Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine (August 2012)
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Published since 1941, Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine is America's oldest and most celebrated crime-fiction publication. "The best mystery magazine in the world, bar none," states Stephen King. Featured in its pages are short stories by the world's leading writers of suspense. The full range of the genre is covered, from the cozy to the hardboiled, the historical to the contemporary-including police procedurals, P.I. stories, psychological suspense, locked-room and impossible-crime tales, classical whodunits, and urban noir. EQMM stories include scores of winners of the Edgar, Agatha, Shamus, Anthony, Derringer, Macavity, Barry, Arthur Ellis, and Robert L. Fish awards. Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine is home to many bestselling authors, including Joyce Carol Oates, Chuck Hogan, Jan Burke, Lawrence Block, and Marcia Muller.
In this issue Joyce Carol Oates’s story of the unexpected meeting between a student and a well-respected professor at the commencement ceremonies of a prestigious university provides the perfect segue to summer and this issue’s thrilling vacation reading (see “Hey Dad”).
Through the long hot days of this year’s summer, the economy will probably remain on many people’s minds. And as Tore Boeckmann’s Passport story “The Crime Behind the Fortune” shows, money—at least in the world of mystery-fiction—isn’t often come by without complication or suspicion. Two of this month’s stories feature characters who are barely scraping by: the under-achieving protagonist of Melodie Johnson Howe’s “Losing It” and the small-town extended family of J.L. Stirckland’s humorous Department of First Stories debut “Amazing Grace, Sorta.” By contrast, other stories’ characters live conspicuously upper-class lives, including the Fontaines, Florida’s version of aristocracy, in “Fontaine House” by Terrie Farley Moran, and Victorian England’s landed Bromfields, in “Murder Uncordial” by Amy Myers. No one, not even the privileged, is untouched by mayhem in these pages, and in Barbara Nadel’s “Nain Rouge,” set against a Detroit backdrop of gentrification and encroaching gangsterism, with its clash of haves and have-nots, the narrator encounters the city’s oldest demon.
Money, of course, is one of crime’s oldest motives, and if you’re curious about what lengths the unscrupulous will go to for a few bucks, don’t forget to pack this issue with the beach towels. You’ll find answers, from blackmail to fencing stolen goods to bank robbery, in stories by Bill Pronzini (“Gunpowder Alley”), Peter Turnbull (“The Long Shadow”), and Clark Howard (“The Street Ends at the Cemetery”).
black leather shoes, proper black silk socks. Me in black leather sandals, sockless. You in a folding chair on the commencement platform. First row of the select—President's party. Me in the third row of two hundred twenty-three graduating seniors. Seated on the hard hard stone of the quasi-Greek amphitheater. One of a small sea of black-robed kids. Some of us in T-shirts and swim trunks beneath the black robes 'cause it's God damn hot in mid May on our little Colonial-college campus in New
neither a stroke nor a heart attack either. Maybe killing the Nain had somehow, magically, restored him to full health again. But then what did he mean by "killing the Nain"? Now that he was sober, there was surely no more craziness and therefore, no more Nain? He had a bunch of small cuts all over the backs of his hands, but then he probably got those scrambling up into the old Sachs place. How he'd remembered where to find the old house after so many years, especially drunk out of his gourd,
Nor did the sparkle in her eyes diminish; if anything it brightened. Telling him, he realized, as plainly as if she'd spoken the words, that such searches would prove futile, and that he would never discover where the greenbacks were hidden no matter how long and hard he searched. Sharp and bitter frustration goaded Quincannon now. There was no question that his deductions were correct and he had been sure he could wring a confession from Pauline Dupree, or at the very least convince Titus
and flowers. The storehouse will reopen long before we're finished." Cyncy's BlackBerry rang as soon as they settled in the kitchen with Mrs. Garcia. She walked to a quiet corner and held an animated conversation, after which she excused herself. "A British firm has initiated a hostile takeover of a small company in which several Bellefontaine corporations have an interest. I'm going to Swanson's office to organize a teleconference. Since Le Grand Dérangement, the Bellefontaines have learned
flashlight under the table, helped them search, but the purse couldn't be found. After filing a police report, Greta got busy canceling her credit cards. Cyncy suggested that they go back to the island for a peaceful, crime-free afternoon. After a lengthy swim in the family pool, Greta took a shower. Some gremlins, as she'd begun to think of the domestic staff that functioned quietly and efficiently around the Bellefontaines, had straightened her room while she was swimming. She reached into