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Table of Contents
THE MEGAPACK SERIES
COPYRIGHT INFO
A SENIOR DISCOUNT ON DEATH, by Nora Charles
MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS, by Art Taylor
THE STOLEN VENUS, by Darrell Schweitzer
REAR VIEW MURDER, by Carla Coupe
THUBWAY THAM’S INTHULT, by Johnston McCulley
THE IDES OF MARCH, by E.W. Hornung
PINPRICK, by Skadi meic Beorh
THE RED HERRING, by William Hope Hodgson
DRAGON BONES, by Jacqueline Seewald
THE GOLDEN SLIPPER, by Anna Katherine Green
KALI, by Eric Taylor
DRIVEN TO DISTRACTION, by Marcia Talley
THE BLUE CROSS, by G.K. Chesterton
THE WORST NOEL, by Barb Goffman
MR. CLACKWORTHY’S POT OF GOLD, by Christopher B. Booth
THE MONKEY GOD, by Seabury Quinn
WEDDING KNIFE, by Elaine Viets
THE MAD DETECTIVE, by John D. Swain
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DIAMOND NECKLACE, by G. F. Forrest
SECURITY BLANKET, by Toni L.P. Kelner
A CROOK WITHOUT HONOR, by Johnston McCulley
THE DAUGHTER OF HUANG CHOW, by Sax Rohmer
ANCHORS AWAY, by C. Ellett Logan
WAYS OF DARKNESS, by E.S. Pladwell
THUBWAY THAM’S INTHANE MOMENT, by Johnston McCulley
THE MYSTERY MEGAPACK: 25 MODERN AND CLASSIC MYSTERY STORIES
THE MEGAPACK SERIES
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COPYRIGHT INFO
The Mystery Megapack is
copyright © 2011 by Wildside Press LLC.
www.wildsidebooks.com
Cover art © AlienCat / Fotolia.
* * * *
“A Senior Discount on Death” is copyright © 2006 by Noreen Wald. It originally appeared in Chesapeake Crimes II. Reprinted with the author’s permission.
“Murder on the Orient Express” is copyright © 1995 by Art Taylor. It was originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, December 1995. Reprinted with the author’s permission.
“The Stolen Venus,” is copyright © 2008 by Darrell Schweitzer. It was originally appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, October 2008. Reprinted with the author’s permission.
“Rear View Murder” is copyright © 2006 by Carla Coupe. It originally appeared in Chesapeake Crimes II. Reprinted with the author’s permission.
“Thubway Tham’s Inthult,” by Johnston McCulley, originally appeared in Detective Story Magazine, October 21, 1919.
“The Ides of March,” by E.W. Hornung, originally appeared in The Amateur Cracksman (1905).
“Pinprick” is copyright © 2009 by Skadi Beorg. It was originally published in the short story collection Always After Thieves Watch. Reprinted with the author’s permission.
“The Red Herring,” by William Hope Hodgson, originally appeared in Captain Gault (1917).
“Dragon Bones” is copyright © 2003 by Jacqueline Seewald. It was originally published by Orchard Press Mysteries in September 2003. Reprinted with the author’s permission.
“The Golden Slipper,” by Anna Katherine Green, originally appeared in The Golden Slipper and Other Problems for Violet Strange (1915).
“Kali,” by Eric Taylor, originally appeared in All-Star Detective, November 1929.
“Driven to Distraction” is copyright © 2006 by Marcia Talley. It originally appeared in Chesapeake Crimes II. Reprinted with the author’s permission.
“The Blue Cross,” by G.K. Chesterton, originally appeared in The Innocence of Father Brown (1911).
“The Worst Noel” ic copyright © 2009 by Barb Goffman. It originally appeared in The Gift of Murder.
“Mr. Clackworthy’s Pot of Gold,” by Christopher B. Booth, originally appeared in Detective Story Magazine (1920).
“The Monkey God,” by Seabury Quinn, originally appeared in Real Detective Tales, April-May, 1927.
“Wedding Knife” is copyright © 2004 by Elaine Viets. It was originally published in Chesapeake Crimes.
“The Mad Detective,” by John D. Swain, originally appeared in Detective Story Magazine, May 8, 1926.
“The Adventure of the Diamond Necklace,” by G.F. Forrest, originally appeared in Misfits: A Book of Parodies (1905).
“Security Blanket” is copyright © 2004 by Toni L.P. Kelner. It was was originally published in Riptide: Crime Stories by New England Writers.
“A Crook Without Honor,” by Johnston McCulley, originally appeared in Detective Story Magazine (1921).
“The Daughter of Huang Chow,” by Sax Rohmer originally appeared in Tales of Chinatown (1922).
“Anchors Away,” is copyright © 2010 by C. Ellett Logan. It riginally appeared in Chesapeake Crimes: They Had It Comin’. Reprinted with the author’s permission.
“Ways of Darkness,” by E.S. Pladwell, originally appeared in All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1919.
“Thubway Tham’s Inthane Moment,” by Johnston McCulley, originally appeared in Detective Story Magazine, Nov. 19. 1918.
A SENIOR DISCOUNT ON DEATH, by Nora Charles
Well, she’d earned every wrinkle, Kate Kennedy decided, applying SPF-40 sunblock to her cheeks a half century too late. The damage done decades ago, during those carefree summers at Rockaway, another beach on the Atlantic Ocean, back when everyone believed direct exposure to morning sunshine was good for all God’s creatures.
Swiping her greasy fingers with a Wipe & Dry—too fastidious even by her own standards—Kate returned to the Sun-Sentinel’s article about a Cuban drowning while trying to reach Florida. Such a handsome young man. So sad.
“Do you think I’ll ever get my gusto back?” Marlene Friedman, in a plus size scarlet tankini, shifted her chair to catch the sun’s rays on her already tanned-to-toast shoulders. “My lust for life has been slipping away for months—you must have noticed—now it’s gone with the wind.”
Kate smiled, noting Marlene had used two movie titles to describe her loss. They’d spent most of their childhood Saturdays at double features.
“As my best friend and former sister-in-law, you have a moral obligation to help me find it again.”
Kate—convinced that more than a few of those lines on her face were the direct result of Marlene’s bright ideas—sighed, stalling, wanting to support and dissuade simultaneously. No easy trick.
“Look, you haven’t lost your gusto, but even if you had, why would taking sailing lessons help get it back?” Kate’s stomach churned in the all-too-familiar Pepcid AC alert that Marlene’s schemes often generated.
“Not lessons, Kate. Holiday USA has invited us to spend a day aboard a thirty-six foot motor/sailboat, and yes, we can take the
wheel or hoist the jib, while deciding if we’d like to become one of its part-time sailors/owners.”
“Sounds like a scam to me.” They sat in their striped beach chairs planted at the water’s edge, with warm surf washing over their feet. Kate arched her toes in pleasure and took a deep breath of the sharp, salt air. “Whoever heard of timeshares on a sailboat?”
“Scam?” Marlene’s laughter certainly seemed as lusty as ever. “We’re former New Yorkers, too old and too smart to scam, right? All we have to do is listen to an hour-long Holiday USA timeshare presentation. In return, we get to cruise up the Intercoastal and out to the ocean, maybe do some deep sea fishing or sit back and sip a Cosmo. Who knows, an attractive man might be on deck.”
Kate suppressed a giggle: Gusto gone, huh?
“Come on, Kate. The voyage is limited to six passengers…”
“Prospects. We won’t be guests on a private yacht, Marlene. You filled in the Holiday USA promotion form you found on the counter in the dry cleaners.”
“Okay, prospects. But their sales office and pier are located on the beach side of the Intercoastal, so we can walk there. The ship sails at noon. And we get a free lunch onboard.”
The free lunch closed the deal for Kate.
* * * *
They met at 11:30 in Ocean Vista’s ornate, bordering on gaudy, lobby. Marlene’s nautical attire reminded Kate of Carol Channing on Broadway in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. However, knowing they’d be sailing into the wind, she’d arranged her platinum hair in a sleek French twist.
Kate wore boat shoes, khakis, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
She’d moved in to Ocean Vista nine months ago on the same day that her husband, Charlie, had dropped dead still clutching the pen he’d used to close on the condo. She missed Charlie and their decades of pillow talk about his cases as a NYPD Homicide Detective. And she missed her family up in New York, especially her granddaughters.
South Florida’s relentless sunshine still depressed her, but with Marlene two floors below, and Charlie’s beloved Westie, Ballou, as her beach-walking companion, Kate had—ever so cautiously—begun to think of Palmetto Beach as home.
In the February midday sun, as they walked the one long block north along A1A to Neptune Boulevard, Kate took time to both see and smell the flowers: a riot of fuchsia and purple hibiscus and jasmine so sweet its aroma embraced you like a lover.
Senior citizens tended to arrive early. As they approached the Holiday USA berth on the Intercoastal pier, Kate spotted her shipmates queuing near a rope ladder at the aft of the boat.
Good. That meant they wouldn’t be going into the office for a preliminary sales pitch. But why were so few prospects boarding a 36-foot boat?
The white double-ender appeared sleek and yar. Kate had done some sailing off Shelter Island years ago and learned the lingo. While she could handle the wheel and, being the smallest onboard, had been hoisted up to the crow’s nest to adjust a line, she failed knot tying, and when she tried to work the sails, they’d flapped around her face.
Still … she felt a sudden rush of excitement, a shiver of anticipation.
“We can’t be this bloody low on gas. Where the hell did those landlubbers from Ohio motor out to last night?” A crusty old salt, in dirty shorts straining to cover his wide bottom and sporting a stained captain’s hat, shouted down from the bow, addressing another old guy—this one toned, tanned, and impeccably dressed in yachting white—on the dock.
The walking/talking Ralph Lauren ad looked angry, but only for a fleeting moment, before he turned from the captain and flashed thirty thousand dollars worth of dazzlingly white, capped teeth at Kate and Marlene.
“Good afternoon. According to the manifest, you must be Ms. Friedman and Mrs. Kennedy. I’m your Holiday USA host, Clive Weber. Welcome. Let me help you aboard the Shady Lady.”
Weber spoke with a gushing Texas accent, his hand clamped on Kate’s shoulder. She squirmed free, her instant dislike accompanied by an odd feeling of unease.
A handsome, silver-haired Latino stood off to the side, observing. He caught her eye, glanced at Weber, turned back to Kate, and nodded. Had he read her mind?
A couple in matching baby blue jogging suits, whom Clive Weber introduced as the Daltons, were boarding, climbing the rope ladder with great difficulty: the captain pulling, the host pushing.
“Señor Martinez, your wife isn’t with you?” Weber checked his manifest.
“Regretfully, no.” Martinez smiled at Kate and Marlene. “Please call me Juan,” he said, then scampered up the ladder like a teenage athlete.
Clive Weber’s unnecessary boost to her rear landed Kate on deck.
Despite her girth, Marlene, a former Olympic swimmer, navigated the ladder with ease.
And, moments later, they were motoring toward the Deerfield Beach Inlet where they would enter the Atlantic Ocean and raise the Shady Lady’s sails.
It occurred to Kate that all seven onboard, the captain, the host, and the five passengers, were over sixty. Ship of Old Fools? Maybe.
* * * *
Kate, Marlene, and Connie Dalton, a chatty gal with apple cheeks and a sunny smile, helped Clive Weber serve an excellent catered lunch. Everyone ate, except Juan, who mostly smiled and nodded, and made easy small talk.
Connie’s husband, Bob, as plump and pleasant as his wife, cleaned up, stuffing used paper plates in big garbage bags, while the ladies stowed the leftovers in the tiny fridge.
The smell of coffee drifting up from the galley made Kate again wonder why she, a confirmed tea drinker, so loved coffee’s aroma, but not its taste.
Captain Mike—Clive Weber hadn’t mentioned his surname—seemingly over his snit about the diminished fuel in his tank, was pointing out the mansions lining the Intercoastal, regaling his passengers with stories about their famous and infamous past owners.
As Connie applauded, Kate’s feeling of unease surfaced again.
When the Shady Lady reached the inlet, the captain veered north, and Clive Weber stood in the bow and started his sales pitch. “As Holiday USA’s ’specially selected guests,’ y’all are entitled to a senior discount. How about that, folks? All the joys of boat ownership, but none of the worries.” Weber, his drawl thick as oil, pointed to the matching jogging suits. “Now, Bob and Connie, here, might reserve the Shady Lady for Tuesday mornings from 8 to 12, then we’d scrub down the deck and you lovely ladies,” he gestured to Kate and Marlene, “would come aboard that afternoon from 1 to 4. While we’re sailing, just think about owning a piece of this beautiful boat.”
No mention of what a timeshare might cost. That would come at the close. Kate bet Clive Weber was a great closer and that he’d once worked as a telemarketer. Since the FCC’s ban on unsolicited calls, many telemarketers had moved on to other unsavory sales positions. Boat timeshares would have been a natural segue.
The captain steered into the eye of the wind and Clive Weber raised the jib.
Kate settled back on the port cushions and, while the Shady Lady rode the waves with style and grace, watched the navy blue sea seeming to kiss the muted terra cotta horizon.
She did not spot the gun until Juan Martinez pulled it out of his breast pocket and pointed it at Clive Weber. Certainly the .25 caliber pistol had not made even the slightest bulge in his white nylon windbreaker.
“Please change course, immediately,” the soft-spoken Martinez ordered the captain in his slightly accented English. Then he pressed the pistol against Weber’s right temple. “Head southeast to Cuba.”
Connie Dalton screamed. Clive, shaking, dropped the jib line and the sheet flapped wildly in the wind, knocking Bob Dalton to his knees. Kate glanced at Marlene who rose from the cushioned seat on the port side, poised to move. Kate shook her head, warning her former sister-in-law not to try anything foolish.
“No one will be hurt if you do as I say.” Juan Martinez’s voice, icy polite and soft, scared Kate more than the pistol. “We’re going to pick up my cousin
s. Now change course, Captain, or I will shoot Mr. Weber.” Martinez kicked Bob Dalton. “Get up, Mr. Dalton, and grab the line before we list too far to starboard.”
For a split second everyone seemed frozen in place.
Kate watched in mounting horror, sensing the scene had been choreographed and she wasn’t one of the players. Ship of Fools. Hadn’t they all died? No … maybe that was The Flying Dutchman.
The wind whipped up, bringing bigger waves, tossing the double-ender around in the rough sea. In typical Florida fashion, the weather suddenly had changed and they were in the middle of a wicked storm.
The captain turned the wheel hard to the right. Bob Dalton rose to his feet and reached for, but missed, the jib’s line. The rain came, hammering the boat, and Marlene was flung across the deck. Crawling, Kate snatched the line, lowering the sail. Thank God they hadn’t raised the main.
Out of nowhere, Connie Dalton charged forward, swinging a winch handle. A shot rang out. Though the handle had been aimed at Clive—had Connie gone crazy?—in the shifting, strong win, it slammed into Juan Martinez’s temple and he slid to the deck. Marlene, back on her feet, grabbed Martinez’s gun, then screamed as Clive Weber went overboard.
Only then did Kate think it odd that none of them were wearing life jackets.
“Go radio the Coast Guard, Connie,” Kate shouted over the wind. “Tell them we have a man overboard.”
Captain Mike, struggling with the wheel, said, “The radio’s broken, Mrs. Kennedy.”
“Use your cell phone, Marlene.”
“I doubt Ms. Friedman will get through. We’re several miles out and the weather’s bad.” For a captain in danger of losing control of his boat, he sounded almost smug.
What the hell was going on here?
Marlene fumbled in her massive beach bag for the phone, finally finding it, only to realize the captain had been right. Not even a dial tone.
“Damn.” She handed the gun to Kate, threw the phone on the deck seat, kicked off her shoes, and jumped over the starboard rail into the turbulent sea.
The Mystery Megapack: 25 Modern and Classic Mystery Stories Page 1