Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

“All right.” Mrs. Pauerstein corrected her posture, directed a steely look straight at Zuli. “Well? He’s right. I knew this man Alva slept with would be good to take the blame. After all, she only slept with brutes. That’s why I insisted we hire Mr. Navarre. I wanted you to know she was dead. I wanted my husband to know she was dead. And I will not be arrested, Zuli. I will not.”

I wished things were different — that the girl was alive, that Dr. Pauerstein, the real asshole who had set this poison in motion, would be the one to get punished. Most of all, I wished I could poke a hole in Mrs. Pauerstein’s sense of impunity, but I knew the kind of lawyers Dr. Pauerstein’s money could buy. I knew the mileage they would get from the mangled crime scene, the two weeks that had passed, the criminal history of Frank Tejeda. It wouldn’t matter what I said. Even the gun could be tested as inconclusive if you hired the right ballistics experts.

There were sirens in the distance — an ambulance, probably, coming this way.

“The wrong person,” Zuli muttered. “I will go to jail.”

“No,” I told her. “You allowed him to use your daughter. You didn’t have the courage to stand up to him. But you won’t go to jail for that.”

Zuli stared at the gun, which was much closer to her than it was to Mrs. Pauerstein. I knew what Zuli was thinking, and I didn’t blame her, but I also sensed that she wouldn’t act on her anger, at least not while I was there. I could feel her convictions the way you might feel the deep grain of a weathered oar, and I knew she would find it unseemly, disrespectful, to show such intimate hatred in front of a stranger. Mrs. Pauerstein seemed to know this, too.

“You don’t understand what my maid is saying.” Mrs. Pauerstein smiled at me, and for the first time I understood how completely this woman’s soul had shattered. “After you called, Zuli took the gun from the kitchen drawer. She went upstairs, where my husband was working on his treadmill. He’s dead, Mr. Navarre, shot through the heart. The police are on their way. Now — how much do I owe you for a good day’s work?”

Later, I would read about the double murder. I would have time to lie awake, stare at the ceiling, and wonder about my choices. I would visit my neighborhood priest and confess, and I’d wonder if there was any satisfactory absolution this side of God.

But at that moment, in the Pauersteins’ kitchen, I didn’t hesitate.

Some conclusions cannot have an audience. They must be a silent dialogue between the two principals whose souls have been stripped like electrical wires.

From my pocket, I fished the rest of Dr. Pauerstein’s cash. I threw the money on the table. “This one’s on me.”

I rose to leave, Mrs. Pauerstein’s face falling as she realized her last hireling had just abandoned her.

Then I went outside to wait for the police, and heard the dry crack of gunfire behind me.

The Thirteenth Card by Stefanie Matteson

Author of eight mystery novels starring sleuth Charlotte Graham, published in the 1990s by Berkley Prime Crime, Stefanie Matteson has devoted much of her writing time to short stories over the past few years. A resident of the Garden State, New Jersey, she has also been working recently on a new series of novels featuring a Chinese-American landscape architect. Ms. Matteson’s new tale for us is more fanciful than her earlier stories.

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“When the wrong person uses the right means, the right means then have the wrong effect.” — Chinese saying

Julie Smith took a seat opposite Robin Hathaway in the booth at Madame Zigana’s Tarot Parlor. She was a young woman in her late twenties with big blue eyes, a long mane of light brown hair, and a peaches-and-cream complexion.

Robin passed the tarot deck across the green baize surface of the table.

Julie picked up the cards. “I’m not going to ask a question today,” she said as she carefully shuffled the deck, her eyes half-closed in concentration. “I want a general reading.” She opened her eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Fine,” agreed Robin. “Is there something going on in your life I should know about?”

“Yes, there is,” she replied evasively. Setting the shuffled deck down on the table in front of her, Julie cut it into three piles, dropping them one by one on the table to her left.