Марджери Аллингем: Mystery for Christmas and Other Stories

WHO KILLED FATHER CHRISTMAS? by Patricia Moyes— The toy department is the scene of this diabolically clever crime, where telling Santa what you want for Christmas becomes something to scream about.

I SAW MOMMY KILLING SANTA CLAUSE by George Baxt— A little boy sees Mommy committing murder... but it takes him forty years to find out how she got away with it and where the missing weapon really went.

MYSTERY FOR CHRISTMAS by Anthony Boucher— Hollywood throws the best holiday bashes... and this California Christmas party includes a crime, a frame-up, and a director with an Academy Award-winning talent for detection.

AND EIGHT MORE TALES TO SAY, “MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL MYSTERY FANS... AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!”

Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following for their permission to reprint their copyrighted material:

“Christmas Cop” by Thomas Adcock, copyright © 1986 by Davis Publications, Inc., reprinted by permission of the author

“On Christmas Day in the Morning” by Margery Allingham, copyright 1952 by P. and M. Youngman Carter Ltd., reprinted by permission of the Estate

“I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus” by George Baxt, copyright © 1990 by Davis Publications, Inc., reprinted by permission of the author

“Mystery for Christmas” by Anthony Boucher, copyright © 1942 by Anthony Boucher, reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown Ltd.

“The Marley Case” by Linda Haldeman, copyright © 1982 by Davis Publications, Inc., reprinted by permission of Cherry Weiner Literary Agency

“Dead on Christmas Street” by John D. MacDonald, copyright © Dorothy P. MacDonald Trust reprinted by permission of Diskant Associates

“Kelso’s Christmas” by Malcolm McClintick, copyright © 1984 by Davis Publications, Inc., reprinted by permission of the author

“Who Killed Father Christmas?” by Patricia Moyes, copyright © 1980 by Laura W. Haywood & Isaac Asimov, first appeared in WHO DONE IT? , reprinted by permission of Curtis Brown Ltd.

“The Plot Against Santa Claus” by James Powell, copyright © 1970 by James Powell, reprinted by permission of Scott Meredith Literary Agency, Inc.

“The Christmas Bear” by Herbert Resnicow, copyright © 1989 by Davis Publications, Inc., reprinted by permission of the author

“Santa Claus Beat” by Rex Stout, copyright © 1953 by Rex Stout, reprinted by permission of the Estate

“Whatever Became of Ebenezer Scrooge?” by Tom Tolnay, copyright © 1988 by Davis Publications, Inc., reprinted by permission of the author.

All stories previously appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine or Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, published by Davis Publications, Inc.

The stories in this collection are from the pages of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine . They were chosen primarily because, as the title suggests, each story takes place at Christmas time, but also because they are gift wrapped in entertainment and suspense. What distinguishes this particular anthology from others of this kind is that all the stories are mysteries with a “conscience” — a moral underlies each story, which each author conveys with masterful subtlety. It is this “conscience” which gives these stories their true Christmas spirit.

Our cast of characters is quite a lively bunch ranging from Christmas bears and bright-eyed children to a jaded Manhattan cop and a murderous Mommy to criminals with big hearts. There are new twists to our classic Christmas tales which feature our old-time favorites: Marley’s Ghost, Ebenezer Scrooge, Bob Cratchit. And what would Christmas be without Santa Claus?

The time is past, present and future and the settings move from small town U.S.A. to big city streets. More importantly, the message is clear — nothing is as it appears to be because no matter what the nature of the crime, each story contains that special sparkle that we all recognize as the magic of Christmas.

Cynthia Manson

March 1990

“Up there, Grandma,” Debbie pointed, all excited, tugging at my skirt, “in the top row. Against the wall. See?” I’m not really her grandma, but at six and a half the idea of a great-grandmother is hard to understand. All her little friends have grandmothers, so she has a grandmother. When she’s a little older, I’ll tell her the whole story.

The firehouse was crowded this Friday night, not like the usual weekend where the volunteer firemen explain to their wives that they have to polish the old pumper and the second-hand ladder truck. They give the equipment a quick lick-and-a-promise and then sit down to an uninterrupted evening of pinochle. Not that there’s all that much to do in Pitman anyway — we’re over fifty miles from Pittsburgh, even if anyone could afford to pay city prices for what the big city offers — but still, a man’s first thought has to be of his wife and family. Lord knows I’ve seen too much of the opposite in my own generation and all the pain and trouble it caused, and mine could’ve given lessons in devotion to this new generation that seems to be interested only in fun. What they call fun.

Still, they weren’t all bad. Even Homer Curtis, who was the worst boy of his day, always full of mischief and very disrespectful, didn’t turn out all that bad. That was after he got married, of course; not before. He was just voted fire chief and, to give him credit, this whole Rozovski affair was his idea, may God bless him.

Little Petrina Rozovski — she’s only four years old and she’s always been small for her age — her grandfather was shift foreman over my Jake in the mine while we were courting. We married young in those days because there was no future and you grabbed what happiness you could and that’s how I came to be the youngest great-grandmother in the county, only sixty-seven, though that big horsefaced Mildred Ungaric keeps telling everybody I’m over seventy. Poor Petrina has to have a liver transplant, and soon. Real soon. You wouldn’t believe what that costs, even if you could find the right liver in the first place. Seventy-five thousand dollars, and it could go to a lot more than that, depending. There isn’t that much money in the whole county.

There was talk about going to the government — as if the government’s got any way to just give money for things like this or to make somebody give her baby’s liver to a poor little girl — or holding a raffle, or something, but none of the ideas was worth a tinker’s dam. Then Homer, God bless him, had this inspiration. The volunteer firemen — they do it every year — collect toys for the poor children, which, these days, is half the town, to make sure every child gets some present for Christmas. And we all, even if we can’t afford it, we all give something. Then one of them dresses up as Santa Claus and they all get on the ladder truck and, on Christmas Eve, they ride through the town giving out the presents. There’s a box for everyone, so nobody knows who’s getting a present, but the boxes for the families where the father is still working just have a candy bar in them or something like that. And for the littlest kids, they put Santa on top of the ladder and two guys turn the winch and lift him up to the roof as though he’s going to go down the chimney and the kids’ eyes get all round and everybody feels the way a kid should on Christmas Eve.