Have Yourself a Deadly Little Christmas: A Greatest Hits Mysteries holiday short story

by Leslie Langtry

  Giuseppe's eyes grew wide with overly-acted horror. "No! No! It cannot be!"

  Frank came over to the sideboard under my mirror and poured a glass of water. He rolled his eyes at me. I clapped my hands over my mouth so I wouldn't giggle. Even though the passageways were soundproofed, and I'd done the work myself, I wasn't taking any chances.

  "Death is not my overlord!" Giuseppe was shouting. "I will not sleep the final sleep of the dead!" He ran out of the room and out the door. The others stood staring at each other for a moment before following him out into the night.

  I moved to the secret room off the kitchen and checked the monitors. I had to admit—this was starting to be fun. I had no idea we could do something like this. Maybe we could do this more often with our targets. Get Mom involved. She'd like that.

  Directly behind the house was a nice stretch of quicksand. The real thing. I didn't even have to invent it—which kind of disappointed me when Lex had found it a few weeks ago.

  The others had just come around the corner of the house when they stopped cold. Giuseppe's black beret was lying in the middle of the sand.

  "How was that?" Paris said behind me. He'd run around to the kitchen and joined me in the secret room. He looked down at the floor. "Squishy!" he said.

  "Good," I said, reaching out to grab his arm before he fell over. "But you were ridiculous."

  "Hey!" Paris stopped bouncing and pouted. "I was using original material!"

  "Don't quit your day job," I said as I handed him the hatchet. "And speaking of your day job…"

  "I have to smash the figurine first," he said as he glanced at the monitors. Frank was on his knees, testing the sand. He got up and shook his head, his lips moving. I didn't hear what he said, but I figured he was telling them it was quicksand.

  Paris vanished and then reappeared with a huge smile on his face. "That was fun!"

  I nodded. "I know. You're up."

  He frowned at the hatchet. "I'm not sure we really thought this through. I mean, what would an aristocratic Brit be doing with a hatchet?"

  "It doesn't matter as long as you have it buried in some soft part of his body and make him dead." I turned back to the monitors, frowning.

  Time was flying by. One of our Vics was now thoughtfully dead, but we had four more to go.

  Paris looked at me. "You're worried about Gin and Cy's Vics, Juan and William."

  I nodded. "Normally, I wouldn't be, but we probably should've taken them out first. Neither of them would just let us walk up and kill them."

  "Why did we do it in this order?" my cousin asked.

  I shrugged. "I had to go first because I engineered the house. If you guys went first and had problems with the technology, I couldn't help you. And you should've probably died the minute you opened your mouth."

  Paris frowned. Probably because of the insult, but also because he knew I was right about William and Juan. Still, Nora was the easiest one to kill. Anderson and Annie wouldn't be too hard. Neither of them had fighting experience. But Juan and William were fighters. Killers trained to survive.

  A noise from the screens caught my attention. "They're moving back into the house."

  The group had reconvened in the dining room. They stared at the third, smashed clown. This was actually a good psychological experiment. Too bad we couldn't involve anyone outside the family to analyze that.

  "I put the note in Anderson's pocket when we checked on Nora," Paris whispered. "He should find it soon."

  The group sat down at the table, which was weird because we hadn't cleared it. One by one, they started to wordlessly pick at the food.

  "Where's that guy?" Annie asked. "The one who brought us here and made dinner?"

  William shook his head. "Haven't seen him."

  Anderson picked up a roll and buttered it. Apparently, the deaths of three people hadn't unsettled him much. "He must have gone. He didn't clear the table. You just can't get good help these days."

  Madame Angelina stood up. "I will do it." She started to gather plates, and I wasn't surprised to see only Tiffany Lauper and Annie helping her. The three women went into the kitchen, leaving the three men behind.

  Frank sipped his wine but said nothing. It was good thinking on his part to stay and watch Juan and William.

  "I'll take the kitchen," I whispered to Paris. "You stay here and watch them. If Anderson sees the note and leaves, you need to follow him and do your bit."

  Paris nodded and stayed put while I moved down the hall to the secret room off the kitchen. Putting a mirror in there hadn't been easy. I couldn't think of any reason whatsoever to have a mirror in a kitchen. Well, one that seemed normal, that is. So, Lex and I had built this room and filled it with monitors that viewed the grounds outside of the house and the kitchen.

  I didn't like it because I wanted to be closer to the action, but there wasn't anything I could do. I did have a secret door into the room, but I'd have to be careful. I didn't want anyone freaking out seeing a dead woman step out of the refrigerator.

  The three women were putting the food away and washing the dishes. So far, so good.

  "Where do you think our host went?" Annie asked.

  "You mean our cousin, Owen? He's dead," Tiffany Lauper answered as she washed dishes.

  Annie shook her head. "No. Not him. The other guy. The Latino."

  Madame Angelina closed the door to the fridge. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I cannot foresee what has happened to him."

  "Maybe he had a boat and took off?" Tiffany Lauper asked. I had to admit—Gin was handling the ad libs well.

  "Maybe…" Annie frowned and got lost in her own thoughts.

  "Aren't you weirded out by all these deaths?" Tiffany Lauper asked her, a little too hopefully.

  "Not really," the redhead said. "Nancy could've had a heart attack. Nora an aneurism. Giuseppe ran out and fell into quicksand. It's possible. People have a hard time at the holidays."

  The other two women stared at her. I did too. We all thought these people would freak out, at least after the second death. Maybe she was in shock. Or maybe she was a soulless idiot.

  Madame Angelina shook her head. "I do not think these were accidents. Something from the great beyond tells me it was…" She held her breath for a very dramatic pause. "Murder!"

  There should've been a sound track that went, "Dun, dun, DUN!" after her performance.

  "You think these three people were murdered?" Tiffany Lauper gasped loudly.

  The Gypsy who wasn't really a Gypsy shrugged. "It cannot be coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence."

  They were trying to freak Annie out. It wasn't working.

  Annie put the last dish away as Paris came running into the secret room.

  "He read the note! I'm meeting him outside!" He seemed giddy as he ran down the hallway holding his hatchet.

  We'd worked out a plan where Anderson would find a note in his pocket that said:

  Meet me outside, by the place where Giuseppe died. I know what is going on and how we can make this work to our advantage—ending up with everybody's shares of the inheritance.

  The idea behind this note was that Anderson wouldn't give a damn if it said the writer knew who was behind the murders. But he would be intrigued at the idea of making bank off of this. And sure enough, it worked.

  I checked out the monitor by the quicksand. Anderson was stepping down off the porch and turning left. He looked both ways before continuing to the spot where the beret still sat in the middle of the sand.

  Something on the ground caught his attention. Paris had dropped a one hundred dollar bill there just before he took up his position. Anderson grinned as he picked up the bill. He stood and shoved it into his pocket.

  Paris threw the hatchet from his hiding place. I had no doubt it would hit it's mark. Bombays trained with all kinds of weapons since our kindergarten years. And Paris had the best throwing form of any of us.

  I watched as the hatchet spun in the
air end over end, and flew right past its target into the trees. What? Dammit! I ran out of the room and stepped outside, joining Paris in moments.

  "You missed!" I whispered.

  "Just give me another one," Paris griped. "The wind took it."

  I glared at him. "You haven't been practicing."

  "I've been busy developing my character and writing poems!" he whined.

  Anderson had no idea a hatchet had sailed past him. But he was getting anxious. Pretty soon he'd give up and go inside.

  I looked around. I didn't really think to have a "backup hatchet." I spotted a screwdriver I'd left next to the steps a couple of days ago and handed it to him.

  "It's a screwdriver," Paris said.

  I shoved him. "Yes, it is. Now go and stick it in his head." I turned and went back into the house and the secret room.

  I watched the monitors as Paris ran off toward his Vic who now turned toward him. Anderson's mouth opened in surprise and he brought up his hand to point. Before he could do anything more, Paris reached behind his target and rammed the screw driver into the back of the Brit's skull. He dropped to the ground. Paris then dove into the jungle and returned seconds later with the hatchet, and after pulling out the screw driver, drove the small axe home in its place.

  He double checked his Vic to make sure he was dead before joining me back in the secret room.

  "Decent save," I said as I picked foliage out of his hair.

  "I thought about leaving some of my poems strewn about the body," Paris responded.

  "You're not serious."

  He looked wounded. "Why not? It could be that red herring thing!"

  "Please don't add to the plan. We have three Vics left, and I need to make sure they die here." There was no point in celebrating. The assignments weren't finished yet. For all I knew, Juan could be some expert at making a raft out of ceramic clown figurines and William could have a jet pack hidden in his luggage. These guys weren't supposed to see the sun come up. There wasn't any point in getting cocky.

  "They're back in the library," I said. "Go smash Anderson's clown." I bounced down the hall to watch from the two-way mirror.

  The six remaining people were sitting in the room, looking nervously about. Only Frank was confident enough to make himself a drink. He knew he wasn't going to die. The others, Gin and Liv included, avoided the wet bar.

  Annie was now looking nervous. That made me relax a little.

  "We should go find that English guy," she was saying. "He's been gone too long to just be in the bathroom."

  I started giggling. I once killed a Vic in his own bathroom. I electrified the toilet water. It was awesome. The only problem was that it left unsightly scorch marks on the body. I never did fix that.

  Juan nodded but didn't volunteer. William was busy studying the faces of the other guests. It was going great. I kind of wanted to high-five Paris.

  "Gin's next," Paris said.

  I shook my head. "They have to find Anderson first."

  Annie stood up. "I'm going to start looking for him. Who's going with me?"

  Madame Angelina and Tiffany Lauper were the only ones who joined her. Wasn't that just the way? Women doing the hard stuff. The scary stuff. I liked Annie. Too bad she was evil and we had to kill her.

  Juan got to his feet. "I can't let the women go alone. I'll go too." I rolled my eyes. Pretty chivalrous for a man who once killed two elderly nuns without a second thought. He looked meaningfully at William and Frank. Frank was waiting. If William didn't go, he wouldn't. Even though he knew Paris and I were watching, we couldn't let anyone deviate from the plan.

  "Dammit," William swore as he stood up. "Fine."

  Frank got up without comment, and the group moved into the hallway. They'd decided to search together. The paranoia was starting to set in that someone was picking them off one-by-one. Paris and I followed them as they started upstairs and checked Anderson's rooms and the bathroom. I held my breath for a moment, worrying they'd want to check the rooms with the bodies, but they went back downstairs.

  It took fifteen minutes for them to discover that Anderson wasn't in the house. They'd need to go outside. Tiffany Lauper ran into the kitchen and brought back flashlights, and they made their way outside. Paris and I ran to the secret room off the kitchen to check the monitors.

  "Oh my God!" Madame Angelina shrieked. She ran over to the dead man and everyone crowded around.

  "Someone hit him in the back of the head!" Annie gasped. "Someone's trying to kill us off, one at a time!"

  I relaxed. There it was. Now they knew they were being picked off. The fun could begin.

  Paris joined me in the walls outside the dining room as the rest of the group filed in. Annie ran to the table and frowned.

  "The fourth clown is smashed!" she said. She was starting to sound a little unhinged. And while that's what we'd wanted, it was too soon for her to go totally nuts. We'd been saving her for last.

  Annie whirled on the others. "One of you is killing us off! You want our share of the money!"

  Um, okay. Not the original reason, but let's go with that.

  William snorted. "Why look at me? I'm not doing it! I don't care how much money I get."

  "You didn't want to go outside…because you knew Anderson was dead out there…" Madame Angelina had now appointed herself as some sort of Hercule Poirot, although she looked like some hippy throwback to Miss Marple's stoner days at Woodstock.

  He shook his head. "No, I didn't. And I'll kill anyone who says I did." He ground his fist into the flat of his other hand menacingly.

  "Someone really is mysteriously killing us off!" Tiffany Lauper repeated what Annie'd said. She'd sort of slipped out of the drunk rock star mode and was trying to whip up more hysteria. That was fine, because she was next.

  Tiffany was supposed to go into the bathroom, where she'd pull a hypodermic from the inside of the back of the toilet and inject herself. I'd whipped up a serum that would do what it did to me, slow her heartbeat tremendously. Frank and Madame Angelina would discover the body with the hypodermic needle next to it and spirit it off to her room. Easy, right?

  Except that it didn't. My cousin, the aging rock slut, forgot. Instead of excusing herself, she started getting all worked up.

  "The murderer is in this very room!" she howled. "It could be any one of you!" Her eyes grew wide, and she started to tremble a little. She was good. Really good. But we didn't need her to get into hysterics. We needed her to go off herself in the bathroom with a toilet syringe, like a good little assassin.

  The others in the room just stared at her. The Vics because they realized she was right. My remaining cousins because they knew she'd just gone off script.

  Madame Angelina walked up to Tiffany Lauper and slapped her hard across the face. Paris' jaw dropped, and I clapped both hands over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

  "You need to pull yourself together!" the gypsy shouted. "Why don't you go splash some cold water on your face?"

  Uh-oh. Liv had forgotten to use her accent. I held my breath and looked at the others, who bizarrely didn't seem to notice. Okay—I wouldn't panic yet. At least she'd given Tiffany Lauper the excuse to leave the room.

  "But I can't! Not alone!" The rock star was hysterical now and had seemingly lost her mind. "None of us should go anywhere alone! We need to stay together in order to survive the night!"

  Whoa. There was a U-turn. These people weren't supposed to survive the night. And she was supposed to follow the plan.

  "I think she's actually drunk," Paris whispered, unable to take his eyes off of her performance.

  "Well that's not good," I replied. "She's got to take out Juan right after."

  I was nervous about Juan's demise. In the old poem, his little Clown Boy ends up in chancery. That loosely means in court. In the book, they got by with killing a judge. But the five of us had had a lot of trouble trying to think something up for Juan. And even then, we didn't come up with anything great. In fact
, all I had come up with was the idea of beaning him with a gavel.

  But in order for that to happen, my cousin, Tiffany Lauper, had to die first. But no. There she was, doing whatever the hell it was she was doing.

  "The poem…" Annie said. She ran to the mantle and read it. "We've all been dying according to this poem."

  I'd kind of wanted them to notice that a little later, so they wouldn't figure out their deaths in advance. Although the remaining murders were a little hard to figure out, like red herring, and hugged by a bear. At least there'd be a little mystery in those cases.

  "Who's next?" Juan asked. He was terrified. "What's the next death?"

  Annie didn't answer him. She set the poem back on the mantle. "We aren't here for any sort of inheritance."

  William looked up sharply. "What do you mean? That's why I'm here."

  Tiffany Lauper scowled. "No. We're not."

  What the hell was she doing? I rolled my eyes and knelt down to a hidden trapdoor. One little tug and I pulled out four pistols, giving two to Paris. He seemed to understand that things were going south, and we'd probably need to go in there and gun the rest of them down. Liv probably wouldn't talk to us for weeks if that happened, but sometimes you have to do what you need to in order to get the job done.

  "I think," Tiffany Lauper said, licking her lips, "that we're not related at all. That we're here for another reason entirely."

  Madame Angelina froze. I knew she was toying with going over and slapping her rock star cousin again to see if that would jog her memory or at least shut her up. Frank was actually smiling. Maybe he'd wanted it to end in a brawl anyway? There were still six people in there. Three Bombays and three bastards who deserved to die. The odds were good.

  "What would that reason be?" Juan asked. There was no shark smile now. He was starting to freak out. That didn't surprise me. True, he'd been a trained assassin, but he did everything fast, easy, and out in the open. And he'd always had the upper hand. He was in charge. But here, he wasn't.

  Tiffany Lauper raised her arm and pointed at him. It was pretty cool. Like I thought the Grim Reaper looked to people. If the Grim Reaper looked like horribly unsuccessful 1980's Madonna impersonator.