Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle, Pauline Jones [top 100 novels of all time .txt] 📗

“I figured there would be. Some of them are mine,” Mickey said wearily. “But if we print all the guests and staff, then we can compare for the ones that shouldn’t be here.”

“If the killer wore gloves—”

“Then we’re out of luck. A state we are all too used to.”

The tech nodded glumly and resumed his careful dusting of the myriad surfaces in the room. It was much easier for everyone to work now that the aging catatonic killers had been lifted onto stretchers and carried away. The woman, Fern, had finally stopped trying to crawl to Disney World, but it had taken two officers to restrain her until the hypodermic could be inserted into her arm.

The police photographer was lying on his back in the cavity of the chimney taking shots of the dangling corpse while the Coroner’s office awaited the signal to pull it out. And in a corner, a tense Captain Pryce sat next to Luci, not touching her, both of them looking uncomfortable, yet pleased.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, trying to push back those nightmarish moments when he’d rushed up the stairs with gun drawn. His careful study of the house’s layout had served him well. He’d known what room to kick open the door to, then, while Delaney covered him, dive into with a low flying roll that brought him right to Luci’s feet—and in perfect position to see the body up the chimney. Not to mention nose-to-nose with the gibbering Donald. No surprise his rush of relief at seeing Luci safe was complicated by the desire to strangle her for being all right.

“What happened?” he’d snapped, rolling to his feet.

Then she’d pointed at Gracie, still half-in and half-out of the mantle.

“Gracie startled them.”

“Startled them.” He looked at the couple slumped on the floor.

“I don’t usually come through walls,” Gracie explained with a gentle air of apology, “but with all the people around—” She started to shrug, but faded from view as the sound of footsteps pounded down the hall.

Luci leaned towards Mickey and said with an air of one giving a confidence, “Maybe we shouldn’t mention Gracie.”

Mickey looked at Delaney. He was trying not to laugh. Or cry. It was hard to tell because they both began with the same grimace.

Mickey started patting his pockets for his new bottle of aspirin.

“The one called Donald killed it,” Luci said from her corner. “You left it on the mantel.”

Mickey looked up just in time to see a tech step on a scattered section of tablets and grind them to powder. In the mirror above the dresser he saw his eye give a big twitch, then settle into a small but steady rhythm, in sync with the pounding in his head.

Who’d have thought Donald and Fern would lose it so completely, Artie wondered? He had watched them being wheeled out on stretchers from his place with the catering staff and it hadn’t been a pretty sight. What had happened to them in that room upstairs? No question the old ladies were trying. He’d come close to offing them himself a time or two, but to reduce that emotionless pair to gibbering idiots? Only upside was they looked too whacked out to rat him out.

Would the cops search the whole place? He had to face it. They’d find the money. He could walk away from it, but—he dabbed at the sweat forming beads on his forehead, he’d worked so hard to get it. It couldn’t go wrong now. It just couldn’t. He’d worked too long, too hard to make it all happen. He couldn’t lose Helen now. He wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t lose his money, either. Not while there was still a chance to get it. One more chance.

One thing was clear. He’d have to take care of Luci himself. She was the only person who could put him together with Helen and Butt Had.

But how to do it? And how to get out of here before they discovered his other mistake?

A cop approached the restive catering group and said, “We’re going to search and print each of you, then you can leave.”

Not good, but it could be worse. Much worse. Artie went to the head of line. By the time they matched his prints with his record, he planned to be long gone.

Luci was starting to develop a twitch, too. Her father was dying to get into the thick of the investigation, but felt compelled to be paternal. Since he wasn’t about to start hugging her in front of the guys, he might as well get on with it.

She turned and said, “If you need to supervise things, I’m fine.”

He looked torn between old duty and new. “Well, if you’re sure you’re all right?”

“Absolutely sure.”

His reluctance plain, Pryce joined the group around the fireplace. Idly, Luci noticed Mickey had the best ass in the group, though Delaney’s wasn’t bad either. Nearly dying sharpened one’s appreciation of the finer things of life.

Mickey was in position to see the dead man’s face as the techs started to ease it out onto a tarp.

“Damn.” Mickey straightened, his face grim.

Delaney’s view was still blocked. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to get Dante up here. Oh, and Delaney?”

“Yeah?”

“Have someone search them down to their toenails. We’ll want their guns for forensics.” Mickey rubbed his face again, then turned back to Pryce. “Now can I search this place, sir?”

Pryce looked at Luci. “We’ll have no trouble getting a warrant. Be better if you cooperate.”

She hesitated, her thoughts on the missing body and the shoeboxes in the attic that were starting to make more sense, but she nodded. It was time for the chips—and the bodies—to fall where they may. “I’ll clear it with the aunts.”

“Thanks.” Mickey nodded towards the splintered fireplace. “You want to explain why you went off with a stranger when you knew someone was trying to kill you?”

Her mouth twitched. “Hey, I just thought she was an old lady who needed to pee. And none of us were sure—”

“Well, we sure as