UNACCUSTOMED AS I AM TO PUBLIC DYING & OTHER HUMOROUS AND IRONIC MYSTERY STORIES LARRY MADDOCK Copyright ©2005 by Jack Owen Jardine NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment. UNACCUSTOMED AS I AM TO PUBLIC DYING & OTHER HUMOROUS AND IRONIC MYSTERY STORIES BY LARRY MADDOCK (Jack Owen Jardine) A Renaissance E Books publication ISBN 1-58873-734-9 All rights reserved Copyright © 2005 Jack Owen Jardine This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission. For information: Email
[email protected] PageTurner Editions/A Deerstalker Mystery FIRST BOOK PUBLICATION CONTENTS INNOCENT BYSTANDER THE GREAT TYPEWRITER ROBBERY THE DEATH WISH DELIVERED: ONE STEREO YOU CAN'T CATCH ME A MATTER OF TIMING THE HONOR SYSTEM UNACCUSTOMED AS I AM TO PUBLIC DYING EVERYBODY REMEMBERS WHATSISNAME ACKNOWLEDGMENTS **** INNOCENT BYSTANDER The day Pete Ryan set his pattern for robbing the company payroll began like any other Monday: he was late to work. The guard waved in recognition as Ryan nosed his white Jaguar through the Bostic Corporation gate. "Morning, Mr. Ryan. Didja have a nice weekend?" the man asked, then gaped at the bandage on Ryan's forehead. Pete Ryan smiled sourly. "I wouldn't really call it nice, Charlie," he said, and drove through. The main plant covered fourteen acres, three of which were for employee parking. He parked in the executive section, in the slot with P. Ryan stenciled on it. Once inside the main building, he proceeded along a network of corridors to the door marked PURCHASING. Pausing to straighten his tie, he entered. Sylvia Robb, a lush blonde in her mid-twenties, stared at him. "Pete! Your head!" she gasped. "What in the world happened?" "Nothing to worry about, Robbie." He grinned, and touched the bandage gingerly. A lock of thick black hair curled rakishly over it. "I was having a quiet drink when the roof fell in, and I didn't duck in time. Any mail?" "Today's Monday. Mail's late as usual. Were you hurt badly?" "You worry too much, Robbie." The girl frowned. "What's with the ˜Robbie'? We're alone." "After what happened this weekend," Pete Ryan said, "I think we'd better be more careful. You look delicious," he added. Sylvia ignored the compliment. "Does Phyllis-?" "She doesn't know it was you," he assured her. "But the fact that she found out it was anybody at all is damning enough. I've had to change quite a few of my plans." "What do you mean?" "You still worry too much, Robbie." The door from the corridor opened, admitting Ralph K. Young, a slender man with receding gray hair. "I see you finally got here, Ryan," he snapped. "Now that you're no longer the favorite son, perhaps we can get some work done. What happened to your head? No, don't tell me, you fell off a bar stool." "Not quite," Ryan corrected amiably. "I was just an innocent bystander, R. K., although I admit it did happen in a bar. I got clobbered with a beer bottle." "You probably deserved it. I'm going to be tied up for a couple of hours in the plant but as soon as I get back I want an explanation of the Amco shipment records. I can't make heads or tails of them, but it looks like we've paid for about sixty tons we never received." "Why, sure, R. K.. It's all there if you know where to look. They started short-shipping early last summer, but we needed the stock, so I subbed the shortages through Midtown. It cost a couple of bucks, but Amco made it