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

This situation made it difficult, but not impossible, for Charles Kincaid to carry out Margo’s lethal instructions. “Stand by,” she said. “Once you get Des away from here, he’ll never know what hit him. It will be like stunning and gutting a fish.”

“I wish I was back in London.”

“You will be. It’s almost over. Come with me.” She made for the table where Desmond was trying to tell Chucky-Joe how fast a Spitfire could fly.

“Gentlemen, excuse me,” Margo said in her most condescending tone. “I must take your friend away, because we have an early plane to catch. Help me, Kincaid. Take Mr. Wicklow’s other arm. Perhaps you’d better grab the seat of his pants while you’re at it.”

The basketball player and the movie star watched as their playmate was transported from the room like a department-store mannequin. “Poor old Des,” Chucky-Joe said. “He never had a chance.”

“Nowt but net!” Slam Duncan murmured as his knees buckled and he laid his eight-foot length upon the carpet.

The restaurant where the party was taking place was located far south on La Cienega, adjoining gang territory. The aggressive presence of these tribal people was attested to by graffiti on storefronts, billboards, light standards... every place where the nozzle of a spray-paint can could be introduced.

“This is the ideal location,” Margo hissed. “He wandered outside and was mugged. Be sure you rob him after you kill him.”

“How do I do that?”

“Strangle him. Or hit him with a piece of paving stone.” The lady was exasperated. “Butlers don’t ask questions. Just get it done. I’ll be waiting in the limo.”

As Kincaid lugged his victim down a dark alley, the weight became more manageable. Desmond Wicklow was now capable of locomotion. The butler glanced at the face next to his and saw eyes wide open. One of them performed a majestic wink.

“I’m not as peep as drunkle think I am,” Desmond said. “You may unload me.”

The two men sat on a low concrete wall. “You must have heard everything.”

“Margo’s murder plot? She’s had several goes at me. I don’t think she really wants me dead. It just seems a good idea at the time.”

“What are we to do?”

“Give the lady what she wants. Let’s make up a story.”

Kincaid let himself into the limo and sat beside Margo. “Is he dead?” she asked.

“Not even close.”

“What happened?”

“As soon as I got my hands around his throat, he sobered up. I had to explain what I was doing. And why. Desmond admitted he had wanted to kill you, but not anymore. Not since he’s fallen in love with Lucy Jellicoe.”

“He hasn’t!”

“He has. I said I’d better go ahead and kill him anyway. Because you were so keen on it. He said all right, but he wanted time to write a final message to Lucy. Well, I had to agree to that. So he took out a notebook and pen and began scribbling away in the light from the restaurant kitchen window. While he was doing that, I had time to think. You were bothered by his pursuit of you. The stalking. You spurned him and then he threatened to kill you.”

“If he couldn’t have me, nobody could.” Margo sounded wistful. “It’s a sweet sentiment, really.”

“But now that will never happen because he’s in love with Lucy. So there’s no more motive to murder Desmond. Q.E.D.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The limousine was racing towards the hotel. “Did you read what he wrote in his notebook?”

“He was still working on it when I left him. He’ll show us if it’s important.”

After a while, Margo said, “Tell me something, Charles. Would you have been able to kill him?”

“I’d started to,” the butler said. “But I couldn’t quite do it.”

The great airplane was somewhere over northern waters heading for England. Margo Fletcher was staring blearily out the window. Her tranquilizer pill had kicked in. Beside her, Charles Kincaid was pretending to be asleep. She elbowed him in the ribs.

“Yes?”

“It’s not over.”

He glanced at his watch. “Four hours to go.”

“I mean I still need you to do something for me.”

“I’ll do what I can, Margo.”

“We shared all those years in school. I’ve been there for her whenever she needed me. The shop on the High Street was my idea. And this is how she pays me back. Sneaking around and alienating the affections of Desmond Wicklow. I knew him long before she did.”

“What in the world are you on about?”

Margo turned her face away from the window and stared at Kincaid. “I’m going to need you to kill Lucy Jellicoe,” she said. Then she added with operatic passion, “How can I live with such betrayal? Desmond is my oldest and dearest friend.”

Desmond Wicklow showed up at the High Street shop carrying his spiral-bound notebook. Margo was alone. She greeted him with the words, “Your lover is not here. She went to the bank.”

“I came to see you.” The author opened the notebook and showed Margo a page of neat handwriting. “Read that.”