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

“I wasn’t speaking in fun. It’s the plain truth and you know it.”

“No, really...”He put a finger inside his collar and waggled his head, trying to clear it. “Could we have some air, it’s getting awfully close in here.” Without waiting for permission, he went to the window, opened it, and took a couple of deep breaths. He had some difficulty in getting back to his chair. Shouldn’t drink so fast, he told himself unhappily. Especially after last night. Too many benders lately.

“I thought you should know,” Honoria continued, “that I have disinherited you. If I were to leave you my money you’d only squander it, so I’ve made a new will. I’m leaving an annuity to McPhee and the rest will go to charity.” Her eyes sparkled with malicious glee as he gaped at her, dumbfounded. “So you see,” she went on, “you’ve been to all this trouble for nothing.”

Nicholas was devastated. Had all his careful scheming been a waste of time? “I don’t understand,” he faltered. “What do you mean — what trouble?”

“Poisoning my wine,” said Honoria calmly, taking the last olive.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” said Nicholas, trying to sound indignant. He passed a hand over his eyes. The old witch! She’d rumbled him!

Well, he wasn’t sorry. Even if he wasn’t getting her money, she deserved what was coming to her after being so stingy towards him all these years. Not that he was going to give her the satisfaction of owning up. He rose from his chair, swaying slightly.

“I’m leaving,” he declared. “Next time we meet I shall expect an apolly... an apology!”

“Next time we meet — that’s a g-good one!” cackled Honoria, sounding as tipsy as he felt.

A sudden dart of logic pierced the confusion in his head. “If you thought I’d spiked your wine, you wouldn’t have drunk it!” he said triumphantly.

Honoria leaned forward in her chair. With her shrivelled, blue-veined hands she lifted the two empty wineglasses from the table, switched their positions, and set them down again. “But I didn’t drink it.” Her voice was a soft growl, like a cat with a mouse. “You did.”

“Good God!” croaked Nicholas. “When did you...?”

K. K by Liza Cody

A painter by training, Liza Cody began her fiction writing career during a particularly cold winter when her studio was too cold to use. Perched in front of the fire, she produced, in longhand, the first book of the Anna Lee mystery series, a book that won the John Creasey Memorial Prize in Britain, and received an Edgar nomination from the Mystery Writers of America. Five further Anna Lee novels followed, all critically acclaimed. The story with which Liza Cody makes her debut for us is as distinguished as her longer fiction. It was written in 1988 and is currently being produced for BBC radio, but has never before been published in this country...

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Let me tell you something: on a hot day at Fantasy land life can be hell for King Kong. You have to wear long johns for the itching, and by the end of the day they’re soaked. I lost pounds on sunny days. Not that it showed. A woman my size has to lose stones for it to make any real difference.

I’m not complaining. If you take all the facts into consideration, I was lucky to have the job. The facts, of course, are my face and figure.

I was always going to be tall. When the accident happened I was thirteen years old and already five foot ten.

It’s no handicap to be tall. There are plenty of models and basketball players over six feet. But after the accident I began to eat, for comfort really, and you can’t comfort yourself to the extent I did without putting on a lot of weight.

King Kong, at the beginning, was supposed to be a man. But I got the job because I was the only one who fitted the costume. King Kong is a star. I hadn’t even applied for King Kong. No, my hopes were pinned on Hettie Hamburger, one of the cafeteria troupe. But at the last moment, only a couple of days before the grand opening, they switched me with Louis.

Louis, they said, was a little too limp to make a convincing King Kong. “All the rehearsal in the world won’t turn that nancy into a plausible monster,” the artistic director said. They think just because they can’t see our faces we can’t hear what’s said about us. But we can.