Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 40, No. 6, June, 1995

“Money and revenge. You and your grandmother were unforeseen nuisances that had to be dealt with.” McLean’s face clouded over. “Clement, however, was a more personal issue. Regina was his daughter.”

There was a stunned silence. Mort continued the story. “P. J. cottoned on to it when he noticed that both their Social Security numbers were issued in Florida. She said she’d never been there. When someone lies, you want to know why. I already had his marriage certificate, and it didn’t take long to unearth her birth records.”

Zoe shrank. “How awful. How could a child hate so much?”

McLean was enured to life’s hard twists, but he had trouble finding his voice. “That’s something she’s more than willing to talk about. Clement ran off when Regina was two. She had a brother and sister, both older; both doted on her. Both died young in separate car accidents about two years apart. Clement surfaced for both funerals and tried to collect what he could in insurance settlements. He’d only run out, not divorced his wife, so he figured he had legal rights to their estates.”

Tina looked nauseated. “I never liked him, but that’s lower than even I thought he’d sink.”

“He sank a lot lower. Regina’s mother died just over a year ago of ovarian cancer. A long, hard death. A dozen or more operations, terrible bills, no help from anyone, especially her husband. Again Clement showed up, after she’d died, of course, but this time Regina had the last word. Unable to cover her mother’s bills, she’d declared personal bankruptcy.”

Zoe shuddered. “But why in heaven’s name did she come here, and why would he let her in on his scheme?”

“She felt, logically I suppose, that he owed her and was in a position to pay off. He took her on because she threatened to blow the whistle on him. She’d unearthed the truth about the Florida fire, including how it was started. Fortunately for us, she knew nothing about fire behavior. When Regina decided to strike, she mimicked his first fire by setting it in the second floor packing room. Clement had refined his approach. If she’d known, it would have been harder to solve this.

“Of course,” McLean smiled across the table, “you threw a wrench into her plans with that will. Regina’s plotting was for nothing if the money went to cleaning up after Clement.”

Mort pushed away from the table. “So, no money for Regina now. Insurance companies don’t pay people who kill the insured.” A hint of admiration crept into his voice. “Clever way she planned on doing the four of you in, though. Sort of a dial-a-bomb.”

A shiver coursed through McLean. “She expected the gas to knock everyone out, including Eric. Then she’d skip across town and dial up a remote control appliance switch she’d rigged to short out.”

Tina looked out the window, down the street toward the brick shell of her inheritance. “Grandmother and I stand to collect a bundle after all is said and done, but there’s no joy in it. What’s more, I don’t see why he signed the will.”

A knowing light glowed in Zoe’s eyes. “Petty revenge. To get back at the woman who fought him tooth and nail every step of the way in what he considered legitimate inheritances. Perhaps, too, as life insurance. He knew how much she hated him. But it seems he forgot to tell her. Poor old Clement, he never did get this cashing in on death thing right.”

Strangle, Strangle

by Jacqueline Freimor

“Tiffany’s beautiful naked body was shining in the firelight. No, change it to: Tiffany’s beautiful naked body was shining in the tub. She sat up and saw the doorknob starting to turn. It was her husband! But he wasn’t supposed to be home until eight. Today she told him...” Alicia stops talking and looks at me accusingly. “I hope you’re getting all this down.”

“I’m up to the naked body part,” I say.

“Wil-liam,” Alicia says. Not Will, but William, emphasis on the first syllable. “Now I’ve lost the flow.”

“You could just use your tape recorder,” I point out. “I don’t write fast enough.”

She doesn’t say anything but flops down on the maroon leather sofa and covers her eyes with her hand like she can’t stand looking at me. It’s not so bad. At least it’s not The Look. I can’t stand The Look. Sometimes when Alicia gives me The Look I feel like my head is a balloon just about to bust into a million limp little pieces.

We’re in her father’s study because Alicia is writing a blockbuster bestseller so she can become a millionaire before she gets to college, maybe even before she gets out of ninth grade. She’s not doing it for the money, though, but to get famous. Alicia’s biggest wish in life is to be famous by the time she hits twenty-one. I tell her if anyone can do it she can. As for me, I’m just happy to go along for the ride.