Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 151, Nos. 1 & 2. Whole Nos. 916 & 917, January/February 2018

I knew that somewhere between the thought and the printed word the “someone with the sharp eyes” would have become Eloise.

She got everything she wanted. She got the doll. But as a gift. I really didn’t have the insurance. In these litigious days caveat vendor isn’t a bad motto and I didn’t want to shoulder responsibility for the Fall of the House of Benson. In the spring she got a separation from Jasper. In his search for carcasses, gut-gobbling Supercroc met T-Rex head on in the financial swamp and it all ended in disaster, sliding into divorce, dissolution, and death by Ferrari. By the summer, Eloise had salvaged a fat slice of his fortune and had retained the house and the children. By the autumn she was enjoying regular mulchings from her new biodynamic gardener.

When I returned in early December for the final inspection, Rosa was boxed up and waiting for me.

“I thought you’d like to have her back, darling. The children don’t like her. They treat her badly. I found Hector hanging her by the neck from an apple tree the other day.” She gave me a conspiratorial grin. “And she’s done her stuff! For which I’m duly thankful. You were quite right, Ellie, she certainly doesn’t like men, does she? But I’ve grown rather fond of my new bloke and I don’t want to risk anything, so — if you wouldn’t mind? Ridiculous, I know, but there are more things in heaven and earth and all that... Hey — now here’s a thought! — have you considered hiring her out? My friend Marcia...”

“So where does this leave us, Ellie?” Tom frowned when he’d absorbed all this. “I mean you, me, and the contents of the box. Which would appear to be still armed and ticking.”

“With plan C. I’ve done a deal with some new friends of mine. Clients. Receptive, accommodating people who aren’t the least bit alarmed or shocked by the idea of superstition and elemental evil. It’s rather their thing! They’re very ready to take her in and work on her. I thought the least you could do, as it’s really all your fault when it comes down to it, is come along and carry the box for me.”

He grinned and stepped outside with me and I held Rosa while he locked up. Politely, he took the box and we stood for a moment looking up at the smart gold lettering on the green fascia above his shop:

Thomas Langridge

Antiques bought and sold.

London, Paris, Calcutta

“Not quite my fault! I won’t have great-grandfather’s sins visited on me! In any case, I’ve never thought that he deserved his fate. He loved his Indian family. He held true to them against custom and prejudice. He made provision for and gave his name to his little son. The boy who was my grandfather. I’ve got a photograph of Harry in uniform somewhere. I’ll show you. I look very like him.”

I remembered, a year ago, how for a fragile moment, Rosa had danced her last waltz with a man the image of her lost captain of cavalry and my heart turned to ice.

She had so nearly had him in her grasp.

I tugged the box back from him with a rush of fear and put myself protectively between them. I kept my voice steady as I asked: “And he went out in a blaze of glory, your great-grandfather? You’ve kept his medal, haven’t you?”

He nodded, eyes shining with pride or tears.

“Get in, Tom. I’ll drive. It’s not far.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m making a second inspection of my next job. This one’s a bit different.”

“You say that about all your assignments.”

I smiled. “True. But this ancient building is St. Agatha’s. I’ve never done a nunnery before. I’m thinking Rosa will have a really terrible time there. Not a single man for miles around to work her evil on! And you, Tom, won’t be allowed to visit!”

Stick

by Doug Allyn

A two-time Edgar winner in the short-story category, Doug Allyn is also a novelist with two new titles out: The Jukebox Kings and

The Lawyer Lifeguard, the latter coauthored with James Patterson. Coming up in 2017’s Best American Mystery Stories, edited by John Sandford, for the first time two brothers — Doug and Jim Allyn — have stories in the same volume, and both of their stories are from EQMM!

* * *

“Hey you! Old-timer! What you got in that sack?”

Stick Shefer winced, but kept moving. He’d spotted the punk lurking just inside the alley mouth before he crossed the street. Damn! That alley was a shortcut home and it was a cold December night. Light dusting of snow on the Detroit sidewalks, Christmas decorations in the shop windows.

The alley would save him a three-block walk. But tonight? Taking the long way around would be safer.