Reader, I Buried Them and Other Stories

The Homicidal Hat

If you want to get ahead, get a hat. Some folk come to the annual conference called Malice Domestic hoping to win Agathas, those coveted teapots. The crowning glory is reserved for later, at the finale of the entire weekend: the hat contest. Such beautiful bonnets, stunning Stetsons, cute cloches and fantastic fedoras. But if you’re thinking about making a late entry, forget it.

The likely winners have been months in the making. First the brainstorming session — the quest for some brilliant creation that hasn’t been used already; then (after settling for something that might just work) the search for the right materials; and finally the construction, making sure your chic chapeau doesn’t fall to pieces on the day. Millinery, like all the top pleasures in life, shouldn’t be rushed.

Adelina Murphy had tried for seven years to win the ‘most beautiful’ section. She’d used chiffons and silks and taffeta, vast brims with spectacular drapes, white sea grass and black velour and enormous silk flowers. Each time the judges had looked at her hat with admiration — and then chosen someone else’s.

‘You’ll never win with a face like yours,’ her husband, Cuthbert, told her with his customary cruelty. ‘They may say they’re judging the hat. They may think they are, but they’re not. It’s like a rosette on a turnip. It looks all wrong.’

‘You’re no oil painting yourself,’ she told him.

‘But I don’t go in for beauty shows. I could turn you into a winner, guaranteed.’

‘With a face-lift? You’re too mean to fork out for that.’

‘No. You enter the other section, the most creative.’

‘Hah. What do you know about creativity? You couldn’t even make a baby.’

All the joy had gone out of their marriage. Adelina wasn’t sure why they’d stayed together so long. Her love of mysteries may have had something to do with it. With them, she escaped. Just as Cuthbert did, into his garden workshop filled with mechanical paraphernalia. He was no better than a kid, making his working models of cranes and suspension bridges. He called them automata, as if it was some kind of science. To Adelina they were his toys.

Overnight, she thought about that suggestion of his. Maybe for once he’d talked sense. It could be time to try the creative section. The judging wasn’t so dependent on subjective ideas of beauty.

At breakfast she said, ‘Before you disappear into your workshop, were you serious about the most creative hat? Do you think I could be a winner?’

‘Easy. We’re from Texas, remember?’

‘It has to have a mystery theme.’

‘Okay. What are you reading right now?’

‘Lindsey Davis, who is going to be one of the guests, but she doesn’t say much about hats. I don’t know if the ancient Romans went in for them.’

Cuthbert rolled his eyes. ‘You’re more ignorant than I thought. Even I remember the first Ellery Queen book was The Roman Hat Mystery.’

‘A Roman hat on its own wouldn’t win the prize. You’ve got to have a great idea.’

‘What’s the prize?’

‘Free registration for next year’s Malice. That’s a hundred and fifty bucks.’

‘We’ll do it,’ he said. He was as mean in spending as he was in spirit. ‘Who are the other guests this year?’

‘Charlaine Harris and Dan Stashower plus some old-timer from England.’

‘What are their books about?’

‘Charlaine writes about vampires and werewolves.’

‘Creatures of the night. Scary.’

‘Not to me,’ Adelina said. ‘I’m married to one.’

‘You slay me. What does Stashower write?’

‘He’s into great writers of the past — Conan Doyle, Edgar Allan Poe. And his Harry Houdini mysteries are a blast.’

‘Not easy to picture as a hat. Let’s cast it wider. Think of some well-known titles with visual appeal.’

‘Death on the Nile. I could wear a red fez with a dagger sticking into it.’

‘Too obvious.’

‘The Moving Toyshop.’

‘Too difficult. Give me more.’ He was starting to sound enthusiastic.

With any luck, Adelina thought, he might get really excited and drop dead. His heart was not the best. He was booked to be fitted with a pacemaker in July. She let the titles roll. ‘Murder at the Vicarage, Green for Danger, Murder Must Advertise, The Sign of Four, The Last Camel Died at Noon.’

‘They don’t inspire me. Try something else. We might get extra points if we use an Agatha winner. Can you name any?’

‘Margaret Maron has won three teapots, at least. Bootlegger’s Daughter, Up Jumps the Devil, Three-Day Town.’

‘I might do something with the second one. Keep going.’

‘Nancy Pickard is another three-time winner: Bum Steer, I.O.U. and The Virgin of Small Plains.’

Cuthbert clicked his tongue. ‘I doubt if she had the hat contest in mind when she chose those.’

‘Elizabeth Peters, with Naked Once More.’

His eyes lit up.

‘Before you say another word, I’m not doing anything risqué,’ Adelina said. ‘I don’t want to offend the judges.’

‘Something comical, then?’

‘That might be the way to go. Donna Andrews was shortlisted three years running with titles like Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon, and then We’ll Always Have Parrots, followed by Owls Well that Ends Well.’

‘I might use the parrots.’

‘I refuse to appear in public with a cockatoo on my head.’

‘Where’s your sense of humour?’

‘In my head, not on it.’ She gave the matter more thought. ‘We don’t actually have to restrict ourselves to a title. Last year L.C. Hayden won with a more general concept, a gorgeous orange hat with crime scene tape for a hatband and various weapons hanging from the brim.’

‘And you spent ten times more and came nowhere.’

‘You don’t have to go on about it. I remember a wonderful hat a couple of years ago that was like an English village scene and there was a train that moved around the brim when the lady cocked her head. That was pretty, too.’

‘Did it win?’

‘I don’t think so. Trains have been used before. There was the Murder on the Orient Express hat.’

‘We’re coming round to titles again. Give me some more of the classics.’

‘The Maltese Falcon, The Nine Tailors, The Lady in the Lake.’

He snapped his fingers. ‘Stop. The Nine Tailors. Wasn’t that the one about bell-ringing?’

‘Yes. Dorothy L. Sayers. Very well known. It must have been done before.’

‘Not as I will do it. That’s our winner.’

If confirmation were needed of Cuthbert’s dedication to the project, it came when he booked a double room in the Crystal Gateway Marriott. Previously he’d always stayed at home in Houston, leaving Adelina to make her way to Arlington. But he declined to register for Malice itself, insisting he wasn’t interested in taking part. True to his word, he stayed in the room throughout the weekend. He was perfecting the hat. He refused to show it to Adelina until the afternoon of the all-important tea party.

‘I refuse to put that on my head,’ she said as soon as she saw it.

The so-called hat was a cardboard model of a church with a tower and steeple. It looked nothing like a hat.

‘Don’t be such a drag,’ he said. ‘I’ve shaped it underneath to fit your head. This is six months’ work.’

‘They’re not going to like it one bit,’ she said.

‘They’d better. It’s a perfect replica of St. Mary’s, Bluntisham, England, the church where Dorothy L. Sayers’s father was rector.’

‘They won’t know that.’

‘I’ve written it on the card you give them to read out. See the cute little belfry windows with the bells inside?’

She sighed. ‘Cuthbert, you don’t get credit for the work you put in. I know you’ve tried hard, but it’s not creative.’

‘Try it on.’

Reluctantly, just to let him see the catastrophe, she lifted the thing on to her head. He was right in one respect. The fit was snug. She faced the wall mirror.

Grotesque.

‘Now take this in your hand.’

‘What is it?’

‘A remote control. It won’t hurt you. Press the button and find out.’

He wasn’t going to give up unless she complied. Immediately there was a strong sound above her head that made her start in surprise. Bells were chiming in the church.

Cuthbert clapped his hands. ‘The Nine Tailors! How about that? The best automaton I’ve ever made. The little bells inside are moving. They’ve never had anything like it at Malice.’

‘It’s making my head ring,’ she said. ‘Those aren’t miniature bells.’

‘No, it’s a recording of real bells chiming. There’s a tiny tape recorder hidden in the tower.’

‘Turn it off, please.’

‘Press the button again. See? Simple.’

She lifted the church off her head. ‘Well, it’s different, I have to say.’

‘The judges will say better than that. It’s the sure-fire winner.’

She’d already told several friends she was entering the contest. They’d be expecting her to appear. ‘Just this once,’ she said, ‘but never again.’

‘You press the remote at intervals while you’re parading round the room. Milk the applause for all you’re worth.’

‘Will you come down and watch?’

She knew his answer already.

‘No, I’m staying in the room.’

They judged the most beautiful hats first. Coco Ihle and Monica Ferris, previous winners, looked amazing in their creations, and had stunning outfits to match. It was pure bad luck that their choice of hats was similar, right down to the colour, because a newcomer pipped them both with her rakish Gainsborough look.

Then the contestants in the most creative section were asked to step forward. They were given a near riotous reception. Some earned huge applause for the simplest of ideas. A daughter and mother came in identical white boaters with skeletons mounted on the top and they were announced as Bones by Jan Burke and Old Bones by Aaron Elkins. Nancy Pickard had a tiny artist’s easel attached to her hat and was Nancy Drew. One lady paid her own tribute to the Master (and the late Bill Deeck) with a funereal black wide-brimmed hat from which were suspended several items of red lace underwear. When it was announced as James Corbett’s The Merrivale Mystery (merry veil, as the announcer translated) there was spontaneous cheering and it looked a runaway winner.

Adelina’s moment had arrived. ‘In tribute to Dorothy L. Sayers’s The Nine Tailors, Adelina gives us a perfect replica in miniature of St. Mary’s, Bluntisham, England, where Dorothy L. grew up. And if anyone is not aware what the nine tailors were, listen up.’

Nervously she took a few steps and then pressed the remote. The bells rang out and the audience stood up and cheered. Cuthbert, give him his due, had judged it right. The hat was getting a rave reception.

As for Adelina, she was almost deafened. He must have turned up the volume. Two chimes, then a gap. Two chimes and another gap. Two chimes more. She pressed the remote to silence the thing.

Toastmaster Dan Stashower had the microphone and happily he’d read The Nine Tailors. ‘For a man’s death, the tenor bell is struck three times, followed by a gap, then three times more and three again.’ He stopped. ‘Oh, Dan, Dan, what am I saying? We just heard the chimes for a woman’s death. Take it off, lady!’ With that, he rushed towards Adelina and knocked the cardboard church off her head. There were screams.

The toastmaster had gone berserk. He grabbed Adelina and clawed at her hair. Then he seemed to find something that fell off and hit the floor. He crushed it with his foot. ‘Unless I’m mistaken,’ he said, crouching to examine the flattened remains, ‘that was a brown recluse, the most venomous spider in America.’

Adelina was petrified by all this. ‘A spider — in my hair?’

‘Do you see the violin shape on its back? They’re known as fiddlebacks. You find them in the southern states. Only a half-inch or so, but their bite can be deadly.’

‘I know about fiddlebacks,’ Adelina said. ‘We get them in Texas, but I don’t understand what’s going on.’

‘Someone meant to cause you extreme pain and possibly death,’ Dan said. He picked up what was left of the church and examined it underneath. ‘Yes, there’s a hole in the crown and you can see the small box where the spider was secreted in the tower. When the bell sound was activated, the trap opened as well and the spider fell into your hair. They bite when they feel threatened. Who constructed this evil thing?’

So a real mystery took over at Malice Domestic. The hat contest was suspended and the police were called. The detective in charge looked at the squashed spider and agreed that it had the violin shape on its back. ‘I’m from Louisiana and I know about these critters,’ he said to Adelina. ‘You don’t feel anything when you’re bitten. Two to four hours later the venom kicks in and you’re in agonising pain.’

‘You sure know how to comfort a lady.’

‘We should get you checked.’

‘First I want a word with my husband.’

‘We all want a word with him, ma’am.’

They took the elevator to Adelina’s floor. When the doors opened and they stepped out, something was obviously wrong. Other guests were in a huddle in the corridor talking excitedly.

‘What happened?’ the detective said.

‘We heard a shot from 1421.’

‘My room,’ Adelina said.

‘How do you know it was 1421?’ the detective asked the man.

‘I’m in 1423, the next room.’

‘You sure it wasn’t the TV?’

‘Too loud. I know a gunshot when I hear one.’

The two cops looked at each other. ‘Everyone better stand well back,’ the senior man said. ‘Do you have your plastic key, ma’am?’

Adelina handed it to him and stepped away.

The cop tried knocking on the door, but got no answer. He shouted, ‘Armed police. Open up.’

Nothing.

They stood either side of the door with guns drawn. The senior man inserted the plastic and withdrew it and turned the handle. The door swung inwards.

‘Grab your hair, brother, and step outside.’

But they were talking to a dead man. They found him on the floor, face up. There was no pulse.

Adelina was called into the room.

‘Is this your husband, ma’am?’

Who else could it be but Cuthbert? She made a show of sympathy, even if she didn’t feel much. ‘He didn’t deserve this. Did someone shoot him? How is that possible when he was locked in?’

The cop said, ‘I see no sign of a bullet wound.’

‘I don’t understand. What’s going on?’

‘Looks like a locked-room mystery, ma’am. Isn’t that what you guys read about all the time? But we need to get you checked at the hospital.’

‘Yes, I can’t stop shaking. I guess it’s the shock. Could I fetch my beta blockers from the bathroom?’

‘Sure, but don’t touch anything else.’

What a relief it was to Adelina when the hospital confirmed she showed no symptoms of a spider bite. She remained in the hotel (in another room) for several days while Cuthbert’s death was investigated. The medical-legal autopsy revealed that he’d died of a severe heart attack most likely triggered by his own actions. It was clear that he had put himself under stress through his wicked plot to murder Adelina. He’d transported the spider all the way from Texas and secreted it in the special compartment in the hat. And then waited to find out the result. In the confines of the hotel room under such tension, it was suggested, any small incident such as a sudden loud noise could have caused a massive rush of epinephrine, causing ventricular fibrillation and bringing on the attack in an already diseased heart.

The gunshot remained a mystery to the investigators. Not a trace of ballistic material was found in the room and there was no firearm either.

Eventually Adelina was able to bring Cuthbert’s body back to Texas for burial and it was understandable that she didn’t feel like mourning the passing of the man who had tried to kill her. Back home there was widespread sympathy for her, yet she didn’t confide to anyone how she had outwitted her devious spouse. His elaborate scheme had failed through over-confidence. He’d fixed the tape-recording to play six tailors instead of nine, a premature display of triumphalism.

Adelina’s method had been simple to the point of perfection. She, too, had used a tape-recorder. Before travelling to Malice Domestic, she’d gone for a farm walk and recorded the sound of a bird-scaring gas gun. One loud report on an otherwise silent tape. She’d left the tape running in the hotel bathroom, timed to trigger Cuthbert’s heart attack while she was earning her alibi in the hat contest. When she collected her tablets she removed the little tape recorder.

Husband and wife, each surprising the other, but Adelina’s surprise had worked. A winner at last.

With a hatful of gratitude to my informants, Beth Foxwell, Coco Ihle, Judy and Jack Cater.