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Harman Mysteries

Kick Your Shoes Off, Put Your Feet Up, and Enjoy a Good Mystery

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Monthly Book Review

BUCKINGHAM PALACE GARDENS

Anne Perry

A young prostitute’s throat is slit and her body left in a cupboard at Buckingham Palace where her blood soaks into the queen’s monogrammed linen. Thomas Pitt is called in to solve the crime and he, in turn, recruits his maid, Gracie, to pose as a servant at the Palace. In that capacity, she becomes his most valuable tool, getting into areas of the palace he can't and winning the trust of those who wouldn't give the police the time of day.

As usual, Anne Perry presents us with an intriguing cast of characters and a convoluted plot that has enough twists and turns to make the reader dizzy. Along the way, she gives us a glimpse of British life that few have been privy to. We learn about royalty, servants, and economic matters.

It has been said that for a mystery to be good, the main character has to have their life threatened at some point. Unfortunately, that has led to a number of predictable situations where the reader finds themselves looking for the event. Anne Perry shows us a different form of threat on Pitt’s life—his future, and that of his children’s, in British society. You wonder right up to the last minute what his future is going to be.

The mark of a good story is when it leaves you thinking about it afterward, wondering what you would have done in the same situation. Pitt has to make a decision between revealing the truth and preserving the future his wife and children rightfully deserve. After the last page has been turned, the reader is left pondering whether they would have made the same decision.

What about you? Why not read Buckingham Palace Gardens and find out for yourself. You won’t be disappointed.

Until Next Month, Happy Reading,

Peggy Herrmann

Our Score : ☺☺☺☺☺

"Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body."

Sir Richard Steele

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Baptism by Fire

A Ted Peters Mystery

Arlene Harman

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Upcoming reviews :

November 25^th, Zapped by Carol HIggins Clark

December 10^th, The Bone Garden by Tess Gerritsen

December 25^th, The Mercedes Coffin by Faye Kellerman

Coming Soon

Adrietta Bay's Animal Population

In the first Ted Peters Mystery, our intrepid Lieutenant moved from Chicago to Adrietta Bay. Ted Peters had never been around animals before but now finds himself in a community that is very animal-oriented. Since a series always calls for new characters, there will be an on-going need for pets. That is why we put out a call for animals to help populate Adrietta Bay for the second Ted Peters Mystery, Logical Consequences.

We will be gradually introducing you to these new animal characters. They will each take a turn in the spotlight, then their picture will be retained while another pet takes center stage.

We hope you enjoy becoming acquainted with these wonderful characters and that you will want to see the roles they play in Logical Consequences, which is due out in July, 2008.

Please meet Molly, a.k.a. Connie. Let me explain. Molly was the first cat to be exclusively mine. She and I had a very special relationship for fourteen years. Our relationship was closer than any I've ever had with any other cat, or any other animal, since. I loved her dearly and wanted her to live on with Ted. Why did I change her name? Because I couldn't think of any logical reason why Ted would name a cat Molly. But it did work to have him name her "Connie, as in Con Artist." Many of the antics you see Connie doing came from Molly. I hope you will love and enjoy Connie as much as I loved and enjoyed Molly.

Arlene

My beloved Molly lives on as Connie

in the Ted Peters Mystery Series

Percy

How was I supposed to know

where bacon comes from?

Siegfried

They may be bigger,

but I'm faster

Fraser

Honest Margo,

I thought I was on the paper.

Blossom

After all, ladies first

The site was last updated on 12:49 P.M. PST Friday, Nov 21, 2008

Introducing A New Feature

All of us at Harman Mysteries want to encourage new authors. For this reason, we are introducing a new feature: Guest Author. On this page we will feature the short stories of new and upcoming authors.

To start us off, we are featuring D. B. Pacini. Her story, The Perfect Murder, is an interesting take on murder. We're confident you will enjoy it.

If you have any comments, please send your e-mail to readers@harmanmysteries.com with "D. B. Pacini" in the subject box. We look forward to reading your comments. To learn more about D. B. Pacini and how you can contact her, please visit our Author Page.

If you are a new author and would like to have one of your stories featured here, please contact us at readers@harmanmysteries.com with "submission" in the subject line. We will send you submission requirements.

The Perfect Murder

By D. B. Pacini

Celina’s dead. Stanley checks her pulse. She’s dead alright. Her pretty dilated eyes stare blankly at the carved legs of their entrance table. Her legs are folded unnaturally. Her right arm is flung; her left arm is twisted beneath her hip. The laundry basket is upside down with clean ivory colored towels strewn on the floor.

“You always buy ivory colored towels, even though I hate them, but it’s been years since you’ve pretended to care about my opinion.”

One washcloth is on the sixteenth stair, and a hand towel is draped over a step. One shoe is on the stairs too. Celina’s other shoe is on her foot but has come off her heel. Her toes are holding it on. He stands over her body.

“I loved your hair when it was long; you knew how much I loved it. Now, you keep it so short.”

He faithfully watches CSI Las Vegas, CSI Miami, and CSI New York. He knows forensics.

“Gil Grissom, Horatio Caine, and Mac Taylor could all three waltz in here right now, and you know what they’d find Celina? A whole lot of nothing; that’s what they’d find. No murder weapon. No self-defensive wounds. No scratches of my skin under your meticulously polished fingernails. They could shine a luminal light anywhere they wanted; there’s no blood traces in any suspicious place. ”

Stanley bends down.

“This doesn’t look like a crime of passion or rage Celina. Stabbings and beatings with objects of opportunity are personal. Gunshots can be personal too, or they can be a premeditated contract killing. And this isn’t sex related. If they do a rape kit, they won’t find semen, at least not mine.”

He’s learned a lot about crimes and the mind of criminals from TV.

“This looks exactly like a tragic accident. Grissom could raise his eyebrows, Horatio could take off his cool sunglasses, and Mac could say something pithy. It won’t matter what they might suppose. All they’d see is a dead woman sprawled at the bottom of the stairs and a devastated husband. And they won’t be able to say I wasn’t acting as an innocent husband normally acts under such circumstances. I won’t be distant and unemotional; I’ll be a total wreck.”

He glances at the railing and photographs.

“They won’t determine that you couldn’t have fallen where you fell because your body’s center of gratify was too low or too high either. They won’t be able to examine shattered photographs and conclude beyond a reasonable doubt that they’ve been tampered with. I’ll leave the photographs exactly as you crashed against them. Oh, you nag and nag at me all the time for watching CSI, Cold Case Files, Criminal Minds, Law and Order, all the programs I love that you say are stupid. And my really good true shows too, like Body of Evidence from the case files of profiler Dayle Hinman. Hers is my favorite, and you deliberately talk when she’s on just to frustrate me. I can watch my shows in peace now Celina.”

He wipes angry tears from his eyes.

“Gertie was outside putting trash bags over her lemon tree when I got home. She’s afraid frost will kill it. I planned to knock on her door and ask for Matt’s phone number. He does odd jobs to earn extra money. You don’t even know Gertie’s grandson because you don’t pay attention to anything that isn’t all about you. I thought this all out, Celina, down to the smallest detail. Who would imagine that I’d come home and kill you minutes after visiting with a neighbor? I concocted a story to ask Gertie if Matt might want a job cleaning out our gutters. Nobody could question why I’d want them cleaned out, especially with more rains expected. But, old Gertie, she was outside and waving for me to come over, what luck.

“She hated to bother me, but would I be a dear and put her boxes of Christmas ornaments in the closet? She can’t lift things, her doctor says she mustn’t.

“I said, ‘No problem, it’s my pleasure. Ask me for help anytime. Don’t try to carry such things, you shouldn’t, promise me that you won’t, okay?’ I chatted with her for quite a while and then I asked her to tell Matt that I want him to clean out our gutters.

“She said he’d be thrilled because he’s saving money to buy one of those blackberry phone things. She’ll have him call me. I gave her a kiss on the forehead. Her wrinkled face beamed.”

He looks at a wicker basket on the entrance table.

“So, let me explain what happened in case you’re confused. I came home and tossed my keys in the basket where you make me put my keys. I hung my coat in the hall closet where you make me hang my coats. I clicked on the TV news in the den, as I always do. I took a quick look in the living room and saw that you are still taking down our decorations. That’s great.

“Then I hurried upstairs and, of course, found you on the phone with your sister. It was another perfect thing. I grabbed the phone, ‘Charlene; want to go out to dinner? Sure it’s a week night. You still have to eat don’t you? How about Chinese? We’ll meet’cha at Jade’s in thirty minutes.’ You were pleased, and the cops won’t be suspicious. We often make spur-of-the-moment dinner plans with Charlene. That wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“Charlene’s been divorced for three months, and she’s still fuming thanks to you. Jim falling for a young secretary was a mid-life crisis that would have passed, but what did you convince Charlene to do? You talked her into emptying out their joint checking and savings accounts and filing for a divorce. You even spitefully persuaded her to sell Jim’s sports car that was registered in both of their names. You thought he deserved that. He spent two years restoring that car, Celina, two years! The piranha attorney you found got Charlene the house, their wonderful AIRSTREAM travel trailer, alimony, two thirds of their 401K, and you didn’t think she got enough!

“Jimboy, you made sure that he got taken to the cleaners. He loved that AIRSTREAM. He’s the one that took the kids on camping trips. To Charlene camping is a five star hotel, with a spa. She didn’t want the AIRSTEAM. You made her fight for it in court. She then immediately sold it for several thousand dollars less than it was worth!

“Well, in spite of you, Jim’s got a new life with Kylie. His kids are appalled, you and Charlene despise him, and everybody else says he’s an idiot. You want to know what I say, Celina? I say so what if he regrets it someday; now he’s in heaven living with Kylie. She’s half his age, and she makes him feel half his age. He lost more than half of everything. Only after Kylie gets bored with him, or after he gets bored with her, will he comprehend what he’s done. For now let him have a little happiness.

“I won’t give up even half of what I’ve worked for all my life. I also won’t have people glaring at me with disgust because of an affair. Two years ago you decided that we should increase our life insurance policies. Everybody knows it was your idea. Our insurance agent felt that an increase was something to consider, and you thought we should go with $500,000 each. I laughed good-naturedly in front of everyone at Lisa’s birthday party and said I’ll probably die first, and I’d feel better if I left you a cool million, and that maybe we should get million dollar policies. Oh, you liked that idea didn’t you? I’ve patiently waited two humiliating years and would have waited longer if Charlene and Jim hadn’t got divorced. That threw a monkey wrench into my plan.

“Plus, you’ve been acting peculiar lately. Saturday you went shopping and didn’t buy a thing. Do you honestly expect me to believe you can shop all day during after Christmas sales and find nothing you want? And what’s with the hang-up calls we’re suddenly receiving? When I answer the phone, the caller hangs up. You laugh and said its kids making prank calls. At 9:00 AM on Sunday morning? Did you actually think it wasn’t obvious when you instantly needed something from the grocery store? In pouring rain you had to go to the store? I’m no moron; I peeked out the curtain and saw you talking on your cell phone as you backed out of the driveway. Who’d you have to call at 9:15 AM, certainly not sleeping beauty Charlene?

“That’s when I made up my mind to kill you sooner than planned. Sunday, at 9:16 AM, when you were talking with Mr. Mystery Man. Now that Charlene is divorced, you’ll want one too. We’ve settled into an amiable relationship, but it’s no longer a marriage. For a year now you’ve made me sleep in one of the guest bedrooms saying that it’s because I snore. Why in the last year has my snoring become insufferable? Yeah, right Celina.”

Stanley stands again and points upstairs, “I waited until you were at the top of the stairs, until you shifted the laundry basket to your hip and lifted one foot to put it on the first step down. I then gave you a firm shove. You tumbled head over heels, crashing against the wall and the banister.”

He goes to the kitchen, gets the phone and returns, “Now I’m calling 911. They can’t say I delayed a long time before making the call. I just wanted to talk to you first. For years I haven’t been able to have my say. You can’t refuse to listen; you can’t make your snide remarks now, can you?”

Just as Stanley starts to punch in 911, the phone rings.

He answers, “Oh God! Who’s this?”

“It’s Matt, Mr. Beech, you alright?”

“Celina fell down the stairs. I think she’s dead Matt. Oh my God!”

“Dad, Mrs. Beech fell! Mr. Beech thinks she’s dead!”

“Stanley, we’ll be right there!”

“Tom, I think she broke her neck!”

Tom clicks off the phone. Stanley can’t believe his continued good luck. Now he must call 911 and sound believable. They tape record such calls. If this one is ever played in court, he has to sound convincing.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“My wife fell, please send someone fast, hurry! I don’t think she’s breathing!”

"Sir, please speak slower, I'm having difficulty understanding you."

Stanley acts as if he is struggling to compose himself and then manages to give their home address. The operator dispatches units and offers to stay on the line. Stanley sees Gertie hurrying up the walkway. Tom must have called her.

“My neighbor’s here. I need to answer the door, please hurry!”

Stanley clicks off the phone and opens the door.

“Oh Stanley, is she alright?”

Stanley collapses. Gertie holds him, looks at Celina’s contorted body, and makes a sound Stanley’s never heard. It is a suppressed scream. She smells like lilac perfume and fresh baked cookies. Soon Tom’s car screeches into Gertie’s driveway. The piercing sound of sirens grows louder until they are turned off in front of the house. The emergency lights continue to flash. The cloudy sky is an early evening pewter color. Neighbors come out and stand in their yards.

Stanley stammers when he tells a grave-faced police officer that Celina’s twin sister Charlene is waiting at Jade’s Lantern, a Chinese restaurant on the corner of Trousdale Drive and 5th. He then vomits on the porch. He doesn’t have to pretend that he’s upset. He is. Killing someone is an upsetting experience for most people. Everyone converges in the living room. A couple of detectives wearing plain clothes mull around and talk with hushed voices. They have gun holsters discreetly tucked under their jackets. The half packed Christmas ornaments create a perfect scene. Stanley couldn’t have made the room look better if he had carefully staged it.

The ambulance whisks Celina to the hospital, but Stanley sees one of the paramedics talking with a uniformed cop. That officer then comes and tells Stanley that Celina’s gone. Gone meaning dead, not gone meaning to the hospital.

Naturally, Charlene is hysterical. Her son Brian and daughter Lisa arrive and try to console her. Nobody calls Jim; he’s not family anymore. Someone gives Stanley a glass of water. He makes sure his hand shakes so badly that they must take the glass away. From behind him he overhears Gertie tell Tom, “She slipped, Stanley was in the bathroom, poor guy. He came out, and she was at the foot of the stairs. It’s ghastly, shocking!”

Stanley runs his fingers through his thinning hair, “Oh Charlene, I told her to hurry. I said I was starving. It’s my fault!”

Charlene dabs her cheeks with a wad of tissues. She and Lisa look like raccoons with black mascara rimming their eyes.

“Stanley, it’s not your fault. It’s a terrible accident. Celina lost her footing, she just lost her footing Stan.”

He’s glad they never had kids. She put starting a family off until they were too old to start one. Besides, she always pointed out that they were a second set of parents to Brian and Lisa. Kids were the only thing Charlene had that Celina didn’t have to have too.

The police question Stanley and do a routine inspection of his hands, arms, and clothes. This upsets Charlene and Lisa. They protest, but Stanley welcomes the physical examination. He understands that he has to be a suspect. Immediate family members always are on TV. It is the process of elimination. He wants to cooperate. He knows he has no rips in his clothing, no scratches, and no blood on him, nothing out of place whatsoever. Except to check her pulse, he didn’t touch Celina after he gave her that one swift push with a bed pillow in his hands. There will be no hand or fingertip bruises on her back. And he returned the pillow to the bed, of course.

Finally the police and photographer are ready to leave.

Stanley grabs Charlene’s hand, “I can’t sleep here!”

Lisa leans to give him a comforting hug, “Uncle Stan, I’ll go upstairs and pack you an overnight bag. Sleep at mom’s house tonight. I will too.”

Brian tells an officer Charlene’s phone number and address.

Gertie insists, “Lisa, you must call Stanley’s doctor. He had that heart thing a few months ago. Perhaps his doctor will give him a tranquilizer.”

Stanley shakes his head, “No, I don’t want any sedative. I want to see my wife. When can I see my wife?”

The officer pats his shoulder, “Sir, go with your family, there’s nothing more that anyone can do tonight. Try to get some rest, face this tomorrow.”

Neighbors watch as Charlene and Lisa lead an overwhelmed Stanley to Brian’s car. Once he is settled in the back seat with Charlene, he sobs more real tears, tears of relief.

One Year Later

Stanley Oliver Beech is the third of four sons born to Carl Beech. Nobody ever thought he would be more financially successful than his brothers. He was the one they all believed would be the least likely to do well. You could tell, even when he was a boy. He tried, but he had limited talent. If Stanley was a color, he’d be taupe.

When Celina with the beautiful long hair and vivacious personality married him, nobody was more amazed than Stanley. If Celina was a color, she would be a bright red or a cheerful yellow. Charlene used to tease and say Celina only married Stanley because Charlene and Jim were engaged, and Celina wanted a double wedding. Celina denied the allegations, but Stanley didn’t believe her. He nervously proposed after Jim told him he should. When she said yes, he was stunned. The double ceremony was the most spectacular Stanley had ever seen, except for TV clips of movie star weddings. Even Lisa’s lavish wedding wasn’t as extravagant.

Charlene started taking oil painting and jazzercise at the community center after she got divorced. Celina planned to join Charlene’s classes for the spring session. Stanley privately scoffed at the ridiculous idea and mused to himself, “You can’t even draw a straight line Celina; yet, all of a sudden you fancy yourself as being the next Vincent van Gogh. You want to spend my hard earned money on a bunch of overpriced leotard outfits!”

It’s been a year since Celina broke her neck, dying instantly. Stanley sold the house because, as he told everybody, he couldn’t live where she died. He got rid of many things including her ivory colored towels. He bought navy blue towels. With the money from the sale of their house, the million dollars from her insurance policy, and Celina’s savvy investments of their modest savings, he was set. Stanley’s relatives marveled that of the four Beech sons, he was undeniably the wealthiest.

It is the first anniversary of Celina’s death. Stanley is in his rustic living room hyperventilating and having a panic attack.

“I bought this lake cabin, something I always wanted; you’d have never let me buy it. But, I’m bored out of my mind with retirement. I’ve become a hermit Celina. Lisa says it’s because I’m traumatized. Jim and Kylie broke up after six months. You said they would before a whole year. He’s dreaming if he thinks he’ll ever repair his relationship with Charlene. Lisa and Brian halfway forgive him. I told him to give it some more time. God, how would they treat me if they knew what I’ve done?”

Stanley paces the floor and clutches his chest, “I can’t sleep because of nightmares. All I do is fish and poke around this place. I have high blood pressure and chest pains. Charlene and Lisa beg me to get psychiatric counseling. Oh Celina, counseling can’t help me. Detective Lozano must know.”

He picks up a pen and then speaks earnestly to a framed photograph of Dayle Hinman that he has on his desk. “Lozano is coming to get me. You know why Dayle.”

A few months back he had written Dayle Hinman a fan letter to say that he has always been intrigued by puzzles, just like she is. Her publicity staff sent him the glossy black and white photograph.

He wipes tears from his face and chokes down a shot of Crown Royal, “Detective Lozano will be here by 2:00 PM. Are you happy now Celina? I can hear you laughing. Lozano wouldn’t take no for an answer, he told me to stay put. He’s driving out personally. Tried to sound real pleasant on the phone, but I know why he’s coming. I know Celina. Oh yes, I can hear you cackling. I better get this thing written.”

He sits at his desk and writes a long letter. He then drags a lounge chair down to the lake and throws his fishing line out into the water. He catches a fish before he nods off.

Everyone knew Stanley was having serious difficulties, but they never imagined that he was suicidal. Charlene had discreetly asked Detective Lozano to convince Stanley that he must get grief counseling.

When the detective arrives with his fishing gear, he finds Stanley dead. He has consumed an entire bottle of prescription sleeping pills. Astonishment fills Lozano’s face when he discovers the suicide confession on Stanley’s desk.

“Oh God Stanley, I was just coming out to talk, to do a little fishing.”

The End