by Byars, Betsy
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1 - THE DEATH NOTE
Chapter 2 - A MAN IN BLACK
Chapter 3 - THE GOLDEN WHATEVER
Chapter 4 - EITHER ... OR
Chapter 5 - THE VICTIM
Chapter 6 - THE THINK COCOON
Chapter 7 - AT DEATH’S DOOR
Chapter 8 - RETURN TO THE DARK AGES
Chapter 9 - QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS
Chapter 10 - PUSHING UP THE SKY
Chapter 11 - THE WORST WORD IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE
Chapter 12 - THE UNUSED HALF-SMILE
Chapter 13 - THE MURDER HOUSE
Chapter 14 - THE CURIOSITY GENE
Chapter 15 - LIES AND MORE LIES
Chapter 16 - THE CANDLES OF TRANQUILITY
Chapter 11 - CONFERENCE CALL
Chapter 18 - THE PRINTOUT
Chapter 19 - ONE KINGS ROW
Chapter 20 - DEN OF INIQUITY
Chapter 21 - TRAPPED
Chapter 22 - AFTERNOON NIGHTMARE
Chapter 23 - THE CURTAINS’ SECRET
Chapter 24 - ESCAPE
Chapter 25 - BACK TO THE DEN OF INIQUITY
Chapter 26 - THE HEARSE
Chapter 27 - THE SACRIFICIAL DAGGER
Chapter 28 - WRAP-Up
Chapter 29 - A FINAL QUESTION
Teaser chapter
MYSTERY WRITERS ARE A LITTLE WEIRD.
“Why? Because they sit in front of their computers writing about murder instead of going out and doing it?”
Herculeah stopped. She thought for a minute and then said, “You’ve got a point, Meat.”
“I do? What?”
“Well, when I saw Mr. King with the golden noose, as he called it, he really seemed like a different person. And when he threw it over your head, well, I thought, wow, this is a writer who really knows his characters—this is a writer who gets inside his characters’ minds.”
She took in a deep breath. He could tell she had something to add, and Herculeah’s additions were usually important.
“Go on.”
“Either he really does get inside his characters’ minds or—”
“Or what?”
“Or he’s a murderer.”
BOOKS BY BETSY BYARS
The Herculeah Jones Mysteries:
The Dark Stairs
Tarot Says Beware
Dead Letter
Death’s Door
Disappearing Acts
King of Murder
The Bingo Brown books:
Bingo Brown, Gypsy Lover
Bingo Brown and the Language of Love
Bingo Brown’s Guide to Romance
The Burning Questions of Bingo Brown
Other titles:
After the Goat Man
The Cartoonist
The Computer Nut
Cracker Jackson
The Cybil War
The 18th Emergency
The Glory Girl
The House of Wings
Keeper of the Doves
McMummy
The Midnight Fox
The Summer of the Swans
Trouble River
The TV Kid
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland
(a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in the United States of America by Viking,
a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2006
This Sleuth edition published by Puffin Books,
a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2007
Copyright © Betsy Byars, 2006
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE VIKING EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Byars, Betsy Cromer.
King of Murder / by Betsy Byars.
p. cm.—(A Herculeah Jones mystery)
Summary: Herculeah meets a murder mystery writer, and has the uneasy feeling
that he knows more about murder than he should.
eISBN : 978-1-101-00702-0
[1. Murder—Fiction. 2. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.B9836Kin 2006 [Fic]—dc22 2005008422
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
http://us.penguingroup.com
1
THE DEATH NOTE
“Don’t go in there!”
Meat and Herculeah were in front of Hidden Treasures, the secondhand store where Herculeah liked to shop. Her hand was reaching for the doorknob, but at Meat’s warning, she paused.
“Why not?”
Meat noticed that her fingers curled around the knob. She never listened to him, but this was important. He had to try.
“Because every time you get something in there, it leads to murder,” he said.
“It does not.”
“How about that coat you bought in there with the note from a dead woman in the pocket? The ‘I don’t want to die; he’s going to kill me’ note.”
“May I remind you,” Herculeah said, “that I also bought the camera in here that let us find your father.”
“Well, yes.”
“I also got those granny glasses that make me think better. And my binocs! I would have missed a lot without my binoculars. I’ve gotten lots of good stuff here. I’m going in.”
“Fine. Go in. Just don’t buy anything. That’s when the trouble starts.”
“I can’t buy anything. I don’t have any money. You?”
“No.”
“Then nothing can happen to us. We’re safe.”
“I don’t know how and I don’t know why and don’t ask me to explain it, but I know we’ll have found something that will lead to murder.”
Herculeah opened the door. “You coming?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re going to hesitate and make me think you aren’t going to come in, and then you’re going to come in.”
He sighed. He wished just once he could surprise Herculeah and do the unexpected, but this was not the time. He hesitated and then followed her inside.
Later, when Meat looked back on his prediction, he realized he should have added two words. The prediction should have been, “I don’t know how and I don’t know why and don’t ask me to explain it, but we’ll have found something or someone that will lead to murder.”
2
A MAN IN BLACK
Herculeah breezed into the shop. Behind her, Meat came in more slowly and closed the door behind him.
“Hi, Mrs. Jay, it’s me.”
“Oh, Herculeah! Come in!”
“Neither of us has any money, Mrs. Jay; we just want to look around.”
&n
bsp; Over the years, Herculeah and Mrs. Jay had become friends, and Mrs. Jay smiled warmly at Herculeah. “I’m glad it’s you, because I’ve got someone I especially want you to meet.”
Herculeah walked to the back of the shop where Mrs. Jay stood with a tall man. He was dressed all in black, and his sharp eyes beneath the brim of his black hat were black, too.
As she got closer, she noticed that he wore a cape. Herculeah hadn’t ever seen a man in a cape, outside of a Dracula movie.
“Herculeah, this is the man I told you about. He writes murder mysteries.” To the man she said, “Herculeah loves mysteries. She’s even solved quite a few.”
“You’re a writer?” Herculeah asked. Perhaps that explained the cape. Her face was bright with interest.
“Wonderful murder mysteries,” Mrs. Jay said. “People tell me his murders are so realistic, you almost feel like you’re there, committing them yourself.”
“Mrs. Jay is too kind,” the man said. “Well, I know a good murder mystery when I hear about it. I don’t read much. I don’t have time.”
He took off his hat in an old-timey gesture. “Mathias King, at your service.”
“Mathias King!” Herculeah exclaimed. “Mrs. Jay, you did tell me about him. I remember now. And, and”—Herculeah’s excitement grew—“you told me some of the fake murder weapons that inspired his books were bought right here in this very store. I even read A Slash of Life!”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Jay said. “He’s written—I don’t know how many books—and all the murder weapons came from Hidden Treasures.”
“All of them?” Herculeah asked.
“Just my last two,” Mathias King admitted. “My other books were true-crime books—nonfiction. You might have heard of some of them—The Case of the Murdered Monk was perhaps my most famous.”
Herculeah still looked interested, but it was obvious that she hadn’t heard of the unfortunate monk.
Mathias King continued quickly. “However, it was not until I began selecting my weapons here and creating my own murders that I became”—he shrugged as if he hated to say the word, but he had to because it was true—“famous.”
“The first weapon you bought from me,” Mrs. Jay said with a smile of remembrance, “was the letter opener.”
“Ah, that was featured in A Slash of Life,” Mathias King said. “But it was no ordinary letter opener. Oh, no, it was like a very lovely stiletto.” His long, thin fingers drew out the blade in the air, and then with a quick jab thrust it into a victim.
“And the second one was the cup.”
“Ah, yes, the cup, but I like to think of it as a goblet. The goblet was featured in A Sip of Death. But it was no ordinary vessel. It was from the old days. I even like to think that it had once belonged to the Marchese of Rome.”
“If it belonged to him, you owe me a bunch of money,” Mrs. Jay laughed.
“The bowl of the goblet was an apple.” His hand cupped the invisible fruit. “And twining up the stem was a snake.” Now the fingers became a snake, coiling around the stem of the goblet. “The snake’s head contained just the tiniest little amount of poison. A touch on the handle of the goblet, and the snake’s mouth opened, his forked tongue appeared, and on the tongue—voilà—a drop of venom.”
“I don’t remember any snake,” Mrs. Jay said.
Mathias King smiled. “That’s why you let me have it so cheaply.” Then, still smiling, he lifted his eyes from the invisible apple and saw Meat.
Meat was standing a counter away, keeping his distance.
“The young man is with you?” Mathias King said.
“Yes, that’s my friend Meat.”
“Welcome to the conversation, Meat. Mathias King, at your service.”
“My name’s Albert,” Meat said. He was particular about who called him Meat.
“Allllbert,” Mathias King said, drawing out the Ls in a way that made Meat sorry that the man knew any of his names.
Mathias King gave a shrug. It was a practiced move that tossed his cape back over one shoulder.
“Even though you know my name, I’d like you to still think of me as a man of mystery. Everyone does. They glance at me on the street as I pass. They wonder about me behind my back.”
No wonder, Meat thought.
He gave Meat a smile that revealed pointed teeth. Meat felt as if Mathias King had read his mind.
Herculeah hadn’t seen teeth like that outside of—once again—a Dracula movie.
“And sometimes,” he continued, “they even buy my books.”
“Oh, they all buy your books.” Mrs. Jay spoke quickly, feeling she had been out of the conversation long enough. She held up a black bag that had been on the counter.
“This is his shopping bag, only he calls it his Murder Bag.”
3
THE GOLDEN WHATEVER
“Murder Bag?” Herculeah said.
“It holds his weapons,” Mrs. Jay said. “And they tell me that he also has a murder room in his house, though I’ve never seen it.”
“Now you’re giving away all my secrets,” Mathias King said.
“And he never lets anyone inside his Den of Iniquity—that’s what he calls it—not even the housekeeper.”
“Oh, I might make an exception every now and then,” he said, smiling at Herculeah.
Herculeah wasn’t sure she wanted to go near anything called a den of iniquity. Iniquity, she knew, meant wickedness.
She changed the subject. “And is the weapon for your next book in your Murder Bag, Mr. King?” Herculeah asked.
Mrs. Jay said, “No, he bought that last week. It’s the golden—”
Mathias King stopped her with a gesture. “Give them no clue. They will have to read the book.”
“—the golden whatever,” Mrs. Jay finished lamely. Behind his back, she indicated something the size of a small bed.
“That’s just one possibility, Mrs. Jay. I always keep an open mind where my murder weapon is concerned. And these young people may have fresh ideas. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
He began to move through the aisle, his long hands fluttering over the items—a Statue of Liberty bank, a globe, a cigarette lighter in the shape of a pistol. He hesitated over the cigarette lighter and then picked up an Oriental box and slid off the top. “Empty.” He showed it to Herculeah.
“But this could be a trick box, and when you open it a snake comes out and strikes.”
He passed his fingers over the box and placed it in her hand. She slid open the top. A cloth snake sprang out and touched her throat. She was startled, but she didn’t flinch.
“But you’ve already used a snake,” Herculeah said quickly, handing him the snake and the box. “You wouldn’t want to repeat yourself.”
“Ah, yes, I must not repeat myself.”
Mrs. Jay said, “Mathias was once a magician, so he can make you believe anything.”
“Now, Mrs. Jay, once again you are too kind.”
He moved through the tables, picking up an object here, another there.
“Ah, here’s something. What is this meant to be, Mrs. Jay?”
“It holds back draperies. It’s a silken rope.”
Mathias King picked it up and let it slip through his fingers.
“I like this. It has a deadly feel to it. And the silk appeals to me.
I am drawn to beautiful weapons.”
He did a trick with the rope so that it seemed to stand up all by itself for a moment, and then coiled it gracefully into one hand.
He moved backward, as if to give himself more room. His hands moved so quickly, so skillfully, that the three of them watched, as fascinated as if they were at a real magic show.
“It could be used to tie a victim’s hands.” He bound his own wrists so that he seemed to be caught in the golden rope.
“But a skillful victim might break free. Or, let me see, the rope could be a noose—”
And as he spoke, he swirled and tossed the rope over Meat’s head an
d drew it back against his throat.
The movement was so quick that Meat had no time to react. And, just as quickly, the golden rope slid across Meat’s throat and disappeared into the folds of Mathias King’s cape.
The rope had barely brushed Meat’s throat, and yet it left him unable to swallow. He knew if he tried, his throat would protest with a loud unpleasant glunk, and everyone would know he had been afraid.
He turned away as if bored—at least that was how he hoped he looked—and moved back out of the way. He was so upset, he was relieved to be able to locate the door. He started for it.
“Wait. Wait!” Mathias King called after him. “Oh, I mean no harm. Please, wait.” Mathias King’s voice had softened with remorse. “Come back.”
Herculeah could see from the set of Meat’s shoulders that coming back was not an option. “We’d better go,” she said. Her throat felt sort of tight, too.
“But I meant no harm. It was just a trick. Oh, dear, Mrs. Jay. I have run off your customers.”
“We didn’t have any money,” Herculeah admitted.
“At least take the box as a memento of the visit. Mrs. Jay, put this on my account.”
He held out the Oriental box to her, but she shook her head. “No, thanks.” She could still feel the unpleasant tap of the trick snake against her throat.
“Well, will you at least take my card?”
Herculeah paused.
Mr. King reached into a pocket and brought out a packet of cards.
“I have many cards because I have been many things.” He began to shuffle through the cards. “Let’s see. ‘Mathias King, King of Magicians’ ... ’Mathias King, King of Actors’ ... Ah, here is the one I want you to have.”
Herculeah took the card and read the inscription.
Mathias King
KING OF MURDER
4
EITHER ... OR
“Did you see that? Did you see that?”
“What?”
“He tried to strangle me!”
Herculeah and Meat were now outside Hidden Treasures, on their way home. Meat had stopped Herculeah as soon as they were away from the window and out of sight of Mrs. Jay and, more importantly, Mr. Mathias King.