Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

Horn listened patiently. “I think you’re right,” he said at last. “I’ll get a search warrant at once.”

Later, Denver explained to Buck and Patricia, “The warrant would have got results but it proved unnecessary. He got a confession instead.”

“How did it happen?”

“As usual, Tarn and Dolly returned home in the small hours of the morning. Since Dolly had been reading about all the crime and violence going on, they were constantly on edge when coming in late. They had bought special alarms, safety locks for the windows, a device that would turn on lights if anything moved in certain areas, all that sort of thing. So Sam let Dolly out of the car as soon as the garage door opened with the electronic opener. She went to open the front door while he parked the car.

“He parked it quickly and put on a ski mask. As she stood putting the keys back in her bag, he jumped out of the bushes to scare her. She had a pistol in her handbag and shot him twice. Then she screamed and ran indoors to call the police. Still screaming, she went back to the front door to call for Sam. And she recognized him lying there.

“She pulled off the ski mask and then hid it and the gun in a drawer. The story she told the police followed what happened except that she invented the intruder and had him do the shooting. Horn found the gun and the ski mask right where she had put them. She hadn’t opened the drawer since she put them there. She couldn’t bear to look at them.”

“Was she arrested?”

“She was taken to the station to make a sworn statement. Then she was released. I don’t know how the law will look at what happened. I certainly wouldn’t charge her.”

“Poor Sam. He played one trick too many.”

“And he wore one mask too many.”

Cereal Killer by Mike Curry

Detectiverse

For dispatching each lady friend, Miller
Does a “Corn Flakes Maneuver” to chill ’er—
Add a pinch (on the sly)
Of potassium cy.
He’s a serial cereal killer.

The Blue Bread of Happiness by James Powell

As the adventures of Acting Sergeant Maynard Bullock enter their twenty-fifth year, the daring spirit of the bungling mountie is undiminished. To Bullock, who can find excitement guarding the flowerbeds in front of the Parliament Buildings, an encounter with the legendary Athanatos and his submarine The Sea Monoceros is all in a day’s work...

* * *

“Actually, it’s more slate grey than blue. And more like pound cake than bread,” explained the old woman, fingering the clasp of the purse that lay across her knees. “Pound cake’s leap to glory, some call it.” As she spoke, her sad brown eyes turned from the man in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Recreation Association windbreaker sitting across from her to wander over the ample, well-lit lobby of Ottawa’s National Archives Building. “I’m telling you this now so you won’t be surprised when you see it.”

Acting Sergeant Maynard Bullock ran a knuckle across his neatly trimmed moustache to mask any hint of a smile: “Thanks for being up front with me, Miss Bright.”

“Nor, as I said, does it give you happiness,” she insisted. “Unless you’re cockeyed enough to think being young means happiness. Oh yes, small amounts do reverse the aging process. And yes, when you reach your desired age regular maintenance doses will keep you there. That’s all we claim.” She touched her cheek. “I use the preparation myself.”

“I’d never have guessed you were over a hundred and fifty years old,” said Bullock.

“Thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes modestly. “But it is expensive. Which is how I got into the selling end.” She gave him a quick look. “That isn’t illegal, you know. Youth isn’t a controlled substance. At least, not yet.” She paused and said, “Well, shall we get down to business? Did you bring the money?”