Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 133, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 811 & 812, March/April 2009

“And the nephew and former henchman of a mysterious money maker.” She nodded. “Known as Uncle Joe. We heard about the inheritance which had to be much more than what it says in the probate, and your disabled-veteran monthly check.” She shook her head. “But you don’t seem to care about money. Old boat, aging pickup truck, regular cabin, fuzzy-haired mongrel for a dog, grow your own vegetables, catch your own fish, wear coveralls of which you own six pairs, all the same color.”

“Hey,” I said.

She scratched my beard lovingly. “That’s why I’m so fond of you. And you aren’t stingy, it’s just that you don’t care about the usual trappings of a man of your wealth. But the kidnapper was really fond of money. Nothing but the best for Dr. Freddie Fastbuck Shanigan.

“And there we are,” Elizabeth said. “Here we have our true suspect. Not the Sisters, not Priscilla, not Tom Tipper, none of your drinking buddies seem capable of killing little kids for cash.”

“DNA?” I asked. “You guys must have been given the dolls with the recorder inside. There were no fingerprints, hairs, anything?”

There were none. Shanigan was a doctor, used to working with rubber gloves on. Besides, neither his DNA nor fingerprints were on record.

“The car?” I asked. “No traces there?”

The FBI never found the car. Suspect must have sold it to a chop shop or driven it into a lake or burned it somewhere.

“Great,” I said. “But you still have no suspect in custody.”

“The dogfish have him,” Elizabeth said. “That’s my best bet. Some of you jokers caught him, found out what he did, did your vigilante thing. Local law and order.”

I looked surprised.

She narrowed her eyes, “How about you? Did you toss the doctor to the sharks? After that caper with the easy chair?”

“Nah,” I said. “With who helping me? Tillie?”

“I almost forgot,” Elizabeth said. “I want you to lose your uncle’s rifle. That case of the dead pirates is still open. My colleagues might want to pick up that file again.” She got up, picked up a long parcel from behind her luggage, and gave it to me. Unwrapping the present, I found a new, nicely scoped deer rifle. A new version of my uncle’s beauty. Elizabeth gave me the Dietrich smile. “My thank-you present. For all and everything.”

We went boating that day and Uncle’s rifle happened to slip out of my hands and splash into the sea at about the same place where Jacko once sprinkled Uncle’s ashes.

My secret agent was due to return to Washington the next day. The moon was out, we had a few at the Thirsty Dolphin, which was closing but Priscilla switched on the lights again. We walked home holding hands. She told me what her former husband, a congressman, said when he heard about the cancer. “How can you do this to me?” He wouldn’t drive her to the hospital. When she came back she stayed at a hotel and filed for divorce, which he agreed to in exchange for money. He later resigned because of a corruption charge. “He had attitudes,” she said, “you too, of course. But his were irritating.

“I never did well with men,” Elizabeth said. “With you it seems different. I wouldn’t mind spending time with you. Vacations. Long weekends, maybe.” She glared at me. “You’re still seeing Dolly?”

I told her Dolly had King Carlos now. And she was calming down some. She was also getting fond of Sheriff again. They were planning a holiday in Europe.

I drove Elizabeth to the airport next morning.

When Bunkport calmed down again and the seals were barking on the rocks, feeling the first breeze of what could perhaps be a slight warming up, I visited the Sisters to ask what made them target Dr. Shanigan.

“Bad Cat?” Big Sis asked, pointing at the stern of her boat where the name stood out in big bold letters. “Bad curious cat?”

“We just had to know what Doc was up to,” Less Big Sis said.

“We just had to check out that island. What was the man doing? How could he be buying all that stuff when he just lost his business on the Ridge? We waited until we saw him fly off, and phoned Nurse, who said he was in the Bahamas again. She wasn’t expecting him some time soon.”

“Worth the trouble,” Big Sis said. “Once we were in Doc’s house and looked around his office we figured it out. I used to be a bookkeeper, in Boston, can you believe it? Feels like a previous life now. I can handle computers.” She massaged my shoulder with surprisingly sensitive fingers. “Going through his financial files I saw plenty of income, but that was way back, before that hairy ape took over the medical business on the Ridge. So Shanigan’s income dipped toward zero, but then I found another money file, saying ‘cash.’ Which made sense, for none of the figures showed up on his bank statements, and he wasn’t using his credit cards anymore. Question was, where did all that cash come from?”

“We’re talking millions here,” Less Big Sis said. “What was he doing? Smuggling drugs with his airplane?”