Crimes Collide Vol. 4: A Mystery Short Story Series: Crimes Collide, #4

By Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch

The Fourth Volume in the Acclaimed Series!

For more than four decades, New York Times and USA Today bestselling writers Kristine Kathryn Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith have been writing professional mystery short stories that have won awards and sold millions of copies, plus they have been acclaimed and enjoyed by fans over the entire world.

Now, for the first time, they collect 100 of their mystery short stories into a five-volume series called Crimes Collide. Fifty stories total from each author, with ten stories from Rusch and ten from Smith in every volume.

Volume 4 features non-human detectives. Beginning with Smith's "Cat Caught in the Art," from his Pakhet Jones series featuring a superhero in the world of cats, and ending with Rusch's "Helmie," in which the search for a missing cat requires magical investigation, this volume offers wild adventures and some truly strange crimes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WMG Publishing
• Release date: Apr 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201206321

Dean Wesley Smith

Considered one of the most prolific writers working in modern fiction, USA Today bestselling writer Dean Wesley Smith published far more than a hundred novels in forty years, and hundreds of short stories across many genres. At the moment he produces novels in several major series, including the time travel Thunder Mountain novels set in the Old West, the galaxy-spanning Seeders Universe series, the urban fantasy Ghost of a Chance series, a superhero series starring Poker Boy, and a mystery series featuring the retired detectives of the Cold Poker Gang. His monthly magazine, Smith’s Monthly, which consists of only his own fiction, premiered in October 2013 and offers readers more than 70,000 words per issue, including a new and original novel every month. During his career, Dean also wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds. Writing with his wife Kristine Kathryn Rusch under the name Kathryn Wesley, he wrote the novel for the NBC miniseries The Tenth Kingdom and other books for Hallmark Hall of Fame movies. He wrote novels under dozens of pen names in the worlds of comic books and movies, including novelizations of almost a dozen films, from The Final Fantasy to Steel to Rundown. Dean also worked as a fiction editor off and on, starting at Pulphouse Publishing, then at VB Tech Journal, then Pocket Books, and now at WMG Publishing, where he and Kristine Kathryn Rusch serve as series editors for the acclaimed Fiction River anthology series. For more information about Dean’s books and ongoing projects, please visit his website at www.deanwesleysmith.com and sign up for his newsletter.

Book preview

One

Now I have to admit, as a superhero in the world of cats, most of my days are pretty nice. I tend to take care of my business investments a few times a week, spend afternoons in my cabana at the Beach at Mandalay Bay in the Mandalay Bay Casino and Resort in Las Vegas, and the rest of the time I spend with friends or reading.

My name is Pakhet Jones and I am a lot like a cat in that I love to just sit and be quiet for long periods of time. And my condo in the Ogden overlooking Las Vegas and the Strip beyond is my most comfortable place, furnished in tan cloth couches and a reading chair that fits me perfectly. I have an entire wall of built-in bookshelves in my living room and a wall of bookcases in both bedrooms.

But I must admit, at times my job leads me to places and happenings I do not want to see or be a part of. But it is my job. And that is what happened today.

Diana and I had just woken up and were in her condo’s kitchen sharing a light breakfast and talking. We were sitting at her kitchen counter with a view of the city beyond. A perfectly beautiful day, as most Vegas days were.

Diana is a superhero in the world of fashion and clothing and also has a condo in the Ogden. I am over six-foot with a slim body, deep tan all over, and a completely bald head, which for a woman is moderately rare. I like it and stopped wearing wigs over fifty years ago to hide it.

Diana in heels might break five feet tall, maybe. She has long brown hair and the most wonderful brown eyes I loved getting lost in. Even though we looked completely different, the two of us just fit together in all ways and we have spent more and more nights together in the weeks since we met have gone on. And I have loved every one of those nights.

So I was just enjoying the glow of the bright sunny Vegas morning and the comfortable surroundings of Diana’s condo with its brown wood tones and modern furniture when my phone chimed.

I glanced at the name and answered it, Morning, Detective.

It was Detective Hugh Halligan of the Las Vegas Metro. He wasn’t a superhero, but a really nice guy, nearing retirement. He was a stocky guy who actually looked shorter than he was at five-seven. But I liked his brain and his heart and we had worked a bunch of cases involving cats over the last decade.

He thought I was just an eccentric rich woman who spent a lot of times working with different cat agencies and rescuing cats. He was right, as far as that went.

He didn’t even say good morning back, which told me something troubling and serious was happening.

Got a case I’m trying to deal with right up your alley, he said. I got a lead on a cat hoarder.

I could feel all the joy of the day just drain out of me and Diana sensed it instantly and came over and rested a hand on my arm. I hated cat hoarders with a passion beyond words. Every time I found one and helped rescue the cats, it was everything I could do to keep myself in check and let the law deal with the scum.

I have to admit a few times I didn’t.

What’s the situation? I asked.

Ever hear of an artist by the name of Jonathan Musagates? Pretty sure that’s a fake name since I can’t track it.

Anything to do with the foundation?

I knew there was a Musagates foundation that did great work promoting the arts around the world, and also Musagates was a name for Thor because way back he had protected the muses, but I had heard he hadn’t used that name for more centuries than I wanted to think about.

No, Hugh said. He’s the one that does all the free-form art pieces that you see in a bunch of casinos around town, the ones with bright colors and cat prints all over them. Sells them for a fortune from what I can discover.

He’s a cat hoarder? I asked.

That’s what we are getting reports on, and we just found his ranch’s address about forty miles north of here in the desert. Would really appreciate you riding along to see what is happening.

Can you pick me up on the Ogden Street side of the Ogden?

Ten minutes, he said.

I’ll be there.

With that he hung up.

What’s happening? Diana asked softly.

Possible cat hoarder, I said.

What can I do to help? she asked, her brown eyes full of worry.

I will let you know, I said. I’m working with Detective Hugh Halligan who is not a superhero, so I will be restricted. So I might need your help. We’re headed north into the desert about forty miles.

Be careful, she said as I stood from the wonderful breakfast.

I would be more worried about the hoarder if he really is one, I said.

And with that I jumped back to my condo to change clothes. I had a hunch it was going to be a long day.

Two

It took Detective Halligan and I a good hour heading up Highway 95 towards Reno before turning off on what looked like nothing more than a jeep trail out into the desert toward some rocky hills. Halligan surprised me when he picked me up because he was driving a modern and clean Mercedes SUV. Clearly he had family money, or had invested his salary very well over the years.

We hadn’t talked much on the drive and I know Halligan was fine with that. Just as I was. I hated thinking about cat hoarders. They just made my blood run cold.

How in the world did you find this? I asked as Halligan bumped us along the pretend road, kicking up a cloud of dust behind and around us. And it seemed as we drove everything just got a little more gray and dark. That might have been my mood.

He pointed upward. Satellite images first, then drones. We got a drone up there now watching.

I was glad to hear that. I was going to have to be very careful in my actions.

One building, two, what are we going into?

One large house and a large garage and another large out-building, Halligan said. But seems Jonathan is the only one who lives there.

He patted his pocket. Got a search warrant and there are two cars of uniforms coming in behind us.

That’s a relief, I said. I’ve dealt with hoarders over the years and they can be unpredictable at best in defending what they think they have the right to hoard.

Got that right, Halligan said.

This far out, are we still in Clark County? I asked.

Ten miles inside the line, he said. Why I am stuck handling this instead of State.

Clearly, from the anger in his tone he had dealt with his share of the scum.

As we pulled up and parked in the middle of a round dirt parking area, leaving a cloud of dust to float around us. I could see a good dozen cats of different types scattered near the three buildings. All of them seemed to be healthy and well-fed, which made me take a deep breath and relax just a touch.

The house, the barn, and what looked like a modern metal shed were all painted in gray tones, and the desert dust had washed out even that color. They almost looked like they were painted to blend in with the desert, not stand out from it. Everything just felt dark.

My little voice was shouting about something, but damned if I could put my finger on anything.

A dusty, but new-looking green Subaru sedan sat nose in at the front of the house and a blue pick-up truck, also new, was parked tail in by the entrance to the large middle building, like it was waiting to load something.

A big orange tom sat watching us from the railing of the house front porch.

How are you doing, big guy? I asked out loud, taking a few steps toward him as I got out of the car. How many are in your pride?

Far too many. The tom’s thoughts came back clear. Most inside.

Detective Halligan had moved around to the other side of the car and was watching the dust clouds being kicked up by the Metro squad cars coming up the driveway.

Where is your companion? I asked the tom, hoping it wasn’t loud enough for the Detective to hear.

He is not our companion. He does not own us. He only holds us against our will in this evil place.

I nodded. We’re here to help with that. Where?

Middle structure.

Tell everyone we are friends, here to help and to take you all to find real companions.

Understood.

I looked around, trying to spot what was making me feel so uncomfortable about this place. Other than knowing there was a cat hoarder inside the building, I couldn’t spot anything.

At that point the two Metro Police cars arrived in clouds of dust, one parking sideways to block the driveway. Two uniformed officers got out of each car.

Detective Halligan had the warrant in his hand.

Middle building, I said. Looks like his studio.

Halligan had one officer stay in the front of the three buildings and two others move around to the back. Then Halligan and I, with one officer following went to the middle building and knocked loudly.

A guy with black hair and dead eyes answered the door.

Black, dead eyes.

And at that moment I knew exactly what was wrong. This guy had a black aura and everything, including every building was bathed in black.

Black, deadly magic.

Oh, shit!

I just turned away from the door, took two steps toward the cars, and shouted into the sky calling to Lady Luck herself, the biggest boss of everything. I knew, without a doubt, she could hear me.

Laverne! I need help! Come in behind a shield and out of time. Black magic!

Three

Around me the world froze, all time stopped as Laverne appeared, taking me between instants of time with her. Poker Boy and a few other top superheroes could do that, but mostly it was a skill for the gods.

But dealing with magic of any sort was only a skill that Laverne and those trained in cleaning it out could deal with. My skills, any superhero or god’s skills are simply that, skills that we are born with or can learn.

Magic, on the other hand, always turns black and evil, deadly evil, and if allowed to spread, can infect the entire world. Some of the worst events and wars in history were caused by true magic evil.

Her eyes grew wide when she looked around at the three buildings. Now that I could see it, I could see that everything, including the cats were coated with a black film.

I was helping the police with a cat hoarder, I said.

She nodded and with a wave of her hand cleared any remnants of the black magic from me.

Suddenly around her there were a dozen others, men and women, all in white robes, clearly all gods, working right beside Laverne.

It has spread into the desert, one of the women said. We will contain it.

He is an artist, I said. Supposedly his pictures are hanging all over Las Vegas.

Laverne nodded and said into the air, Poker Boy, need your entire team here.

I glanced at the studio and the man standing at the door facing Detective Halligan and the Metro officer. It seemed they were covered in a black cloud that just sort of rolled from the building.

A moment later Poker Boy appeared wearing his standard leather coat and fedora-like hat. Beside him was Patty Ledgerwood and his boss, Stan, the God of Poker.

Oh, shit, Poker Boy said, glancing around.

This man is an artist, Laverne said. His art is hanging throughout the city. I need you and as many as you can get to help to search for them and destroy that art.

His name is Musagates, I said, and he does the paintings that look freeform with cat prints on them.

Laverne glanced at me at them mention of the name.

Oh, no, I know of five in my hotel, Patty said. Never understood why they bothered me so much.

With that Poker Boy, Patty, and Stan vanished.

I have to see if he can be saved, Laverne said, starting toward the frozen detective and the infected artist. Stay close to me and direct white light thoughts at everything you see.

In all my years, I had never needed to do that, but I had a hunch with Lady Luck at my side, I was going to be able to learn quickly.

We stepped past Detective Halligan and into the studio. While Laverne focused on the man, I focused on the cats. There had to be thirty or forty in the room, many of them covered in some sort of paint.

The floor in the middle of the room was filled with paint-splattered canvas and clearly this scum used the cats to walk on the canvas with their paws covered in paint and he called that art.

I directed white light thoughts at each cat I could see, and each one seemed to stand and shake a little. It seemed to be working.

The blackness in the room was retreating.

He can’t be saved, Laverne said. His entire body has been taken over. He will die of a heart attack the moment we release the bubble.

Good, was all I said.

And I meant it.

Then a moment later I asked, Are the officers all right?

They will be fine, Laverne said. We now have over fifty trained gods slowing pushing the blackness back to this building and containing it.

Can I get the cats outside? Can they be saved?

You are doing so, Laverne said, smiling as more and more of the blackness seemed to drain out of the air and off of all the paintings and benches and furniture.

I focused white light on a cat and then transported it outside near the main house. Then the next.

And the next.

And the next.

As I worked more and more of the gods in the white robs entered the studio and slowly it cleared.

Every so often Laverne would wave a hand at me to clear me again from any sign of the black magic filtering through the air.

Finally, I had all the cats cleared and out of the building.

And the room seemed to be brighter. Only the frozen man was still pure black.

Finally Laverne and two of the others in the white robes seemed to round up all the black magic and push it inside the man. Then as I watched they wrapped him in white bandages, completely, and yanked all the blackness from him, keeping it contained in a ball inside the white cloth. Two of them vanished with the ball of pure evil.

I could tell that also took the man’s life force, since it was completely black. I honestly didn’t care in the slightest that he was dead. He was not only evil, but a cat hoarder, the deepest of evil in my mind.

With that we all moved past the frozen detective and Metro officer back out into the open parking area. We must have all been working between that instant of time for hours. I was exhausted beyond words.

Most of the cats I had saved were scattered around the front porch area. The tom still held his position on high, just watching.

Thank the world you found this, Laverne said, facing me. We will watch this place, all cats and surrounding animals in the desert to make sure no magic has escaped. We must make sure that every bit of an outbreak like this is contained and destroyed.

I nodded. How is Poker Boy doing on all the art.

She seemed to glance up for a moment, then said, Poker Boy and his team are making progress on finding the art. While we were working in there we cleared the man’s house and office and got his records as to every piece of art he sold. We will have to track it all over the world, of course, but in time we will find it all and clear everyone and anything it has come in contact with.

Good, I said. I will work with organizations to get all of these cats new homes. Good homes.

I know you will, Laverne said, smiling.

Then she turned back toward the studio. Seems we need to give your detective friend a surprise. My people will remain hidden on site, watching for any sign at all of magic.

Thank you, I said.

No, we all owe you the thanks this time, Lady Luck said. I am sure I’ll see you soon.

With that she vanished and the sounds of the desert rushed back in as I stood a few steps behind Detective Halligan as the artist who had answered the door just slumped to the ground dead.

Both Halligan and the Metro officer worked on him for a while, but it was soon clear they were just pounding a worthless bag of bones.

While they were doing that I went to the large grouping of cats. He is dead and the black evil has been cleared.

We are aware.

Can you all just stay put until I get some transportation here to get you to new and wonderful homes and companions?

We will be in this area. But we are ready to go. We will not object.

I nodded, sat down on the steps into the house below the tom, and pulled out my phone to call a couple of the best animal rescue operations in town that I helped fund, actually.

Around my feet in a wide circle fifty or sixty different cats just sat, some watching me, some ignoring me, some licking paint-stained feet.

Above me the tom, the leader of them all, just sat until I had finished my phone calls and had sighed.

Thank you. From all of us.

I glanced up at him and then around at every cat. They were all staring at me.

All I could say was, You are all more than welcome.

And with that we all just sat there in the warm desert afternoon waiting for help to arrive.

One

As a superhero in the gambling universe, I have no idea why I always end up saving dogs. It sure seems that every time there is a person for me to save there is also a dog that needs my help. Not always, but my sidekick, Patty Ledgerwood, aka Front Desk Girl, thought it funny because it happens so often. And as she said, It’s kinda sweet.

Sometimes the person who needs the help owns the dog, other times the dog is not related in any way to the person I’m trying to help. I asked my boss, Stan, the God of Poker, about it once and he just thought I was kidding. It seems that animals have their own gods that take care of them.

Stan told me that over the years there has been very little reason for the Gambling Gods to associate with the Gods of Animals and Reptiles. That made sense to me considering animals are not known for placing bets.

But sometimes the lines between the different branches of gods are not as clear as some people make them out to be.

It was New Year’s Eve, or more accurately, two in the morning on New Year’s Day. One of my favorite things to do on New Year’s Eve was to play a tournament at the MGM Grand on the strip in Vegas. Granted, that is a long way from my double-wide mobile home near a large Indian casino in Oregon, but Patty lives and works in Vegas, so I look for any reason to visit her as often as I can.

I must confess that Patty and I have a relationship. Sometimes that isn’t smart between superhero and sidekick. But she’s actually a superhero as well, working under the God of Hospitality. And we aren’t serious enough yet for me to move from Oregon to Vegas. We have talked about it, sure, just not there yet.

By Vegas standards, the New Year’s Eve tournament wasn’t a big event, not like others around town, but for the past ten years I had made the little tournament at the MGM Grand on New Year’s Eve a tradition, and I like tradition. And since half the people playing in the tournament were drunk tourists, and most of the professional poker players were at the bigger tournaments at other casinos, it made getting into the money fairly easy. In fact, I had made the final table and the money every year.

Besides, I love the sounds of a casino alive with people laughing and talking and machine bells going off, and on New Year’s Eve, all that seemed to be more in focus, sharper, and if possible, louder.

The money was always nice as well, since the MGM Grand also kicked in a few grand added money. I have nothing against making some money in a decent poker game. After all, superheroes have to make a living to pay for chasing after the bad guys. Most people thought the gods paid for the superheroes working for them, but they sure don’t. We are expected to make a living and solve everyone’s problems at the same time.

Considering that I make my living playing poker, I’m not complaining.

But Patty had to work tonight on her new job at the front desk of the MGM Grand, and she wouldn’t be off until 3 a.m., at which time we would head to her wonderful apartment and enjoy the first day of the New Year together.

So I still had an hour, and had made the final table of the tournament. In fact, I was chip leader, and planned on using my chip advantage over the other eight players at the table to eventually take all their chips. In less than an hour, I hoped.

Suddenly, the dealer froze in the middle of her deal, the card suspended in midair, her nose scrunched up in concentration. All the loud noise of the casino and the laughing and talking cut off like I had been transported to an empty desert without any wind.

Around the table the players’ faces were frozen in the moment. I had learned over the years that when you freeze a person in a moment, they seldom look good. A person’s looks are dependent on movement. If you don’t believe me, just randomly stop your DVD player with an attractive person on screen. Chances are their eyes will be rolled into their head slightly, their mouths open in a doofy fashion, and their expression twisted. The eight other players at the table and the dealer were no exceptions to the frozen uglies as I liked to call what they looked like.

Someone had taken me out of time and I only knew of a few people beside me that had that power, so I glanced around. Stan, the God of Poker, was winding his way through the frozen-in-time players, clearly headed my way. Another silver-haired man was walking a few steps behind him.

The guy had large and slanted dark eyes, set far enough apart that, for a second, I wondered if he could see in two directions at once. He was dressed in a dark silk suit and matching tie that shouted money and power. He moved so smoothly behind Stan I wasn’t sure he was even walking.

Poker Boy, Stan said as I stood and stepped toward them, meet The Smoke.

The Smoke just nodded and didn’t bother to step close enough to shake my hand, so I didn’t offer. I had a very odd feeling about the guy, but couldn’t place it, which made me even more uncomfortable. As a poker player, my greatest strength was easily summing up a person and figuring them out. This guy would be tough across a poker table.

Now understand I didn’t dislike the guy. I just couldn’t get a read on him.

I’m assuming there’s a problem, I said to Stan, adjusting my superhero costume, which consisted of a black leather coat and black Fedora-like hat. My six-foot height made me about five inches taller than the compact frame of The Smoke. For some reason that pleased me.

Let’s walk, Stan said. We need to meet Patty.

If Stan was putting both of us on a case, something really important had gone wrong.

Really important.

I pointed at my stack of tournament chips on the table. Release the room and I’ll tell them to blind me off. I’ll follow you in a moment.

Blinding off a stack meant that a player in a tournament still had to pay the blinds every round, even if they weren’t in the chair. So my chip stack would dwindle slowly until gone while all my hands would be folded.

Stan nodded and turned to leave. I sat back down just as he released the freeze and let me drop back into normal time. The sounds of the casino came crashing back in like a hammer and every face around the table returned to normal.

I quickly stood again and nodded to the dealer. Blind me off until I get back.

She nodded and I turned and headed out of the poker room. Unless I got back quickly, I wouldn’t win the tournament, but with the size of my stack, just being blinded off slowly might get me third or fourth as other players knocked themselves out. Still a decent payday for my New Year’s tradition.

I was about halfway to the lobby of the casino when everything around me froze again and the noise vanished once more. Stan and Patty and The Smoke were standing in the middle of the wide aisle near the huge, open hotel lobby, talking.

Patty looked better than ever. I had first met her five years back when she worked downtown at the Horseshoe, the last year the World Series of Poker was held there. Tonight the white blouse and dark pants accented her perfectly trim body in a way I very much liked. Her long brown hair was tied back and up, giving her a serious look.

I know it sounds corny, but every time I saw her, my heart sort of raced, and this time was no exception, even though I had talked to her just an hour ago during one of the tournament breaks.

Patty glanced over at me with her large brown eyes and smiled a smile that could melt anyone into a puddle on the ornate tile floor. You winning?

Of course, I said, laughing. Chip leader. Final table just got started.

Sorry, Stan said.

I just shrugged. Work needs to come first. So what’s the problem?

Stan glanced at The Smoke, then said simply, About two hours ago, someone placed a number of very large bets with a number of bookmakers around town that all the dogs in North America would be killed at exactly twelve noon on the first day of the year, Vegas time.

Patty gasped and I tried to understand what Stan had just said. All the dogs? Why?

No one knows, Stan said.

That’s just sick, Patty said.

The Smoke seemed to be showing no emotion at all. He just stood there, his thin, dark, wide-set eyes seeming to observe everything around him.

The silence of the frozen casino seemed to grow as Patty and I tried to take in what we had been told.

I turned to face The Smoke directly. I assume you work for the animal gods.

The Smoke nodded. We are aware of your ability to save dogs, he said, his voice deep and low. Since this involves a bet, my boss went to Laverne and we asked for your help.

Laverne was Lady Luck herself. I hoped she had a lot more than me and Patty and Stan on this problem.

I nodded and turned to Stan. I assume you are looking for the guy who placed the bet.

Oh, we know who it was. He has nothing to do with the coming deaths. He’s just trying to make some huge money on it to rebuild his house.

The Bookkeeper! both Patty and I said at the same time.

Stan nodded and we all went back to being silent. Three months ago the Bookkeeper, while trying to prove to the world that there was no luck, had mathematically trapped Lady Luck herself. Patty and I and Screamer, the third member of my team, had barely rescued her in time. But in the process, the Bookkeeper’s home had been completely destroyed, along with all of his super computers and about three bedrooms and a living room full of very smelly trash.

The Bookkeeper had an uncanny ability to predict future events with just math.

We’ll need to talk to him, I said.

Stan nodded. I’ll bring him to you. Where?

Does he still smell? Patty asked about a half-second before I did.

He smells like a field of lilacs now, Stan said. Something one of his bosses did to him.

A small field I hope, I said.

Stan shook his head. Not so small.

Oh, wonderful, Patty said.

Our normal place in fifteen minutes, I told Stan.

Stan nodded.

Our normal place was a small restaurant, open 24 hours a day, called The Diner. It pretended to be an old 1960s diner, and was tucked into a hole on a side street near the old Horseshoe Casino downtown. When the team of Patty and Screamer and I first formed, that’s where we met, and it’s become our normal meeting site for any case we were working together.

Besides, it had great milkshakes, and right now I could use one.

Stan released the out of time bubble on us and Patty and I headed across the lobby toward the exit to the parking area out back, with her explaining how she managed to get off an hour early on her shift tonight. We were most of the way across the hotel lobby when I realized that The Shadow was following us about five feet back, walking as silently as anyone I had ever met.

Where’s Stan? I asked, turning to him.

He said I was to help you, The Shadow said, again his voice low and rough and at the same time very smooth. He said he had a few other leads to check out and would catch up.

I nodded and said, Sounds fine. More help the better.

I turned back to Patty, who handed me her cell phone as we walked, with The Shadow following a few feet behind us. When I put it to my ear the phone was already ringing.

Patty, Screamer said as he answered, clearly seeing his caller id. What’s up? His voice was