by Jon L. Breen
There’s no need to describe the rest of the proceedings in detail. Truthfully, it’s too painful. Merv Glickman was undoubtedly the key witness, though both Iris (extremely impressive) and Elmo Gruntz (egregiously offensive) were called as witnesses. I’m not sure whether Elmo Gruntz was technically a plagiarist, but the jury let him off. Andrea explained to us afterwards how very difficult it was to bring a successful plagiarism action without copied passages you could compare side by side with the originals. Gruntz was far too clever to leave that kind of tracks. It bothered me that there was so little I could do to help, apart from providing the occasional encouraging nuzzle to the ankles of those I favored. Murder cases are my metier, not civil trials.
Yes, that was a depressing ending, but we’re not quite done yet. As you know if you’ve ever read one, you never close the book on my stories at the end. You always are treated to a preview of what is to come, an abridged version of the first chapter or two of the next book in the series. Now, I know this isn’t a book but a short story, but it’s very important you get the teaser anyway. Call it crass commercialism if you must.
Now an advance look at the next Winona Fleming/ Whiskers McGuffin mystery, Curio City Called the Cat by Iris Stapleton Goodhew and Whiskers McGuffin, coming to your bookstores this spring.
Chapter One
Fred von Richtofen was in a bad mood. He had been interrupted at a crucial point in the creation of an unusually original and beautiful piece, one that would probably double his price at the gallery he regularly supplied with cat images in clay, bronze, papier mache, and other media. But it wasn’t the art but the police work that paid his half of the bills, and unless he was prepared to live off Ingo’s salary as CEO of the Purrfect Cat Food Company, he had to answer Brent Hooper’s call.
“What took you so long?” Brent demanded, as his partner appeared at the front door of the large imposing mansion.
“It’s the traffic headed for that damn antique show up the block at the fairgrounds.” Fred had been out to his partner for years, but he still affected what he took to be a macho posture. In truth, he’d rather have been at the antique show than here.
As they stood over the body lying at the foot of a tall bookcase, Fred looked at a bloodstained trophy with the figure of a dog lying near a wound in the dead man’s head. Shoddy work, his artist’s eye told him, but he didn’t think Brent would appreciate aesthetic observations at a murder scene.
Brent said, “This is a strange one, Fred.”
“Murder, sarge?”
“Has to be. I climbed up the ladder to look at the top of the book shelf above where the victim is lying. There’s a circle of dust where this big dog trophy stood up there. That’s a heavy piece, Fred. It couldn’t have fallen off by accident, unless there was a six-point-oh earthquake this morning we didn’t feel or hear about. And I don’t think the guy could have brained himself with it, do you?”
“But who could have swung it at him with sufficient force with him just standing there? It must have been pushed off, but how from that height? Who could have got up there to do it without him knowing and being suspicious? And what is the thing anyway? Some kind of award?”
Brent squinted at the part of the lettering that was visible. “I think it says basketball, but we better not move it till the scene of crime boys and girls have been here. Wasn’t this guy kind of short for a basketball player?” “Writer, wasn’t he? Elmer Fudd, something like that.”
Chapter Two
(from the memoirs of Whiskers McGuffin)
The massive antique tent show called Curio City must have covered two acres of the fairgrounds. I like to wander into various nooks and crannies where humans can’t go and follow moving things people aren’t interested in, so it was to be expected I would get separated from Winona for a while. She was working on a piece about antiques for Axel Maxwell’s magazine. As she questioned a man selling art deco lamps, I reestablished contact, rubbing against her ankle and purring. She looked down at me with more love in her eyes than she ever directed toward Brent or Axel or even that Hugh-Grant-lookalike vet. I felt relaxed and secure. I knew if she was asked, she’d swear I’d been at her side all morning.
Mystery, The Best of 2001
Jon L. Breen
Editor
ibooks
new york
www.ibooksinc.com