Black Cat Weekly #120

By Janice Law, Eve Fisher, Joseph Walker S. and 6 more

This issue, we have four original tales to entertain you—mysteries by Eve Fisher (thanks to Acquiring Editor Michael Bracken) and Joseph S. Walker (thanks to Acquiring Editor Barb Goffman)—and science fiction by Janice Law and Alan J. Wahnefried. Three stories are Christmas-themed, and the holiday comes up in passing in a few other stories as well. Plus we have classics by Robert Silverberg, Ron Goulart, Evelyn E. Smith, ,and Sir Anthony Quiller-Couch, plus a solve-it-yourself puzzler from Hal Charles. Great fun!

Here’s the complete lineup:

Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

“The Four Directions,” by Eve Fisher [Michael Bracken Presents short story]
“A Christmas Surprise,” by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]
“A Right Jolly Old Elf,” by Joseph S. Walker [Barb Goffman Presents short story]
“My Christmas Burglary,” by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch [novelet]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

“The Argo,” by Janice Law [short story]
“Garrison Is Dead,” by Alan J. Wahnefried [short story]
“The Yes Men of Venus,” by Ron Goulart [short story]
“Mr. Replogle’s Dream,” by Evelyn E. Smith [short story]
“There Was an Old Woman—,” by Robert Silverberg [short story]

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wildside Press
• Release date: Dec 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667682969

Janice Law

Janice Law (b. 1941) is an acclaimed author of mystery fiction. The Watergate scandal inspired her to write her first novel, The Big Payoff, which introduced Anna Peters, a street-smart young woman who blackmails her boss, a corrupt oil executive. The novel was a success, winning an Edgar nomination, and Law went on to write eight more in the series, including Death Under Par and Cross-Check. Law has written historical mysteries, standalone suspense, and, most recently, the Francis Bacon Mysteries, which include The Prisoner of the Riviera, winner of the 2013 Lambda Literary Gay Mystery Award. She lives and writes in Connecticut. 

Book preview

Table of Contents

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

THE CAT’S MEOW

TEAM BLACK CAT

THE FOUR DIRECTIONS, by Eve Fisher

A CHRISTMAS SURPRISE, by Hal Charles

A RIGHT JOLLY OLD ELF, by Joseph S. Walker

MY CHRISTMAS BURGLARY, by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

THE ARGO, by Janice Law

GARRISON IS DEAD, by Alan J. Wahnefried

THE YES MEN OF VENUS, by Ron Goulart

MR. REPLOGLE’S DREAM, by Evelyn E. Smith

THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN—, by Robert Silverberg

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2023 by Wildside Press LLC.

Published by Wildside Press, LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

*

The Four Directions is copyright © 2023 by Eve Fisher and appears here for the first time.

A Christmas Surprise is copyright © 2022 by Hal Blythe and Charlie Sweet. Reprinted by permission of the authors.

A Right Jolly Old Elf is copyright © 2023 by Joseph S. Walker and appears here for the first time.

My Christmas Burglary, by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, was originally published in December, 1920.

The Argo, is copyright © 2023 by Janice Law and appears here for the first time.

Garrison Is Dead is copyright © 2023 by Alan J. Wahnefried and appears here for the first time.

The Yes Men of Venus, by Ron Goulart, was originally published in Amazing Stories, July 1963.

Mr. Replogle’s Dream, by Evelyn E. Smith, was originally published in Fantastic Universe, December 1956.

There Was an Old Woman—, by Robert Silverberg, was originally published in Infinity, November 1958.

THE CAT’S MEOW

Welcome to Black Cat Weekly.

This issue, we have four original tales to entertain you—mysteries by Eve Fisher (thanks to Acquiring Editor Michael Bracken) and Joseph S. Walker (thanks to Acquiring Editor Barb Goffman)—and science fiction by Janice Law and Alan J. Wahnefried. Three stories are Christmas-themed, and the holiday comes up in passing in a few other stories as well. Plus we have classics by Robert Silverberg, Ron Goulart, Evelyn E. Smith, ,and Sir Anthony Quiller-Couch, plus a solve-it-yourself puzzler from Hal Charles. Great fun!

Here’s the complete lineup:

Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

The Four Directions, by Eve Fisher [Michael Bracken Presents short story]

A Christmas Surprise, by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]

A Right Jolly Old Elf, by Joseph S. Walker [Barb Goffman Presents short story]

My Christmas Burglary, by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch [novelet]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

The Argo, by Janice Law [short story]

Garrison Is Dead, by Alan J. Wahnefried [short story]

The Yes Men of Venus, by Ron Goulart [short story]

Mr. Replogle’s Dream, by Evelyn E. Smith [short story]

There Was an Old Woman—, by Robert Silverberg [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

Enid North

Karl Wurf

THE FOUR DIRECTIONS,

by Eve Fisher

My father always drove fast and hard, and that day the speedometer read 110. The speed and the sway, the sun and the heat, combined in a heavy hypnotic sway that left me barely awake. It didn’t calm Mom up front. She rustled maps, wriggled, scratched, and threw out the occasional phrase: wilderness, it wouldn’t kill you, never think of anyone else, and last gas station.

See anything? Dad asked me. He was jittery.

I looked out the window. No.

The land stretched out to the horizon in houseless billows of bleached grass that rippled in the wind like water. I liked it. If the car stopped, and my parents took a nap, I could get out and go down to where the cracked stream bed still held a little water. There was a clutch of cottonwoods at the bend. No one would ever know I was there. I could live off the land. Walk through the tall grass and harvest the heavy seed-heads, chaff them, grind them, mix them into a thin batter to fry on a hot rock until they were golden brown and crisp—

Dad slammed on the brakes, and I almost landed head-first in Mom’s lap. The cop had come out of nowhere.

Dad was very polite, Mom was very charming, and I was very quiet. It didn’t matter. We had to follow the patrol car. While Mom and Dad bickered, I wondered if it was the same policeman who’d followed us for a while that morning, when we left the restaurant. Their voices peaked just as the rolling swells crumbled away into steep cliffs and an oven of heat rose from a dry canyon. The town looked like a toy, and I couldn’t figure out why they’d built it down on that heat, instead of back on the hills where at least they’d have a view. I could see the exact spot I’d choose: a shelf spanning two long fingers of earth. Two rooms would fit there, a bedroom in the back for coolness, and a living room to watch the birds riding the thermals, right at eye level—

Francie!

I jumped. Mom and Dad were both looking at me, and it took me a minute to be sure that the glare in their eyes wasn’t specifically about me.

Francie, we’ve got to go inside for a while. I want you to sit in the car until we come back. Don’t talk to anybody, don’t get out, just stay in the car. Do you understand? Mom screeched as Dad picked Rikki-tik, my stuffed coyote, off the floor.

He glared at her and thrust Rikki-tik into my hands, Hang on to him.

I nodded, keeping my face perfectly still. It was always the safest thing to do.

They got out of the car and gave their bodies that twitch and brush that transformed them into Mr. and Mrs. Watson. Mom stuck her face back in the window and said, Don’t talk to anybody, don’t open the door, don’t move! You got it? I nodded.

Then Dad stuck his face in and said, Keep an eye out, okay?

I nodded.

I kept an eye out. There was a long sweep of gray sidewalk, then a long sweep of gray steps, and then a square brick building with a white double door. That’s where the patrolman stood. My parents walked smoothly, arm in arm as they went inside.

The street was quiet. The whole town was quiet. I could smell summer through the open window, a mixture of mown grass, baked asphalt, flowers, fertilizer, last night’s charcoal. Across the street was a school with a high chain-link fence around the empty playground. If my parents never came out, that would be where I went to school. I saw myself running across the yard, felt a gust of wind, heard shouting, saw other children swirling in coats and mufflers. Fall. That’s when school happened. But this was summer. What would I do until then?

I could live in the car. The cooler was in the trunk, along with the suitcases and stuff. Beside me in the back seat were my pillow and blanket, a couple of books, and Rikki-tik. Dad’s gun was in the glove compartment, along with a bunch of maps. That was all we owned in the world. When we needed more, there were motels, full of furniture, towels, and little packets of soap. Maybe they’d get me a motel room. Rikki-tik could sit on the bed while I went to school.

We had lived in a house once. I could remember the moss green couch with velvet pillows and velvet trim. I could still feel the softness under my fingers, still feel how the trim just fit between my fingernail and fingertip. There had been a glass lamp, and at night the light danced through it like water. And the closet, where I’d sat on the floor with Rikki-tik. I didn’t miss the closet. But I missed the velvet trim, and the lamp. The lamps in motels were all cold, and they didn’t shimmer. Maybe someday I could get a lamp of my own.

Time was the breeze that came and went.

Time was the sound of a dog barking. We’d had a dog once, too. I could still see Lady, looking at us as we drove away from the parking lot. She can’t live in the car, Dad said. She needs a yard. Someone will take her in, Mom said. She’ll be fine. That had been at that place on the interstate. Now we were off the interstate, heading for where a friend of Dad’s was waiting. There was always somebody waiting somewhere.

Time was my eyes closing all by themselves, my head jerking up, then another wave of sleep. Time was shadows creeping closer and closer. Time was an ocean I could never measure, but it moved, and my parents were back. Mom felt my head and my hands, and made Dad stop at the gas station, where he filled up the tank and she got me a cold pop.

I hate cops, Dad said as we pulled away. "What a dump. Who would ever want to live here?"

Mom sniffed. You’d have to be born here. Even if you married in, you’d never be accepted.

Yeah. You’d go nuts. Let’s pull over for a minute.

Not until we get out of the county. And don’t speed.

We passed the county line, and then Dad floored it. The empty pop can went out the window. The clouds on the horizon turned out to be another set of cliffs. The old Buick bucked a little going up them, like a tired horse, the wind rising with us. On top of the cliffs were more grasslands. Miles and miles of them.

That was way too close back there.

That was just a speeding ticket—

I’m talking about earlier. What if they knew?

You worry too much.

Somebody’s got to.

So what are we going to do with Francie?

I clutched Rikki-tik tightly and hummed.

What do you mean, what are we going to do?

We can’t take her with us.

We can’t leave her by the side of the road!

We’ll find a safe place to leave her for a while.

What if something happens?

Nothing’s going to happen. She’ll be fine.

I hummed louder, until my head was full of music that kept perfect time with the swaying grass outside the window.

Dad pulled over at a little rest stop. Let’s stretch our legs a bit. Give me that thing. We don’t want you losing it out here in the middle of nowhere.

I handed over Rikki-tik and ran around. There were two weather-beaten picnic tables under two tired cottonwoods. A path led through the tall grass, so I followed it. It led to a stream lined with willows and cottonwoods. A turtle sunned itself on a rock.

There’s a stream! I yelled, racing back up. I picked Rikki-tik off the picnic table. With turtles!

Did you get your shoes wet?

No, ma’am, I said, hugging Rikki-tik.

You’d better not. Here, sit down and have a sandwich.

The bread was damp from