Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006
- Автор: Бетанкур Джон Грегори, Jr. William J. Carroll,
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines/Crosstown Publications
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006». Краткое содержание книги:
Once Bob started talking to the police, he had quite a story to tell. When he got out of the Marines, an old girlfriend contacted him, got him to come to Philadelphia, and told him she worked as the private secretary for a billionaire sleazebag named David Chatham Hunt.
A year ago, Janice had a romantic fling with her boss. Presents were given, promises were made... Apparently, she expected the relationship to go farther than Davy did. When he broke things off and started dating a supermodel named Cree, she took it very hard.
Janice planned her revenge with meticulous care. As his private secretary, she knew Davy’s position on the Board of Directors at Hunt Industries was provisional. Any hint of a scandal and he’d get the boot. Davy couldn’t allow that to happen.
And that’s where Bob came in. Janice knew about my friendship with Davy, and she thought my personal recommendation would get Bob hired as bodyguard, cutting through a lot of red tape. Apparently she believed she could lure Davy into a final romantic tryst, one where Bob would be present to take blackmail photos.
It could have worked. Davy might well have fallen into her trap. I could easily envision my old friend having one last fling with his secretary, just to get her off his back.
Once Janice was arrested, she collapsed into hysterics at the police station, confessed everything, and ultimately pleaded guilty to conspiracy charges. Her case would never go to trial, saving Davy a lot of embarrassment.
Thanks to Mr. Smith’s lawyer, Bob Charles ended up with probation and stern warnings from a judge. He never spent a single night in jail. Best of all, on my recommendation, Davy hired him as his personal bodyguard. I thought they would go well together. Bob had certainly proved himself to my satisfaction.
“And that’s the whole story,” I said to Davy and Cree over Christmas dinner. Cree had cooked it herself — a beautiful roast goose with cranberry sauce, mashed sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, and a delightful selection of home-baked pies.
“Incredible,” Davy said, shaking his head. “You know what the worst part of this whole mess is?”
“What?” I asked.
“Janice was the best secretary I ever had.”
Cree punched him on the arm — hard.
“But my new secretary seems just as good,” he added quickly.
“Better,” said Cree. She turned to me. “I picked him out myself. No more office romances, right, Davy?”
“Right!” he agreed. But he seemed a little wistful.
I chuckled. “It took a long time and cost a small fortune, but what do you think of my present?” I asked.
“Present?” Davy scratched his head and looked at Cree, who shrugged. “Did I miss something?”
I raised my wineglass in salute. “For the man who has everything — a new secretary and a new bodyguard. Merry Christmas, Davy!”
A Matter of Taste
by Peter King
“Shady tactics, scams and scandals, substitutions, fakes and frauds, blatant copies — you’ve run into all of these, Nic.”
Nic Landers nodded and waited for Roger Sheraton to continue. The president of Sheraton, Pemberton and Delano had silvery temples, black hair, and an aristocratic face that stemmed from one of San Francisco’s oldest families.
He had bought the foundering wine dealership fifteen years ago, added his name to it, and turned the operation around swiftly. They catered only to more affluent clients and their exclusivity put them in great demand.
“These blots on the good name of the California wine industry are increasing alarmingly,” Roger continued. “It’s the same in other states and other wine-producing countries, so it must be a symptom of the times.”
“The get-rich-quick urge,” said Nic.
“Yes, that — and as the president of Sotheby’s wine department said recently, ‘Anyone can easily produce great wines if they are prepared to break the law.’ Well,” Roger said, “we have to do something about it. Now, we can’t afford a full-time investigator, so I’d like you to take a crack at the problem. You can fit that into your schedule, can’t you?”
Roger was irresistible when it came to charming someone into doing something that sounded out of the question, and this occasion was no different. Ten minutes later, he smiled his satisfaction smile.
“Right, that’s settled then — now initially I want to start you off on an easy one. I’m not aware of any criminal intent in this matter, it seems to be just a puzzle—”
“You’ve got me hooked already,” said Nic. Six feet, brown hair, and brown eyes that women found attractive, he had an athletic step — honed by regular sessions on the squash court.
“There’s a Cedric Cranston staying at the Huntington Hotel,” Roger said. “He wants ‘a wine expert,’ he says, to accompany him to an auction.”
“I didn’t know there were any auctions pending,” protested Nic.
“It’s private — don’t worry, it must be legitimate, Farringdon’s has been retained to run it.”
“They’re among the best,” Nic agreed. “What does this Cranston fellow want?”
“He won’t say. He just says he will explain it all to the expert we supply.”
“How did he get onto us?”
“Called the Napa Valley Wine Board.”
Nic shrugged. “All credentials check out so far.”
Roger drummed fingers on his desk. “This Cranston said this was a highly confidential matter — that’s what has put me on the alert. Couldn’t get another word out of him — oh, except he has no hesitation in paying whatever fee we stipulate.”
“A big spender, eh?”
“Yes... maybe that made me just a tad suspicious too. We get few clients today who don’t haggle over the fee.”
“Do we know anything about this Cranston?”
“Clean as a whistle, Eve assures me,” said Roger.
Eve Wheeler handled her hi-tech equipment like an expert lion tamer handled her animals. Checking on the credentials of clients was part of her everyday activities. After all, when a client wanted to have Sheraton, Pemberton and Delano buy a hundred thousand dollars worth of wine for them, the firm needed to know a lot more than could be revealed by leafing through bank statements and credit reports.
“Too clean?” asked Nic.
Roger knew what Nic meant. Those with something to hide often kept their record too squeaky clean. Roger shook his head. “I don’t think so. My guess would be he’s straight.” He reached for the phone. “Let’s set it up...”
The Huntington Hotel at Taylor and Mason on North Beach is small and luxurious. The service is friendly and attentive and the better rooms four hundred dollars a night and up so Nic supposed this fellow Cranston was no piker.
The desk called Cranston’s room and said he would be right down. Nic was glancing through a few listings of professional interest on the American Exchange in the Wall Street Journal in the lobby when a voice called his name.
The man approaching was possibly his age or maybe a handful of years younger. He was slightly built and had sparse, sandy hair and large-lensed glasses with clear plastic rims. He wore a lime green linen Polo shirt and light beige slacks with white canvas loafers. He had an ingenuous air, as if he didn’t come to the big city very often.
The two confirmed one another’s identity. Cedric Cranston had a shy smile and gave the impression of a friendly, easygoing nature. His voice was light and he had a Midwestern accent. He waved to an arrangement of leather armchairs around a knurled wood table. “Shall we sit? My room’s very comfortable, but it’s more spacious down here.”
They did so and sat at right angles to each other. “We have well over an hour — plenty of time to get to the auction,” Cranston said.