Doug Allyn - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 134, No. 5. Whole No. 819, November 2009

He looked down at the helpless, unconscious woman who was still his wife, changed as she was. She had been beautiful once, before the determination for revenge had soured and aged her and shaped her mouth into a permanently discontented droop. Before the light in her lovely hazel eyes had turned into an avaricious gleam, and her hands had become claws ready to tear to pieces every kind impulse he had ever had. So utterly unlike his warm, generous, and life-enhancing Tamsin.

So, he thought, picking up the scalpel. To work. For a moment he paused, almost overcome by a juvenile desire to let his hand slip “accidentally” during the operation. But the temptation was momentary. What was he thinking of? Killing her in front of an operating theatre full of witnesses?

No, that was not the way. Not a gargoyle, either — he was not about to give her grounds to sue him, another opportunity to bleed him dry. Just a little rearrangement of the face in a way that wouldn’t leave any room for real complaint of negligence or anything like that, but wouldn’t please her at all. Something that Mrs. Parker would have to live with for the rest of her life. A not-so-subtle reminder that her time of playing fast and loose with him had come to an end. An end to her blackmail.

He took exquisite pleasure in dwelling on what she would feel when she woke up and learned the name of the surgeon who had replaced Mr. Harvey-Pilbeam. His hands were quite steady as he made the first incision.

Copyright © 2009 by Marjorie Eccles

Michael Z. Lewin is well known for his P.I. novels and stories (which include the Albert Samson and the Lunghi family series, both of which have appeared in EQMM ) and for his police procedurals (the best-known starring Lt. Leroy Powder). So what a surprise it was to receive from him this classical drawing room whodunit. We think he’s done it splendidly, but if you’re craving more of the old Mike Lewin, you won’t want to miss his latest book, Oh Joe, a thriller set in his hometown of Indianapolis.

“Red wine or white, Mr. Brett?” Grimm, the butler, showed Brett Kingsley a tray bear-ing several ceramic wine goblets.

“I’ll have white, please, Grimm.” But before reaching for a goblet, Kingsley looked around the room. With a practiced toss of the head he shifted a thatch of golden hair that hung over the left of his bright blue eyes. A moment later the hair fell back to where it had started. “This is an amazing apartment, isn’t it?”

“Have you not been here before, sir?” Grimm knew full well that Kingsley had been in the penthouse several times during his brief period as Ms. Victoria’s lover. But perhaps Victoria had made the young actor use the servants’ entrance. Victoria Nation planned her life meticulously, ran it to a strict timetable, and had a firm idea of what was what.

“I never got to appreciate the fabulous views,” Brett said, gesturing to the living room’s outlook over the Hudson River. “It is only New Jersey, but from this distance it looks wild and inviting.”

“Indeed, Mr. Brett,” Grimm said.

“And I’ve certainly never been here on a momentous occasion like this one. I’m so glad that Victoria’s been able to let bygones be bygones. I was worried there for a while.”

You are the one who got ditched, Grimm thought, recognizing that Kingsley was implying a different story. Victoria had confided her disappointment that the gorgeous young actor had turned out to be neither sophisticated nor a quick learner. “I daresay he’d be better if I scripted it for him,” she’d said, “but who has the time? He is history, Grimm. Life is too short.”

However, Grimm said only, “Ms. Victoria has never been one to let her personal life get in the way of business decisions.”

“She’s a special woman.”

“That she is.” Grimm offered Kingsley the tray.

“Hey, these are funny-looking wineglasses,” Brett said as he took one. He rotated it in his hand. Each goblet bore a pottery face. The eye and hair colors were similar to his own, but there was little definition in the features.

“If you would prefer to imbibe from a different vessel, I can find you an alternative, Mr. Brett.”

“No, no. I was just saying.” Kingsley took a sip. “Nothing funny about that.”

“Ms. Victoria wants you all to have the best,” Grimm said. Then he turned to another guest who had joined them. “Wine, Ms. Lorelei?”

Lorelei Penfold had certainly been in Victoria’s living room before, if not for a meeting with such serious implications. Small and dark, Lorelei was a writer of television scripts, although she hoped that the night would leave her in charge of a team of lesser writers who would do the actual work of putting words onto pages. “I really shouldn’t do anything to fuddle my mind, Grimm,” she said.

“No, Ms. Lorelei?”

“But I’m going to.” Lorelei was known for intuitive scripts backed by meticulous research. “Or am I? Yes, I am. It’s not like I’m going to have to make any decisions tonight. That’s all being done for us elsewhere. So, by God, I will have a glass, of the red, thank you.”

And, by God, she took a goblet.

Brett used the moment to tap Grimm on the shoulder. “Hey, Grimm, when is Victoria intending to grace us with her presence? Considering that it’s her shindig, I expected her to be here once the guests began to arrive.”

“The mistress will be with us as soon as she can, Mr. Brett.” With the slightest of bows Grimm left the actor and the writer alone.

“Do you think she is his mistress?” Brett asked Lorelei as Grimm moved out of hearing.

“Who? The butler?” Lorelei studied Grimm’s back.

“Victoria has... Well, she has a great appetite for life.”

Lorelei turned back to Brett and raised her eyebrows. Her expression said, Well, you ought to know if anyone does.

“Oh, stop it,” he said with an embarrassed laugh, and he changed the subject. “Victoria found him in a cardboard box, you know.”

“She what?”

“He was begging on the street when she spotted him.” Brett mimicked Victoria as he said, “ ‘I saw in an instant that, scrubbed up, he would be exactly what I require a butler to look like. And then, when I heard him speak and he turned out to be English, well, what choice did I have but to acquire him? But don’t tell anybody he was a beggar. He’s such a sensitive soul.’ So here he is, Victoria’s secret.”

“If there’s one thing to be said about Victoria Nation,” Lorelei said, “it’s that she knows how to get what she wants.” Lorelei drank deeply from her wine.

“Grimm is good-looking, in a fatherly kind of way,” Brett said.

“And she sure likes them good-looking,” Lorelei said, the drink affecting her already. “As you should know.”

“Does everybody know she and I were together?” Brett was suddenly flustered at the thought that the manner of the relationship’s end might also be common gossip.

“Of course we do, Brett. This is television.”

After taking a breath to calm himself, he said, “Well, that’s all in the past now.”

“And,” Lorelei said, “Victoria is with Andrew these days, isn’t she?”

“Andrew?” Brett was surprised. “You mean Andrew Stark? But he’s... forty if he’s a day.”

“Only a twenty-five-year-old could say something like that.”

“Oh, sorry, Lorelei, I didn’t mean that forty is old. Well, not old old.”