Carolyn G. Hart - The Christie Caper 

DEATH ON DEMAND

DESIGN FOR MURDER

SOMETHING WICKED

HONEYMOON WITH MURDER

A LITTLE CLASS ON MURDER

DEADLY VALENTINE

SOUTHERN GHOST

DEAD MANS ISLAND

SCANDAL IN FAIR HAVEN

MINT JULEP MURDER

A VAILABLE FROM B ANTAM B OOKS

I n honor of Agatha Christie,
the worlds greatest mystery writer.

My thanks to Barbara DAmato and the Malice Domestic Mystery Convention for permission to use portions of the Agatha Christie Treasure Hunt, which Barb and I co-authored for Malice Domestic I, April 1989.

And my thanks to Dorothy Cannell for sharing memories of Garden Ftes from the coconut shy to the lucky dip.

NEIL C. BLEDSOE

Sarcastic, brilliant, unpleasant, the rugged critic is definitely looking for trouble.

VICTORIA SHAW

A soft-spoken, kindly woman, but she has not forgotten and she will never forgive.

HENNY BRAWLEY

Mystery reader extraordinaire, she looks forward to the conference and showing off how much she knows about Christie.

KATHRYN HONEYCUTT

She hated to think ill of anyone, even her nephew, Neil Bledsoe.

JOHN BORDER STONE

He couldnt wait to arrive at the meeting. His life would never be the same.

ANNIE LAURANCE DARLING

Owner of the best mystery bookstore this side of Atlanta. Lively, intense, determined.

INGRID SMITH

Annies wonderful assistant at Death on Demand. Always patient, sometimes acerbic.

LAUREL DARLING ROETHKE

Annies ever cheerful, unpredictable, maddening mother-in-law. In the grip of a new enthusiasm.

EMMA CLYDE

Broward Rocks famous resident mystery author. Suspected of authoring a real-life mystery.

NATALIE MARLOW

Author of Down These Steps. Awkward, frumpy, brilliant. How angry is she?

FRANK SAULTER

Chief of police. Thoughtful, honest, worried.

VINCE ELLIS

Young and energetic publisher of the Island Gazette.

BARB

Secretary at Confidential Commissions, Max Darlings counseling agency.

NATHAN HULMAN

CEO and Executive Editor of Hillman House, who lost more than a prize author when Pamela Gerrard Davis married Neil Bledsoe.

DEREK DAVIS

He blamed Bledsoe for the death of his mother.

MARGO WRIGHT

Literary agent. She would never forget what Bledsoe did to her.

MAX DARLING

Annies unflappable, equable husband. Joe Hardy all grown up and sexy as hell.

FLEUR CALLOWAY

Why did she stop writing? She wont even look at Neil Bledsoe.

JAMES BENTLEY

A conference attendee. He sees the marksman outside Death on Demand, but he cant give a good description.

BILLY CAMERON

Chief Saulters assistant. The conference gives him a colossal headache.

LADY GWENDOLYN TOMPKINS

Co-sponsor of the conference, Englands reigning Crime Queen. Sprightly, perspicacious, indomitable.

ED MERRITT

The hotel manager. He wants all this murder nonsense to stop!

BRICE WILLARD POSEY

The pompous circuit solicitor. He and Lady Gwendolyn do not have a meeting of the minds.

JEAN REINHARDT

She remembers Stones manuscriptall those missing feet!

DUANE WEBB

Ingrids good friend. He tells Bledsoe to bug off.

TERRY ABBOTT

Says Stone had only one problem: no talent.

The Agatha Christie Title Clues at the beginning of each chapter are part of the Agatha Christie Treasure Hunt in .

AGATHA CHRISTIE
TITLE CLUE

Beware the false face;

Cant trust someone in this place.

G reat minds have great ideas. Neil Bledsoe enjoyed a very good opinion of himself, but the inspiration which had struck so abruptly was brilliant, peerlessand the answer to all his problems.

Where the hell was that brochure? Impatiently, he dumped the wastebasket, ignoring the cigar ashes and crumpled balls of printer paper. He found it finally and spread open the wrinkled flyer. Quality printing, quality paper. No expense spared.

The first panel told the story:

THE CHRISTIE CAPER

A Centennial Celebration of
the birth of

AGATHA CHRISTIE
The greatest detective-story writer of all time

September 9September 15
The Palmetto House
Browards Rock Island, South Carolina
Co-sponsored by Englands Present-Day Crime
Queen
Lady Gwendolyn Tompkins

and DEATH ON DEMAND Bookstore
Proprietor Annie Laurance Darling

Theyd all be there, all those bloody women writers and editors and agents and the damn pansy men who wrote whodunits instead of real blood-and-guts mysteries.

Neil leaned forward, selected a cigar from his humidor. When it was lit, he rolled the oily smoke over his tongue, savoring the pungent, masculine odor that enveloped him. Women hated cigars. So he smoked them everywhere. Especially in elevators. Inevitably, some skinny bitch complained, stabbed a red-nailed finger at the No Smoking sign. Neil took great pleasure in telling her where she could stick it. No-smoking laws were a joke. Was some asshole going to make a citizens arrest? Of him? He shifted his two-hundred-pound bulk until he could see his dark visage in that prissy damn mirror that Pamelad put up. All that was left of Pamela.

A face to reckon with. Heavy, black brows drawn in a menacing frown. Florid, acne-scarred skin, tougher than leather. Nobodyd ever mistake him for one of those pansy writers.

And they hated him.

Hated him and feared him.

By God, hed crash their party. He flipped through the brochure. A garden party, author panels, English dinners, a classic-car display, a Christie Treasure Hunt, a Christie Trivia Quiz, the Agatha Christie Come-as-You-Wish-You-Were Ball. He scanned the list of authors scheduled to attend. Bubbles of laughter stirred in his chest. Holy shit, it couldnt be better. A conference filled wall-to-wall with his enemies. And if they werent enemies when he got there, hed make damn sure they were before he left.