Black Cat Weekly #68

By N.M. Cedeño, Heather Critchlow, Nina Kiriki Hoffman and 6 more

Our 68th weekly issue has several holiday tales to spice up the season, including an original (“Merry Library Murder,” by N.M. Cedeño, courtesy of Acquiring Editor Michael Bracken) and some modern classics by Heather Critchlow (courtesy of Acquiring Editor Barb Goffman) and one of my own favorite authors, Nina Kiriki Hoffman (she’s amazing!) Cynthia Ward has selected an exciting fantasy from Milton J. Davis, plus we have great tales by Ray Bradbury, Lester del Rey, and James Holding, a Sexton Blake tale by Hal Meredith, and of course a solve-it-yourself puzzler from Hal Charles. Fun!
Here’s this issue’s lineup:
Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

“Merry Library Murder,” by N.M. Cedeño [Michael Bracken Presents short story]
“Where There’s a Will,” by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]
“Heavenly Peace,” by Heather Critchlow [short story]
“The Inquisitive Butcher of Nice,” by James Holding [short story]
“The Barton Tunnel Mystery,” by Hal Meredith [short story]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

“Wishmas,” by Nina Kiriki Hoffman [short story]
“The Gate,” by Milton J. Davis [Cynthia Ward Presents short story]
“The Irritated People,” by Ray Bradbury [short story]
“Solstice Cakes,” by Nina Kiriki Hoffman [short story]
“Unto Him that Hath,” by Lester del Rey [short story]

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wildside Press
• Release date: Dec 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667660837

Book preview

Table of Contents

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

THE CAT’S MEOW

TEAM BLACK CAT

MERRY LIBRARY MURDER, by N.M. Cedeño

WHERE THERE’S A WILL, by Hal Charles

HEAVENLY PEACE, by Heather Critchlow

THE INQUISITIVE BUTCHER OF NICE, by James Holding

THE BARTON TUNNEL MYSTERY, by Hal Meredeth

WISHMAS

THE GATE, by Milton J. Davis

THE IRRITATED PEOPLE by Ray Bradbury

SOLSTICE CAKES, by Nina Kiriki Hoffman

UNTO HIM THAT HATH, by Lester Del Rey

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2022 by Wildside Press LLC.

Published by Wildside Press, LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

*

Merry Library Murder is copyright © 2022 by N.M. Cedeño and appears here for the first time.

Where There’s a Will is copyright © 2022 by Hal Blythe and Charlie Sweet. Reprinted by permission of the authors.

Heavenly Peace is copyright © 2020 by Heather Critchlow. Originally published in Afraid of the Christmas Lights. Reprinted by permission of the author.

The Inquisitive Butcher of Nice is copyright © 1963, 1991 by James Holding. Originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, July 1963. Reprinted by permission of the author’s estate.

The Barton Tunnel Mystery by Hal Meredith was originally published in Answers, July 10, 1909.

The Gate is copyright © 2015 by Milton J. Davis. Originally published in Before the Safari. Reprinted by permission of the author.

The Irritated People, by Ray Bradbury, was originally published in Thrilling Wonder Stories, December 1947.

Wishmas and Solstice Cakes are copyright © 2014 by Nina Kiriki Hoffman. Both were originally published in Daily Science Fiction. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Unto Him that Hath was originally published in Space Science Fiction, November 1952. Reprinted by permission of the author’s estate.

THE CAT’S MEOW

Welcome to Black Cat Weekly.

Our 68th issue has several holiday tales to spice up the season, including an original (Merry Library Murder, by N.M. Cedeño, courtesy of Acquiring Editor Michael Bracken) and some modern classics by Heather Critchlow (courtesy of Acquiring Editor Barb Goffman) and one of my own favorite authors, Nina Kiriki Hoffman (she’s amazing!) Cynthia Ward has selected an exciting fantasy from Milton J. Davis, plus we have great tales by Ray Bradbury, Lester del Rey, and James Holding, a Sexton Blake tale by Hal Meredith, and of course a solve-it-yourself puzzler from Hal Charles. It’s a fun issue.

Here’s this issue’s lineup:

Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

Merry Library Murder, by N.M. Cedeño [Michael Bracken Presents short story]

Where There’s a Will, by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]

Heavenly Peace, by Heather Critchlow [short story]

The Inquisitive Butcher of Nice, by James Holding [short story]

The Barton Tunnel Mystery, by Hal Meredith [short story]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

Wishmas, by Nina Kiriki Hoffman [short story]

The Gate, by Milton J. Davis [Cynthia Ward Presents short story]

The Irritated People, by Ray Bradbury [short story]

Solstice Cakes, by Nina Kiriki Hoffman [short story]

Unto Him that Hath, by Lester del Rey [short story]

Until next time, happy reading!

—John Betancourt

Editor, Black Cat Weekly

TEAM BLACK CAT

EDITOR

John Betancourt

ASSOCIATE EDITORS

Barb Goffman

Michael Bracken

Paul Di Filippo

Darrell Schweitzer

Cynthia M. Ward

PRODUCTION

Sam Hogan

Karl Wurf

MERRY LIBRARY MURDER,

by N.M. Cedeño

Ms. Rangel couldn’t have been murdered! Who would murder a librarian during a puppet show with kids everywhere? The overhead light hurt my eyes. Jagged bands of color crisscrossed Detective Massey’s face and shirt as he sat opposite me at the interrogation room table. I blinked, wishing my eyesight would clear. Compared to other ocular migraines, my vision was only marginally distorted, like viewing the world through a cracked phone screen or damaged computer touch screen. At least I wasn’t having tunnel vision.

I fought to focus on the detective instead of the visual distortions. Are these questions even necessary? Ms. Rangel had some kind of seizure. I tried not to choke on the words, which felt like an impossible nightmare scenario. How could my boss have died in front of me during Piedraville’s annual Holidays on Main Street event? I cleared my throat. While tragic and shocking for someone only in her forties, that would be a natural death, with nothing for you to investigate.

Detective Massey’s face remained implacable. We’re awaiting the toxicology results.

Every time the detective spoke, I could smell the coffee on his breath. Every time he moved, the scent of the perfumed laundry detergent that he favored wafted my direction. I didn’t know if the odors, the flickering overhead fluorescent light, the stress of being questioned for hours over my boss’s sudden death, or my shock and grief over the death itself had triggered my migraine. In fact, it was probably all the above. Whichever factors were contributing, I needed to leave before blinding pain joined the visual symptoms.

Good night, Detective. I pushed away from the table in the interrogation room and glanced at the time. Almost midnight. As the junior librarian, I was supposed to close and clean up after the Holidays on Main Street Festival. During the festival, the library hosted a puppet show and distributed cookies and cocoa, while outside on Main Street vendors sold arts and crafts and parents took pictures of their kids with Santa. Volunteers should have handled the clean-up with the aid of library maintenance personnel, but I would have to double check everything. Ms. Rangel would have been annoyed by furniture being returned to the wrong positions. She was no longer around to notice, but I was still concerned that things might not be up to her standards.

With my thoughts on the library, my vision distorted, and in an emotional fog of exhaustion and shock over my boss’s death, I didn’t notice Detective Massey frowning at me with his arms crossed on his chest, blocking my path to the door, until I almost walked into him.

What now? I asked in a tired voice, squeezing my eyes closed. Jagged lines of color flashed like miniature, technicolor lightning bolts against the blackness of my closed eyelids. I knew from experience they would remain whether my eyes were open or closed.

Don’t leave town, Ms. Edgar. We will have more questions for you.

My boss had a seizure, and you think I shouldn’t leave town? Don’t be ridiculous.

If your boss was poisoned, by your own admission, you are the only one who was left alone in a dark room next to her mug. And you stand next in line for her job, which would be a promotion and pay raise.

My hands clenched at my sides and my blood began to pound in my veins. At twenty-six, I’d only had my master’s degree for a few years. Most librarians had more experience than I did. That would be the most idiotic plan for job advancement I’ve ever heard. I’d still have to apply for her job, and the city could hire someone older with more experience instead of me. I’m done here. I stepped around him and walked out of the building into the cold, December night air.

The anger sparking in my brain cleared my muddled thoughts but did nothing for my migraine. At least this time the visual effects hadn’t been accompanied by a pounding headache, though that could still manifest at any time. I headed for the library, a mere three-block walk from the Piedraville Police Department.

* * * *

Lights still illuminated the Piedraville Community Library, and three cars remained in the rear parking lot. Besides my own car, I recognized one as belonging to the library maintenance technician, Mat Gomez. The other belonged to our best volunteer, Jane Kahananui, who’d been assisting at the library for five years since moving from Hawaii to our central Texas town.

The main library doors were locked, so I used my key to enter and relocked the door behind me. Leaving the vestibule, I found Jane and Mat, still dressed in bright red Event Staff T-shirts like the one I was wearing. They were collapsing one of the tables that had been used to serve refreshments. Both looked up as I walked toward them.

Brandy! We heard Ms. Rangel died. We didn’t know what happened to you, Jane said as she rushed toward me. Fly-away wisps of her black, waist-length hair had escaped her French braid and surrounded her face. Tears filled her dark eyes as she flung her arms around my neck and hugged me.

I patted her back. When she released me, I could see exhaustion and worry in her eyes. I said, I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. After Ms. Rangel collapsed, the police asked me to go to the station to give a statement. Then they kept me there, asking me the same questions over and over again.

Mat, a portly man in his mid-fifties who was graying at his temples and balding on top, approached me with concern on his face. You look tired. Did you get anything to eat? We have cookies and a fresh pot of coffee. Can I get you something?

Oh, thank you, Mat. Yes, please. I’ve got one of my migraines. Caffeine and some food might help. I said, giving him a wavering smile as his kindness sent me into an emotional tailspin. My anger seeped away, leaving me feeling like I might collapse into a teary heap on the floor.

As he turned to get me coffee, I glanced around and realized how much work still needed to be done before the library could open in approximately eight hours. What happened? Didn’t the other volunteers help at all?

Jane raised both hands in a frustrated gesture. The police wouldn’t let us clear anything until they finished swarming the building. After an hour or two of waiting with nothing to do, the other volunteers went home. Mat and I weren’t allowed inside until fifteen minutes ago. And we aren’t allowed to go into the meeting rooms at all. That space is closed with crime scene tape on the doors. She studied me with a critical eye. How bad is the migraine?

Minor visual distortion and light sensitivity.

Any pain?

Not yet.

You should lie down in your office for a few minutes.

I know, I said but doubted I would, looking at all the work that needed completing.

Mat returned from the breakroom with a mug of coffee and several cookies wrapped in a paper towel. I glanced at the cookies: snicker doodle, my favorite. He would remember that. I gave Mat a grateful smile as I accepted the mug and cookies. Thanks. I popped a cookie into my mouth. The cinnamon sugar made my mouth water as I chewed.

You’re welcome. If you don’t mind, could you tell us what happened to Ms. Rangel? All we heard was that she collapsed.

I swallowed the cookie and a sip of coffee before answering Mat. The puppet show started at six as scheduled. With ten minutes remaining, Ms. Rangel slipped out of the room to check that everything was ready out here.

Jane said, Yes, she gave us a ten-minute warning. Then she got her travel mug from the circulation desk and filled it with cocoa before returning to the puppet show.

I pictured my boss wearing a bright Christmas sweater with a Christmas tree fascinator perched in her dark curls and carrying her favorite travel mug, the one labeled World’s Best Librarian. She’d looked pleased as she returned to the room at the end of the puppet show. Ms. Rangel put her mug down on the table with the coloring sheet handouts and helped a lady with a crying baby navigate out of the dark room through the crowd. Then, she joined me by the door at the end of the puppet show. We handed out coloring sheets to the kids as the crowd left.

Mat said, She was fine throughout the puppet show? No signs that she was feeling ill or anything?

She seemed to be her usual self, I said. Then, as the last few people left the room, she picked up her travel mug and took a drink. She made a choking sound and collapsed, convulsing, like her muscles were contracting. I ran to her and yelled for help. Officer Wade Driscoll was in the crowd with his wife and kids, and George Ramiro, the fire chief, was here with his grandkids. They both ran to help, but it was too late.

Could she have had an aneurysm or a seizure? Jane asked.

That’s what I thought, but Wade Driscoll told me not to clean up the spill from where Ms. Rangel dropped her travel mug when she fell. He said the crime scene unit would have to test her drink. Then more police came, and they took me to the Police department to make a statement. Detective Massey spent hours asking me the same questions. He accused me of poisoning Ms. Rangel to get her job. I gulped more coffee and felt the warm liquid move down my throat to warm my chest. The distortions in my vision were still apparent, giving me the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong, but I ignored the sensation knowing that it was only my brain complaining about pressure on my ocular nerve. I took deep breaths, trying to relax, and closed my eyes while I rolled my head in a circle to loosen my neck muscles.

Jane squeaked in outrage. Ms. Rangel couldn’t have been poisoned. She filled her own mug. I saw her.

The police might have a reason to be suspicious, Mat said in a hesitant voice while running his hand over the back of his neck.

Jane and I both turned to stare at him.

What do you know? I asked.

"Ms. Rangel asked me