The Twelve Crimes of Christmas by Martin H. Greenberg et al (Ed) Read Free Book Online Page A

Bottweill as a
phony and a fourflusher, but he did. You may remember that I told you he had a
persecution complex and you told me to stop using other people’s jargon.”
    “That’s
four of them. Miss Dickey?”
    I
raised my brows. “I got her a license to marry, not to kill. If she was lying
when she said it worked, she’s almost as good a liar as she is a dancer. Maybe
she is. If it didn’t work she might have been tempted too.”
    “And
Miss Quon?”
    “She’s
half Oriental. I’m not up on Orientals, but I understand they slant their eyes
to keep you guessing. That’s what makes them inscrutable. If I had to be
poisoned by one of that bunch I would want it to be her. Except for what Margot
told me—”
    The
doorbell rang. That was worse than the phone. If they had hit on Santa Claus’s
trail and it led to Nero Wolfe, Cramer was much more apt to come then to call.
Wolfe and I exchanged glances. Looking at my wristwatch and seeing 10:08, I
arose, went to the hall and flipped the switch for the stoop light, and took a
look through the one-way glass panel of the front door. I have good eyes, but
the figure was muffled in a heavy coat with a hood, so I stepped halfway to the
door to make sure. Then I returned to the office and told Wolfe, “Cherry Quon.
Alone.”
    He
frowned. “I wanted—” He cut it off. “Very well. Bring her in.”
    V
    As
I have said, Cherry was highly decorative, and she went fine with the red leather
chair at the end of Wolfe’s desk. It would have held three of her. She had let
me take her coat in the hall and still had on the neat little woolen number she
had worn at the party. It wasn’t exactly yellow, but there was yellow in it. I
would have called it off-gold, and it and the red chair and the tea tint of her
smooth little carved face would have made a very nice kodachrome.
    She
sat on the edge, her spine straight and her hands together in her lap. “I was
afraid to telephone,” she said, “because you might tell me not to come. So I
just came. Will you forgive me?”
    Wolfe
grunted. No commitment. She smiled at him, a friendly smile, or so I thought.
After all, she was half Oriental.
    “I
must get myself together.” she chirped. “I’m nervous because it’s so exciting
to be here.” She turned her head. “There’s the globe, and the bookshelves, and
the safe, and the couch, and of course Archie Goodwin. And you. You behind your
desk in your enormous chair! Oh, I know this place! I have read about you so
much—everything there is, I think. It’s exciting to be here, actually here in
this chair, and see you. Of course I saw you this afternoon, but that wasn’t
the same thing, you could have been anybody in that silly Santa Claus costume. I
wanted to pull your whiskers.”
    She
laughed, a friendly little tinkle like a bell.
    I
think I looked bewildered. That was my idea, after it had got through my ears
to the switchboard inside and been routed. I was too busy handling my face to
look at Wolfe, but he was probably even busier, since she was looking straight
at him. I moved my eyes to him when he spoke.
    “If
I understand you, Miss Quon, I’m at a loss. If you think you saw me this
afternoon in a Santa Claus costume, you’re mistaken.”
    “Oh,
I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “Then you haven’t told them?”
    “My
dear madam.” His voice sharpened. “If you must talk in riddles, talk to Mr.
Goodwin. He enjoys them.”
    “But
I am sorry, Mr. Wolfe. I should have explained first how I know.
This morning at breakfast Kurt told me you had phoned him and arranged to
appear at the party as Santa Claus, and this afternoon I asked him if you had
come and he said you had and you were putting on the costume. That’s how I
know. But you haven’t told the police? Then it’s a good thing I haven’t told
them either, isn’t it?”
    “This
is interesting,” Wolfe said coldly. “What do you expect to accomplish by this
fantastic folderol?”
    She
shook her pretty little