The Shattered Raven
Edward D. Hoch
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
At a gathering of the nation's foremost mystery authors, death takes the stageDozens die each year for the sake of the annual Mystery Writers of America banquet. Heiresses are poisoned, captains of industry are stabbed, and private detectives are gunned down in the street. To mystery authors, these fictional murders are nothing but good fun. But at the annual presentation of the MWA's prestigious Edgar and Raven awards, real-life death is about to intrude.Ross Craigthorn's nightly news program has made him one of the most well-respected men in the country, but deep in his past lies a terrible secret—one he shares with only a few others. They have done their best to forget their long-ago crime, but when Craigthorn decides to come clean, his old accomplice knows that the time has come for murder. When a room full of mystery authors witnesses a killing, which of them will have the nerve to play detective?
YOUR PLACE, mister,” the Taxi driver said. “Yeah.” Barney gave him a big tip and went up. He switched on the one o’clock news, but there was nothing new on Ross Craigthorn—just the fact that funeral services would be held Monday. Monday seemed a long way off. Then he remembered the radio show the following night. He should sleep late in the morning—have at least a few of his wits about him for the thing. When he woke, rolled over and looked at the clock, he saw that it was ten minutes to ten.
out of the foggy dreams of its publisher and editor, Arthur Rowe, a brilliant man from the midwest, whose every project seemed to bring with it the unceasing flow of profit. Susan had heard of the founding of Manhattan the previous summer, and when the critics sneered at another Gotham-oriented magazine along with The New Yorker and New York and Cue, she set off for the downtown offices to see what it was all about. Arthur Rowe, bespectacled, thin of hair and chomping a pipe between yellow
our twenties. We weren’t kids.” “We were kids. Remember how it was? That week? Remember, we went back over the state line to June? Just the three of us. You and Ross and me. That was a time!” “It surely was, Irma. What brings you east?” “Well, I saw Ross on television. I’m a poor woman. I’m almost fifty now. What was I to do? I needed money. I was married for a while, but it didn’t work out, and then my husband died. I came east because I needed money. I was never one to live off welfare. I
second week in March. Very, very literary. Lots of speeches, including usually a blast at the war or the way things are run in Washington.” “Good.” He made a note of it, then looked up for her next entry. “The Oscars come in early April, but we’re not covering those. Then we skip to about mid-April for the Tony Awards. You know, the Antoinette Perry, American Theatre Wing.” “Right, Then where are we?” “Usually about a week later, the New York Drama Critics give a …” He interrupted. “We’re
found someone—a young man who seemed more the used car salesman type than the village blacksmith of old. “Do you still shoe horses?” Barney asked. “You got a horse to be shod, mister? We’ll do it.” “You know a woman named Irma Black?” “The one whose husband died?” “That’s right.” “No. I don’t know her.” “You knew the name.” “I know the names of fifty people who live around here. Her husband used to deal with us before he died. She stopped farming. Probably sold the place, for all I know.”