Murder Most Merry
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
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 this season, as you celebrate a creepy Christmas with Murder Most Merry.
the Eighteenth to say that a boy selling branches of holly had been picked up in the Rue Lepic. It turned out, however, to be a little Pole who couldn’t speak any French. “You were asking if my brother was in the habit of quarreling with people. I hardly know what to answer. He was never strong. Pretty well all his childhood he was ill on and off. He hardly ever went to school. But he read a great deal alone in his room.” “Is he married?” “His wife died two years after they were married,
she was there with some man?” Hunter was jubilant. “Oh.” Helms’s wife said quietly, shocking them with her interruption, “she was there with some man.” Ramsay turned to the farmer. “She was your mistress?” he said, and Hunter realised he had known all along. Helms said nothing. “You must have met her at the agricultural suppliers in Otterbridge. Perhaps when you went to pay your bill. Perhaps she recognised you. She often came to Blackstoneburn.” “I recognised her,” Helms said. “You’d
downstairs. Mrs. Kay fed him at a dining room table of polished wood with a single place setting. “I’ve already eaten.” she explained. “I like my supper early. And Father. Mr. Kay. never takes anything before he goes to work. He’ll just heat his up in the microwave when he gets home.” The meal was baked finnan haddie. Creamed smoked haddock was a favorite Sorley had not seen for a long time. She served it with a half bottle of Alsatian Gewurtztraminer. There was Stilton cheese and a fresh pear
short of dough. A city bus from town stopped up at the corner. When he came he’d be on that, most likely. But he wasn’t on this one. A lone woman got off and turned up the avenue. I let out a slight sigh and looked at the radium dial of my watch. Ten fifty. Another hour and ten minutes and we’d be relieved; it wouldn’t happen on our tour. I hoped that was the way it would be. It was possible. The stoolie could have been wrong about the whole thing. Or something could have happened to change
also made sure every suggestion, no matter how unreasonable, was followed up. The windows were tested, even though everyone knew no one had opened a door or window. An icy wind was blowing, and it was snowing outside. Opening up just long enough to toss something out would have let in a blast the rest would have noticed, not to mention that the necklace would have been lost in the snow. Aunt Molly had never seemed the least bit pitiful to anyone before that night. Now she looked like a broken