“You haven’t improved at all, you no-talent cheesehead.”
“I beg your pardon, madam?”
“Oscar, love, you never could do a believable Brit.”
“I don’t happen to be British, dear lady. The fact that I was educated in Boston sometimes gives people that impression.”
“Forget it, Oscar,” advised his erstwhile wife. “I don’t know why you want to get your clammy hands on that wooden dornick, but you’ll never have him. And, dear heart, if you ever try to communicate with me again—in whatever wretched voice—I’ll sic the law on you.” She, rather gently, hung up on him.
“Looks like,” decided Oscar, “I’m going to need a new plan.”
He kept working on plans for nearly an hour, pacing his small living room, muttering, pausing now and then to gaze out at the falling snow.
Then the phone rang.
“Yeah?”
“We have hit a slight snag,” announced Vince Mxyzptlk.
“Don’t they want me?”
“Sure they want you, old buddy. Hell, they’re prowling the lofty corridors at Consolidated crying out for you,” said the youthful agent. “In fact, they can’t wait until Friday.”
“What do you mean—do they want me to do a separate segment on my
own?”
“Not exactly. But Liz,
Frowning. Oscar nodded. “An audition, huh?”
“Sort of. yeah,” admitted the agent. “It has nothing, really, to do with you. But when one of their scouts unearthed the clunk who used to be Mr. Slimjim on that
“Tomorrow?”
“At three p.m. Is that a problem for you?”
“Not exactly, but I—”
“I’m getting a lot of interest in you. Once you do well on Friday, the jobs will start rolling in.”
“I understand, it’s only—”
“I needn’t remind you. Oscar, that a lot of talents in your present position would kill for this opportunity.”
“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed. “See you tomorrow.”
He had a great new plan worked out by three that afternoon. But he had to wait until after dark to get going on it.
Dressed in dark clothes, Oscar slipped quietly out of his apartment and into the lean-to that passed for a garage. As usual, none of the roads in the sparsely inhabited complex had been plowed. The snow was soft, though, and not too high, and Oscar was able to drive down to the plowed lanes and byways of New Beckford without any serious delays.
He drove over to nearby Westport and parked in the lot behind Borneo’s. There were only a few spaces left and he could see that the restaurant-bar was packed with people. The food and drink at Borneo’s was just passable, but it sat only a half mile over the hill from Mitzi’s mansion.
As he was crossing the lot a fire engine went hooting by. headed downhill.
Borneo himself was behind the bar. “Evening, Oscar.”
He managed to elbow his way up to a narrow spot at the ebony bar. “The usual.”
Borneo scratched at his stomach through the fabric of his bright tropical shirt. “Refresh my memory.”
“Club soda, alas.”
“Coming up.”
Outside in the snowy night another fire engine went roaring by, followed by what sounded like a couple of police cars.
Oscar hoped all this activity wouldn’t foul up his plan. So far everything was going well. People were seeing him, he was establishing an alibi. In another ten or fifteen minutes he’d go back to the john. Then he’d slip out the side door.
Once in the open, he’d make his way down to the mansion. Being careful, of course, that no one noticed him sneaking off.
Mitzi, being a skinflint, and in spite of her great wealth, had never bothered to put in a new alarm system. The original setup was still in place, and he knew how to disarm that.
Okay, once he got inside, after making certain that she was alone, he’d ... well, he’d use the length of pipe he dug up in the garage this afternoon.
Once Mitzi was dead and done for. he’d gather up enough jewels and valuables to make it look like the usual burglary. Then he’d rescue Screwy Santa from the mud room and get the hell away.
Back here at the parking lot he’d stash the loot in his car, slip unobtrusively back into the place, and tell Borneo he’d had a sudden touch of stomach flu and had to stay back in the bathroom a few minutes.
It wasn’t exactly foolproof, but it ought to work. He’d own Screwy again and Mitzi would be gone from his life.
He chuckled at the thought. Yeah, the idea of killing her off had come to him this afternoon and he’d taken to it immediately.
Tish might be a little suspicious about how he came by the dummy. He’d tell her something along the lines that he’d found the heirs of the old defunct prop man at the last minute and. gosh, they had a spare Screwy Santa. He’d always been a gifted liar and conning his daughter wouldn’t be all that difficult.
“Don’t worry about that now,” he told himself.
“How’s that?” inquired Borneo, setting a glass of sparkling water down in front of him.
“Nothing, I was just—”
“That must be some fire.” Borneo paused to listen as yet another truck went howling by out in the night.
Oscar sipped the club soda, drumming the fingers of his free hand on the dark bar top. He’d make his move in about five minutes.
The phone behind the bar rang and Borneo caught it up. “Borneo’s. Huh? Channel eight? Okay.” Hanging up, he switched channels on the large television set mounted above the mirror.
And there was Mitzi, glowering out of the screen. Wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and not enough makeup, she was being interviewed by a slim black newswoman and gesturing at the mansion that was blazing behind her up across the wide night lawn.
“Good God,” muttered Oscar.
“That’s just downhill from us,” observed Borneo.
“Yeah, I know.”
The entire sprawling house was going up in flames.
“What exactly happened, Mrs. Sayler?” the reporter asked her.
“It was that goddamn cheesehead.”
“Which cheesehead would that be?”
“Screwy Santa, that abominable dummy.”
“I’m not certain that I quite under—”
“Aw, you’re too damn young. Everybody is these days. I always knew that dornick would do me in eventually.”
“You mean this was arson?”
“I mean, dear heart, that I decided to cremate that loathsome lump of wood. I took him and his shoebox, carried them into the living room, and tossed him into the fireplace.”
Oscar pressed both hands to his chest. “There goes my comeback.”
Mitzi continued, “Then... I don’t know. His stupid beard seemed to explode... flames came shooting out of the fireplace. They hit the drapes and those caught fire... then the damn furniture started to go.” She shook her head
