The Sculptor

Photo by rolf neumann on Unsplash

by William F. Smith

"Ah, Fevrier," Inspector Pierre LaRoche greeted the young detective who had just entered his office at the Police Judiciare on Quai des Orfèvres. "The identity of the victim had been determined?"

"Yes. Antoinette DoBois, model and mistress of the late sculptor Gérard Meurant."

"He designed the facade of the Union Pacifique building in 1920, with the figure of the little nymph about to climb onto the ledge above the ground floor. Now we know why the sculpture appeared so lifelike. Meurant murdered the poor woman, encased her body in plaster, and hid her in plain view of every person in this metropolis. Ingenious! After 105 years, these facts have now come to light only because the building is being demolished to make way for a new luxury hotel."

"Then Meurant committed the perfect crime and got away with it?"

"Yes, he died in 1972 and can't be punished in this world. And he profited by his crime, too. He wasn't very successful until that building became a tourist attraction. Then he recieved hundreds of commissions for life-like statues to adorn buildings." LaRoche suddenly clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "Oh, mon Dieu!"

"What's wrong, Inspector?"

"Have Archives compile the records for all unsolved disappearances between 1920 and 1972. I'm very much afraid we will have to examine the contents of every sculpture created by Gérard Meurant, the master plaster caster of Paris."

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William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.

 

Fool's Gold

Photo by Tim Foster on Unsplash

by William F. Smith

Jake Hadley eased the straps off his shoulders and lowered his backpack to the ground, glancing at his partner, Paul "Slim" Chance, who had already unburdened himself and was laying out some tools.

The past two days had been difficult, climbimg down the mountain with nearly two hundred pounds of gold between them.

Now they could rest a bit, having reached their destination, a lightly wooded area about two miles from town. It would be foolish to take the gold into town, or even to tell a local that they had found the long-lost Old Prospector's treasure trove. Jake and Slim planned to bury their loot here and return for it at their leisure. However, only one would come back, because in addition to digging a hole for the gold, Jake would dig a second - slightly wider, somewhat deeper, and much longer. This hole would be for Slim, since Jake intended to keep the entire treasure for himself.

He caught Slim with a heavy blow from his shovel, then dug the two holes, into which he rolled Slim and the gold. Digging had been hot and thirsty work. Jake picked up the canteen and let the cool, refreshing water flow into his mouth. Seconds later, he doubled up in agony, screamed, and toppled into the grave on top of Slim, who had poisoned the water.

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William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.

 

Family Trees

Photo by Nareeta Martin on Unsplash

by William F. Smith

Jason Stewart watched with interest as the police search team went to work on his neighbor's trees. When they finished. Inspector Norman Goodenough had a confession and the solution to a thirty-year-old mystery. He explained it to Stewart the next afternoon.

"When we pulled out the stumps, we uncovered the remains of the three missimg Baums - husband, wife, and daughter - who disappeared in 1995. The son Henry reported that they had left to visit relatives in Texas, but never arrived. Their disabled car was found in the desert, and it was presumed that they had perished while trying to walk out. Henry always said he planted these trees as a living memorial to his family, but when we showed him the bones, he broke down and confessed that he'd killed his parents and sister at home, buried them, and towed their car to the desert."

Stewart looked past where the trees had been. "That lake is beautiful. First time I've been able to see it from here."

"Come on, Mr. Stewart," Goodenough said. "I know you are the anonymous tipster. You moved in only six months ago, so how did you know the bodies were buried under those trees?"

"I didn't. No one was more surprised than me when you dug them up. Someone told me Henry Baum's parents and sister had mysteriously vanished, so I just invented the story. I had to do something to get rid of those damned ugly trees. They were blocking my view."

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William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.

 

The Duel

By William F. Smith

Unable to agree on their company’s future direction, two bickering business partners decided to settle their differences permanently by having a duel. Winner take all!

They were able to agree on weapons – revolvers – and a place – a deserted stretch of beach just where Old Ocean Road came to an abrupt end. There would be no seconds, no witnesses.

Howard Tucker was certain he would win because he considered himself an expert marksman who could knock the eye out of a gnat at sixty paces, the agreed-upon distance between the combatants when they would fire. He had never mentioned his skill to Jack Foxx, who considered himself an excellent shot.

“You go south and I’ll go north," Foxx said casually. “At thirty paces we’ll turn and fire.”

The two stood back to back, then began walking, Tucker counting the steps out loud. At twenty-five paces he sensed something wrong, turned around and shouted at Foxx, whom he shot through the heart as soon as the man turned to face him.

Foxx, dying, managed to raise his head to see Tucker sinking into the ground. Foxx had been sure he would win because he had arrived at the condemned beach well ahead of time and had removed all the warning signs. He knew that before Tucker completed thirty paces, the quicksand would suck him downward to death.

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William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.

 

Stairway to Nowhere

by William F. Smith

Inspector Norman Goodenough descended the long, curved staircase that crossed over the narrow inlet and led to the garden patio on the lower side of the chasm. He stood on the flagstone terrace, facing the ocean, and contemplated the magnificence of his surroundings-- the cool green foliage of the trees, the shimmering blue water of the Pacific bay upon which the late afternoon sunbeams were creating thousands of golden crowns. The enthralling beauty did little to alleviate the inspector’s disgust with himself, and the brilliant day shed no light upon the most baffling mystery in his long, successful career.

Reluctantly he recrossed the stairs to the Huntington Château, stopping on the last step to regard what remained of the structure: the concrete foundation and the immense void which had been the basement. A robbery or a murder Goodenough knew he could solve. But this was impossible! Sometime during the preceding week the entire mansion had vanished, and he and his associates had not one single clue, not an inkling of how the feat had been accomplished.

Dejected, he pulled a small cell phone from his coat pocket and punched in a number. “Mr. Huntington? Inspector Goodenough here. I’m sorry, but we have been unable to find a trace of your château. I’m forced to admit that this case is beyond the talents of ordinary policemen.” He took a deep breath, then swallowed hard. “What you need is a good house detective.”

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William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.

 

Standing Room Only

by William F. Smith

"Sorry you can't sit at your usual table today," tavern owner Jake McGinty told Patrick Murphy. "All my chairs were stolen last night, right under my big Irish nose. Can you believe it?"

"That I can," said Murphy, perched on the edge of a table. "I'm sure you'll want to tell me all about it."

"Friday, you know, is game night. So several regulars suggest musical chairs. It's rowdy great fun! Everyone stands up, one chair is taken away, and they all, including the waitresses, form a conga line weaving between the chairs and tables while I'm playing my accordion. When I stop the music, they all scramble to sit down. Anyone who can't find a seat is out, and has to stand around until the game's over. The chairs are removed one at a time until there's only two souls left and a single seat. When I stop playing, those two scuffle for it, 'cause the last one sitting wins the prize."

"So what happened to the chairs?"

"I was so busy with the accordion, I didn't notice. Later, someone tells me theye were passed out the door into a waiting van."

"But," Murphy objected, "there ought to be one chair left, the one the winner was sitting on. Haul it out and I'll use it."

McGinty grinned sheepishly. "I can't. The hooligans didn't get that one, but the winner took it home with her. It was the prize."

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William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.

 

Off the Wall

by William F. Smith

Detective Pierre LaRoche was tired but jubilant as he trudged up the steps leading to the top of the old castle's parapet. For years, he had been hoping to arrest the notorious jewel thief Jules Bijoux, and now the moment of triumph was imminent.

After Bijoux stole gems from several celebrities at the Cannes International Film Festival, LeRoche pursued the miscreant to this remote ruin near Vence. The Inspector was confident that Bijoux was carrying the jewels, so now the rascal was trapped. But why had Bijoux run to the top of the tower when the old, worn staircase was the only way up or down? LaRoche shook his head and slid his revolver from its holster as he took the final three steps up into the sunlight. His squinting blue eyes surveyed the area. There was no conceivable hiding place and there was also no Jules Bijoux!

"Sacrebleu," LaRoche muttered. "C'est impossible! I myself saw the rogue go up the stairs just moments before I mounted them. Yet he is not here!"

The Inspector raised his eyes as he heard a voice from above. "Au revoir, Rocky, mon vieux." LaRoche saw Bijoux smile and wave as he peered down from the basket suspended from the hot air balloon that was drifting rapidly toward the Italian border.

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William F. Smith's stories, humorous verse and photographs have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mike Shane Mystery Magazine and Reader’s Digest. His stories have been included in several anthologies.