Abigail Browining - Murder Most Merry

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A great holiday gift for mystery fans, this new short story collection of over thirty Christmas tales of crime contains contributions from some of the best writers of the genre: Patricia Moyes, John D. MacDonald, Rex Stout, Julian Symons, Georges Simenon, Margery Allingham, Lawrence Block, John Mortimer and many others. These holiday tales with a murderous twist include suspicious Santa's helpers; a Christmas pageant player who assumes the role of a killer; and evil elves with malicious intentions. Beware of hanging mistletoe and stuffed stockings
season, as you celebrate a creepy Christmas with
.

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Andy reunited the two sections of the matchbox and placed it on a bookshelf before going to the brandy bottle. “Anybody else want some Dutch courage?”

Geoff gave a nod.

Andy’s hand shook as he poured. Everyone was in a state of shock.

“He’s gone too far this time,” said Gemma. “He’s ruined Christmas for all of us. I shall tell him. Are you all right, love?”

Pauline took a gulp of brandy and gave a nod.

“It’s ghoulish,” said Gemma.

“Sick.” said Andy. “You all right, Geoff? You’ve gone very pale.”

“I’m okay,” Geoff managed to say.

“Drink some brandy, mate.”

Gemma said, “Andy, would you take it right out of the room and get rid of it? It’s upsetting us all.”

Andy picked the matchbox off the bookshelf and left the room. Gemma collected the discarded sheets of wrapping paper and joined him in the kitchen. “Where would Reg have got such a ghoulish thing?” she whispered.

Andy shrugged. “Who knows? I don’t imagine a branch manager at the Midland Bank comes across many severed toes.”

“What are we going to do? Pauline’s nerves are shattered and Geoff looks ready to faint.”

“A fresh cup of tea is supposed to be good for shock. What am I going to do with this?”

“I don’t know. Bury it in the garden.”

“Pauline is sure to ask where it went.”

“Then we’d better take it with us when we go. We can dump it somewhere on the way home.”

“Why should we have to deal with it?” said Andy. “I’ll give it back to bloody Reg. He can get rid of it.”

“If he has the gall to show his face here. Just keep it out of everyone’s sight in the meantime.”

To satisfy himself that the toe really was of human origin, Andy slid open the matchbox again. This time he noticed a folded piece of paper tucked into one end. “Hey, there’s something inside. I think it’s a note.” After reading the typed message, he handed it to Gemma. “What do you make of that?”

She stared at the paper. “It can’t be true. It’s got to be a hoax.”

They joined Pauline and Geoff in the living room. “We thought you might appreciate some tea.” said Gemma.

“You’re marvellous,” said Pauline. “I should have thought of that.”

“Getting over the shock?”

“I think so.”

“You too, Geoff?”

Geoff gave a nod.

Andy cleared his throat. “I found this note in the matchbox.”

“A note?” said Pauline. “From Reg?”

“Apparently not. It says, If you want the rest of your brother—’ “

“Oh, no!” said Pauline.

“ If you want the rest of your brother, bring ten thousand pounds or equivalent to the telephone box at Chilton Leys at five-thirty. Just one of you. If you don’t, or if you call the police, you can find the bits all over Suffolk.’ ”

“Andy, I think she’s going to faint.”

“I’m all right,” said Pauline. “If this is true, that toe...”

“But it isn’t true,” said Andy, spacing the words. “It’s Reg having us on, as he does every year.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’ll turn up presently grinning all over his fat face. The best thing we can do is get on with the party.”

There was little enthusiasm for unwrapping presents or eating overcooked sausage, so they turned on the television and watched for a while.

“How could we possibly put our hands on ten thousand pounds on Christmas Day?” said Pauline during the commercial break.

“That’s the giveaway,” said Andy. “A professional kidnapper would know better.”

“You’ve got three hundred in notes in your back pocket,” said Gemma. “You know you have. You said we needed it over the holiday in case of emergencies.”

“Three hundred is peanuts compared to ten grand.”

“I’ve got about a hundred and twenty in my bag,” said Gemma.

Geoff took out his wallet and counted the edges of his bank notes.

“Doesn’t look as if Geoff can chip in much,” said Andy.

Gemma said on a note of reproach, “Andy.”

Andy said, “No offence, mate.”

Geoff put his wallet away.

“Well, that’s it. We couldn’t afford to pay the kidnappers if they existed,” Andy summed up. “How much do you have in the house, Pauline?”

“In cash? About two hundred.”

“Less than eight hundred between us.”

“But I’ve got a thousand in travellers’ cheques for my holiday in Florida.”

“Still a long way short,” said Andy.

“Good thing it’s only a hoax,” said Gemma.

“There are my pearls,” said Pauline, fingering them. “They cost over a thousand. And I have some valuable rings upstairs.”

“If we’re talking jewellery, Gemma’s ruby necklace is the real thing,” said

Andy.

“So is your Rolex watch,” Gemma countered. “And the gold ingot you wear under your shirt.”

“I notice you haven’t offered your earrings. They cost a bomb, if I remember right.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Where the hell is Chilton Leys anyway?”

“Not far,” said Pauline.

“I passed it on my way here,” said Geoff.

They were silent for an interval. Then Andy said, “Well, has anyone spoken to Reg on the phone in the past twenty-four hours?”

“It must be a week since we spoke.” said Pauline.

“What time is it?” said Gemma.

“Five past five.”

“He would have been here by now,” said Pauline. “Or if he had trouble with the car he would have phoned.”

“Anyone care for another drink?” asked Andy.

“How many is that you’ve had already?” said Gemma.

“I want to say something,” said Pauline.

“Feel free,” said Andy, with the bottle in his hand.

She smoothed her skirt. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if it wasn’t a hoax and Reg really had been kidnapped, we could never forgive ourselves if these people murdered him because we did nothing about it.”

“Come off it,” said Andy.

“I mean, why are we refusing to respond to the note? Is it because we’re afraid of making fools of ourselves? Is that all it is?”

“We don’t believe it, that’s why,” said Gemma.

“You mean you don’t want to run the risk of Reg having the last laugh? It’s all about self-esteem, isn’t it? How typical of our family—all inflated egos. We’d rather run the risk of Reg being murdered than lay ourselves open to ridicule.”

“That isn’t the point,” said Andy. “We’re calling his bluff.”

“So you say. And if by some freak of circumstances you’re mistaken, how will any of us live with it for the rest of our lives? I’m telling you, Andy, I’m frightened. I know what you’re thinking. I can see it in your eyes. I’m gullible, a stupid, immature female. Well I don’t mind admitting I’m bloody frightened. If none of you wants to take this seriously that’s up to you. I do. I’m going to put all the money I have into a bag and take it to that phone box. If nobody comes, what have I lost? Some dignity, that’s all. You can laugh at me every Christmas from now on. But I mean it.” She stood up.

“Hold on,” said Andy. “We’ve heard what you think. What about the rest of us?”

“It isn’t quite the same for you, is it?” said Pauline. “He’s my brother.”

“He’s Gemma’s brother, too. And Geoff’s.”

Andy switched to his wife. “What do you want to do about it?”

Gemma hesitated.

“Or Geoff,” said Andy. “Do you have an opinion, Geoff?”

Geoffs hand went to his collar as if it had tightened suddenly.

Gemma said, “Pauline is right. Ten to one it’s Reg having us on, but we can’t take the risk. We’ve got to do something.”

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