The Mystery Megapack

all of his attempts at rational thinking, had been unable to dismiss his sense of responsibility for the death. He could see it no other way, given the malice he had felt and the timing. The dead man had been choked in trying to wash down his pancake with the wine which Edward had envied so greatly—choked while trying to ask a question which Edward had pretended not to hear—and Edward felt sure that the Boxer’s pointing finger had been aiming for him. The Boxer’s real name, it turned out, was Henry Doppler and Felicia’s name was Margaret and they had just been married. She had still been in hysterics when Edward and Caroline left the car and no one had been able to learn any more than that.
    Edward could not help but feel guilty, and neither could he escape the thought, obviously secondary, that he had not only killed a man but in doing so, had ruined his and Caroline’s special evening completely. His selfishness in thinking this sent him into an even deeper state of guilt and he feared, for a moment, that he would be unable to find his way out. But they would be in Paris soon, he thought, pulling into the Gare de L’Est, taking the cab to the Opera Quarter, walking under the chandeliers of the Hotel Ambassador, and he felt a little strengthened by these images and hopeful that the darkness of the evening would disappear against the glitter of the city.
    “Do you think he was poisoned?” asked Caroline, and he realized the question carried the first words she had spoken since they had returned to their room.
    He wiped his hands and turned to look at her. Even from that distance, he could see the strange twinkle in her eye.
    “I don’t know why,” she went on. “I guess it was his looks, the shape of his head, and the way he acted, and my reading that book on the plane—but I had a notion from the first moment I saw him that he was a British gangster and that the woman with him was his moll. I thought that the other couple in the bar car were a part of his gang or the other man the leader of a friendly gang and that they were planning something together. And when he began to choke and point that finger like a gun, I was certain that it was a double-cross and that the other man had poisoned his food while he asked you about the book. Or maybe the chef was really with British Intelligence and had himself laced the dessert with arsenic before it ever came out. After all, didn’t you think it tasted more like almonds than chestnuts?”
    She stood up then and rushed quickly to hug him.
    “Oh, darling, I’m sorry he’s dead, but wouldn’t it have been romantic if we had gone on to Venice and the murder had happened in the Alps and the train had been stuck in the snow and the murderer still on board. And you could have solved it! Or we could have solved it together! Or we could have just stayed in our cabin until they interrogated us, caught up helplessly in the drama of it all.”
    She looked up at him then and he saw a thrill in her features that he had never seen before. She seemed transported by what had happened.
    “Can you believe it?” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I even made names for them. He was called Guido and she was Delores.”
    It was at that moment that Edward felt released from the crime and forgiven of his guilt and, what was greater, believed himself a success once more. He didn’t know how he had done it, but he was suddenly glad that he had killed the young man. He felt more alive because of it, more gallant, more virile—so much so, in fact, that he felt sure he would have taken his new wife right then and there if the train hadn’t been pulling into the station, if the cabin steward hadn’t been just outside the door.
    ABOUT THE AUTHOR
    Art Taylor’s short fiction has appeared in several national magazines, including Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and North American Review ; online at Fiction Weekly, Prick of the Spindle, and SmokeLong Quarterly; and in various regional publications. His story “A Voice from the Past” was an honorable mention for the 2010 Best American Mystery Stories anthology. He regularly reviews mysteries and thrillers for the Washington Post and contributes frequently to Mystery Scene . For more information: www.arttaylorwriter.com.

THE STOLEN VENUS, by Darrell Schweitzer
    (From the Previously Unpublished Correspondence of the Younger Pliny)
    1. Pliny to the Emperor Trajan
    You have asked me, Sir, to keep you informed of my