William Bankier: Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 103, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 625 & 626, March 1994

“Oh, that’s awful. A total loss?”

“Everything we owned,” Larry said. “It’s a good thing we had insurance.”

“How did it happen?”

“Well, the official verdict was that Mrs. Cooley fell asleep with a lighted cigarette in her hand.”

I said, “Oh, so there was someone in the house besides the dogs. She woke up in time and managed to get out safely, this Mrs. Cooley?”

“No, she died too.”

Jan and I looked at each other.

“Smoke inhalation, they said. The way it looked, she woke up all right and tried to get out, but the smoke got her before she could. They found her by the front door.”

“Hansel and Gretel were trapped in the kitchen,” Brenda said. “She was so selfish — she just tried to save herself.”

Jan made a throat-clearing sound. “You sound as though you didn’t like this woman very much.”

“We didn’t. She was an old witch.”

“Then why did you let her stay in your house?”

“She paid us rent. Not much, just a pittance.”

“But if you didn’t like her—”

“She was my mother,” Brenda said.

Far below, on the lanai bar, the hotel musicians began to play ukuleles and sing a lilting Hawaiian song. Brenda leaned forward, listening, smiling dreamily. “That’s ‘Maui No Ka Oi,’ ” she said. “One of my all-time favorites.”

Larry was watching Jan and me. He said, “Mrs. Cooley really was an awful woman, no kidding. Mean, carping — and stingy as hell. She knew how much we wanted to start our catering business but she just wouldn’t let us have the money. If she hadn’t died in the fire... well, we wouldn’t be here with you nice folks. Funny the way things happen sometimes, isn’t it?”

Neither Jan nor I said anything. Instead we got to our feet, almost as one.

“Hey,” Larry said, “you’re not leaving?”

I said yes, we were leaving.

“But the night’s young. I thought maybe we’d go dancing, take in one of the Polynesian revues—”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Sure, I understand. You folks still have some jet lag too, I’ll bet. Get plenty of sleep and call us when you wake up, then we’ll all go have breakfast before we head for the volcanoes.”

They walked us to the door. Brenda said, “Sleep tight, you lovely people,” and then we were alone in the hallway.

We didn’t go to our room; instead we went to the small, quiet lobby bar for drinks we both badly needed. When the drinks came, Jan spoke for the first time since we’d left the Archersons. “My God,” she said, “I had no idea they were like that — so cold and insensitive under all that bubbly charm. Crying over a pair of dogs and not even a kind word for her mother. They’re actually glad the poor woman is dead.”

“More than glad. And much worse than insensitive.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You don’t think they—”

“That’s just what I think. What we both think.”

“Her own mother?”

“Yes. They arranged that fire somehow so Mrs. Cooley would be caught in it, and sacrificed their dogs so it would look even more like an accident.”

“For her money,” Jan said slowly. “So they could start their catering business.”

“Yes.”

“Dick... we can’t just ignore this. We’ve got to do something.”

“What would you suggest?”

“I don’t know, contact the police in Milwaukee...”

“And tell them what that can be proven? The Archersons didn’t admit anything incriminating to us. Besides, there must have been an investigation at the time. If there’d been any evidence against them, they wouldn’t have gotten Mrs. Cooley’s money and they wouldn’t be here celebrating.”

“But that means they’ll get away with it, with cold-blooded murder!”

“Jan, they already have. And they’re proud of it, proud of their own cleverness. I’ll tell you another thing I think. I think they contrived to tell us the story on purpose, with just enough hints so we’d figure out the truth.”

“Why would they do that?”

“The same reason they latched onto us, convinced themselves we’re kindred spirits. The same reason they’re so damned eager. They’re looking for somebody to share their secret with.”

“Dear God.”

We were silent after that. The tropical night was no longer soft; the air had a close, sticky feel. The smell of hibiscus and plumeria had turned cloyingly sweet. I swallowed some of my drink, and it tasted bitter. Paradise tasted bitter now, the way it must have to Adam after Eve bit into the forbidden fruit.

The guidebooks do lie, I thought. There are serpents in this Eden, too.

Early the next morning, very early, we checked out of the Kolekole and took the first interisland flight to Honolulu and then the first plane home.

© 1994 by Barbara Paul

The author of over a dozen mystery novels, Barbara Paul last contributed to EQMM with her unique blend of fantasy and mystery in 1987. Her new novel The Apostrophe Thief, to be published by Scribners this spring, has already been selected by The Mystery Guild ...

The three of them sat fidgeting, waiting for Mother to tell them they could go. Duncan could hear Hartley muttering to himself; not a peep out of Britt, although she was eager to get going. But until Mother gave them the green light, all they could do was sit and wait. And she was taking her time about it. It seemed the older she got, the more cautious she became.

“What’s taking her so long?” Hartley grumbled.

Duncan sighed. Hartley had this need to vocalize, to say out loud what everyone else was thinking. Once he got started, he’d go on and on until Britt lost her patience — which she was doing a lot lately — and told him to shut up.

“What’s she waiting for?” Hartley complained. “Fuss, fuss, fuss. What’s the holdup? Dammit, she’s getting obsessive, scared to let us out of her sight. Hoo, will I be glad to get out of here! Duncan, talk to her. Tell her we’re ready to go.”

Duncan didn’t bother to answer. They’d go when Mother said go.

“You know what I think?” Hartley went on. “I think she just likes to make us wait. Demonstration of power, like that. You think she’s possessive now? The day’s coming when she won’t allow us any independent movement at all, you wait and see. Yeah. We’ll just be puppets, all three of us, doing what Mother says do, going where Mother says go, when she says go—”

“Shut up, Hartley!” Britt snapped.

It was another five minutes before Mother spoke to them. “You may go now,” she said softly. “Be careful.”

Duncan gave a silent cheer. They’d been cooped up too long; everyone was getting edgy. Mother did take good care of them, but sometimes...

His instrument panel gave him the Clear signal; he checked the feed from Britt and Hartley and flipped the switch that completed the disengage sequence. The hatches opened, the anchor grapples uncoupled, and the three single-occupancy shuttles dropped away from the mothership, arcing gracefully into a tight orbit around the strange planet below. See you later, Ma.

“Strange” planet only because unfamiliar; and unfamiliar only to them. The colony world of Pirmacha was prosperous and self-sufficient, able up to now to handle its own problems. But this time the Pirmachans had put in a request to Central for outside help, and Duncan and his team got the nod. Duncan had no worries about Britt, but he wasn’t certain Hartley would settle down in time to get the job done; Hartley rather envisioned himself as a Young Turk when in fact he was merely young.