Charles Ardai - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 102, No. 4 & 5. Whole No. 618 & 619, October 1993

The man in the mask let the receiver drop into its cradle, silencing the voice of the woman at the police station. Who are you? she had started to ask. Where are you calling from? How do you know about this?

He stood up, pushed the chair back from the desk, and walked to the window. It was light outside; eight-thirty felt a lifetime away. But the Jomon would be successful, he was sure. That meant he had only five hours left to live.

He dropped the hat and gloves on the desk, pulled the mask over the top of his head, and smoothed down his thick, stiff hair. His hair needed to be cut, and looking at his hands he realized that his fingernails needed cutting as well. It didn’t matter any longer, but it bothered him, so he pulled a penknife out of his pocket, sat on the edge of his desk, and pared his tough, yellow nails.

If the Jomon lived, they would lead the police to this office he had rented, where they would find nothing. The money, all saved in cash over the course of the year, was untraceable. The mask and hat he would throw away on his way to the bodega. Amid the refuse of Carnivale, with its thousand identical masks and hats, they would never be found.

He would not be buried at the public expense. All the money he had left would go to Borges, who would use it for a proper funeral.

And the Jomon, caught committing a murder under the very eyes of the police, would surely get the punishment they deserved.

Ramon closed and pocketed his penknife. Then he began the trek back to the bodega. Siesta was over.

He threw the mask out in one street-corner garbage can, the hat in another. His hand trembled as he unlocked the bodega’s front door for the last time.

© 1993 by Donald Olson

From Donald Olson we have this month a wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing tale. Mr. Olson is the author of seven novels, but his first and abiding love is the short story...

She could have shut her eyes and still known the season. The breath of autumn was on the air, that spicy blend of scents: woodsmoke and ripe apples and hay drying on the hills. But Selena Winship’s eyes were wide open and blue as the glassy surface of the lake she gazed down upon as she waited there in the garden of what she had called, seeing it for the first time three years ago, “the darlingest little house in all the world.” Purple phlox and Japanese iris and hollyhocks glowed against its freshly painted white shingles.

She gave a little start, as if rudely awakened from a pleasant dream, when Rob from next door stole up behind her and tickled the smooth white nape of her neck below a tangle of fiery red curls.

“You’re late,” she snapped. “I told you to be here by ten.”

“They’re not home, are they?”

“No, but they’ve only gone to the market. Oh, good, you brought it.”

Rob set the plastic gallon milk jug on the grass and dropped down beside Selena. “I don’t see why it had to be a milk jug. You’re not supposed to keep gasoline in a plastic container.”

“We’re not going to keep it in there, idiot. I told you it had to be a milk jug. Never mind why.”

Rob’s blue eyes, paler than Selena’s but more striking in his deeply tanned face, regarded the milk jug with a worried frown. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No.”

“You’d better not. I’m depending on you. You’re being very well paid for what little I’m asking you to do.”

“Arson,” he replied peevishly, “is not what I’d call a little thing.”

“But you’re not doing it, are you, Rob? I’m the one taking all the risk.” She looked sceptically at the milk jug. “You’re sure that’ll be enough?”

“Are you kidding? A cup would be enough.”

Selena looked up at the sky, where a lazy flock of white clouds had strayed into the field of blue. “It’s not supposed to rain tomorrow, is it? How ghastly if a downpour ruined everything.”

“With that much gasoline I doubt it would matter.” He sprang lightly to his feet and surveyed the little house with a somber look of regret. “Pity I had to work my butt off for nothing.”

“Work for which you’ll be well paid. And who’s going to think someone burned down a house they’d just repainted?” She tilted her head to one side, admiring the coral-colored door, the gray shutters and white shingles. “You know, from a distance it does rather look like a smaller model of our Valley house. Same colors, anyway.”

Rob turned to look down at Selena with an air of cautious surmise. “Look, Selena, I know I’m not supposed to ask any questions, but I can’t help wondering, you’re always so damn mysterious, I mean about what happened in the Valley.”

Selena’s glance was like the warning flash of a knife. “What about what happened in the Valley?”

Even more hesitantly, Rob said: “Well, I know you were burned out, you told me that much, okay? But — look, now don’t get mad — just tell me the truth. It wasn’t — you didn’t...?”

“Didn’t what?” Selena’s tone was icy.

“You didn’t do it, did you?”

Selena sprang up, one arm flung out as if about to strike. “What a beastly thing to say!”

“Look, I’m sorry—”

“Someone died in that fire. Someone I loved. How dare you even suggest anything so vile?” Bursting into tears as easily as the most accomplished actress, Selena flung herself down again on the grass.

Rob made awkward, fumbling motions without actually stooping to touch her. “Selena, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t understand you sometimes. You don’t seem to want to tell me anything.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re too stupid to understand, ever think of that?” Then suddenly, as if a cloudburst had passed, she regained her composure, her manner becoming sadder, reflective. “I love it here at the lake. Everything was fine for two years. Beryl and I got along okay. I know she doesn’t exactly dote on me — I’m too smart for my own good she’s always telling me — but she is my mother and she does control the trust fund. Oh yes, we got along — until Gordon came into the picture. A guy over thirty with a pigtail! Isn’t that de trop?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Too much. But I’m a woman of the world. If Beryl chooses to go gaga over some hunk, that’s her business, not mine. But marry him? No way, baby. The minute she dropped that on me I knew I had to do something to stop it. Gordon’s nothing but a gigolo, all he’s after is the money. But it won’t happen, you can count on that. I’m going to get rid of Gordon. No ding-dong wedding bells for that jerk. What happened in the Valley gave me the idea.”

“I hope you know you’re playing with fire,” said Rob with a grin.

Selena gave him a withering look. “Is that supposed to be funny? Is that your idea of wit?”

“Oh, don’t be so touchy.”

“I’ve already got him worried. I keep giving him these looks. If Beryl had any brains, she’d know I’m doing her a favor by getting rid of Gordon. She’ll thank me some day.”

“You really hate him, don’t you?”

“With a passion. I mean, a pigtail. Really! And the way he struts around in that bikini. Fancies he’s Mr. Universe or something. God, it makes me sick the way Beryl fawns over him. He deserves just what’s coming to him.” In another lightning change of mood, the fierceness evaporated into a seductive tenderness as she laid a hand on Rob’s thigh. “And you deserve what’s coming to you.”