The Mystery Megapack

It fell down the stairs, and when he reached for it, he lost his balance and fell. I tried to grab him, really I did. I didn’t push him.”
    Bane nodded again, but I’m not sure if she saw it, because she’d looked away from him at last, either from shame or guilt. “Then what happened?” he prompted.
    “I meant to get back to the masquerade, but I saw all the redshirts coming, and knew Regina must have called a Linus. Since I couldn’t get back without them seeing me, I acted as if I’d come with them.” She looked at him imploringly. “You believe me, don’t you?”
    I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “What he believes doesn’t matter nearly as much as what the cops believe.”
    “Bane would never turn me in,” she snarled. “It’s your word against ours.”
    “Don’t be so sure of that,” Bane said, stepping back from her.
    “Besides,” I said, “we’re not the only ones who heard you.” I held up my walkie-talkie so she could see that I was holding the button down. Every redshirt had heard her confession, and they all heard me say, “Linus in Bane’s room.” Then I put down the walkie-talkie to say, “Elliot, call the cops.”
    “You’re the boss,” he replied.
    “Damn straight I am.”
    ABOUT THE AUTHOR
    Toni L.P. Kelner is all about multi-tasking. She writes the “Where are they now?” mysteries featuring Boston-based freelance entertainment reporter Tilda Harper (the latest is Blast From the Past ), co-edits urban fantasy anthologies with Charlaine Harris (their most recent is the NYT bestseller Death’s Excellent Vacation ), and sneaks in short stories whenever possible. As is apparent from her story in this collection, she’s a fan of science fiction conventions and Buffy the Vampire Slayer . Kelner lives north of Boston with author/husband Stephen P. Kelner, two daughters, and two guinea pigs.

A CROOK WITHOUT HONOR, by Johnston McCulley
    CHAPTER I
    His lips curled in a sneer, his little eyes glittering, Jim Morlan stood against the bole of the tree in the darkness and watched the patrolman go slowly along the walk, swinging his stick, his helmet on the back of his head, sniffing at the roses that grew along the edge of the lawn, looking up at the big moon, enjoying the perfect summer night.
    “Ass!” Jim Morlan growled to himself.
    It was the habit of Jim Morlan to regard almost everybody in that light. To him, all other human beings were inferiors. It was a state of mind he had acquired in boyhood, and it had grown with his great body until it had taken full possession of him and molded his character. It had cost him all his friends and a great majority of his mere acquaintances. Jim Morlan, in that particular corner of the underworld, stood alone. He was known as a crooked crook. He did not possess even the questionable honor of his profession. Openly, he said that he would as soon rob another crook as an honest man. The “honor among thieves” idea he called “bunk.”
    The unsuspecting patrolman, possibly thinking of his cottage, his wife, and his children, passed on down the street and finally turned a corner. Jim Morlan knew, because he had made it his business to know, that he would not return to this vicinity for more than an hour. This was the select residence portion of the city, and the patrolman had a big beat. There were a few private watchmen scattered around, but Jim Morlan knew them and their habits and had nothing to fear from them.
    Yet he hesitated for a moment to be sure, and then he crept like a shadow into another shadow cast by a clump of shrubs, and from that to still another made by a big tree, and in this manner he worked his way from the street to the side of the big house he intended to rob.
    Morlan knew all about that house, too. He knew that the family had gone to the mountains for a month, that the master of the house spent a part of the time in town, that there were but three servants in the place, and that they slept on the third floor in the rear. They were no more than caretakers. The better servants had been sent to the mountain lodge with the family. Morlan had nothing to fear from the three who remained.
    In the library of that residence, there was a safe hidden behind a panel in the wall. Jim Morlan knew that it contained some old jewelry that never was used, but which would bring considerable cash when properly handled by a “fence.” He expected to find some ready money, too, for he had ascertained that it was the