him. We knew you’d be forced to leave your cold houses eventually.”

  “I don’t understand.” Elsa struggled to her feet. “What do you want from us?”

  Madigan stopped pacing. “I’ve long suspected who the real killer was. And my theory was proven by what I heard when I left the room just now. That necklace was a gift from my father. Only as you said, Elsa, he never had a chance to give it to her. It was in his pocket when he was killed, wasn’t it? You, Mona, were the first person to discover my father’s body, not my mother like the police records stated. Only you couldn’t resist your own greed. If you stole the necklace, who would know? A dead man could tell no tales. However, you forgot one other person. The killer knew about the necklace too. She said as much in this very room, isn’t that right, Elsa?”

  All eyes turned to Elsa who was trying to speak, but could only gasp like a fish without water. Her hands clawed at her
throat, her skin turning an ugly shade of blue.

  “You were jealous of my mother and Emerson so you told Rafe about their affair, only it backfired, didn’t it?”

  Elsa collapsed to the floor. No one moved to help her.

  “As I said.” Madigan smiled. “I did my research. Elsa wouldn’t drink the tea. It was easy enough to poison her hot chocolate.” Madigan turned to Mona. “Your husband won’t remember any of this, at least nothing of importance. And if you tell anyone, you’ll find yourself facing first-degree robbery with a max sentence of life in prison.”

  Mona eased away from the fallen Elsa and moved closer to her loathsome, pathetic, drunken husband.

  “And you.” Madigan turned to her mother’s lover. “Daddy dearest. Are you wondering if I’m from the fruit of your loins—your only child? Well, there’s only one way to find out, a DNA test, which I’ll never agree to. Still, you won’t speak about what happened here tonight, on the fifty-fifty chance that I am your flesh and blood, will you?”

  Emerson stood, surrounded by his walls of clutter, staring at the woman who could be his child, and then at the dead woman on the floor, and slowly shook his head.

  The fire gave one last desperate hiss then faded to black.

  Fireworks (From Judge Lu’s Ming Dynasty Case Files)

  P.A. De Voe

  The red silk lantern’s flame glowed in the early morning darkness as Magistrate Lu and his younger brother, Fu-hao, sat in amiable silence, enjoying their breakfast. The sweet, fresh air spoke of spring. Fu-hao picked up his bowl of rice gruel and took a sip. Without warning, a sharp explosion broke the peace. Startled, he nearly spilled the thin white liquid onto his navy blue robe. Brilliant sparks of light danced over the top of the yamen’s courtyard’s wall, filling the lower sky.

  “Even when we know it’s coming, it’s a surprise,” Lu said.

  “Rockets are a serious business. People shouldn’t be able to shoot them off,” Fu-hao groused.

  Before he could continue, they were overwhelmed with short bursts surrounded by the rat-a-tat-tat of popping and crackling noises. Intense flashes of light rapidly appeared and disappeared.