Rogues Gallery by Dan Andriacco

against solutions that he considers “too cute” or overly complicated, the kind that show up in Mac’s mystery novels. This time I thought his skepticism was well placed.
    â€œIf all of this is about revenge,” Mo said, “why not kill Kathy’s ex-boyfriend who presumably exposed the affair?”
    â€œHis family left town years ago, the summer after all that happened,” Tucker said. “I remember because the boy was in my history class at the time. So maybe the would-be killer couldn’t find him, or maybe he’s next, or maybe he’s already been done in. How would we know?” He sounded very depressed for a guy with a lollypop in his mouth.
    â€œLet us not neglect the obvious,” Mac said. “Sherlock Holmes never did. Lynda and Jefferson, think back on the costumed hitchhiker you picked up. How tall?”
    â€œAbout average height,” Lynda said. I concurred. Not much help there.
    â€œMale or female?”
    Lynda and I looked at each other. We’d been assuming male, but the costume covered almost everything and there was nothing telling in his or her movements.
    â€œWe don’t know,” I admitted.
    Mac stroked his beard. “The androgynous costume was most likely no accident. That is in itself indicative. So is the fact that the assailant flagged you down on your way to this party. Surely it is a reasonable assumption that she knew about this party, and only slightly more adventurous to posit that she is here among us now?”
    â€œPfui,” Lafcadio Figg retorted, using Nero Wolfe’s favorite word. “She? You’re grand-standing, Mac.”
    It wouldn’t be the first time.
    â€œThere’s nobody here in a costume like that,” Mo pointed out. “That would mean this fruitcake changed clothes. Why do that when she - to use your pronoun - didn’t expect Lynda and Jeff to be alive to make an identification based on the costume?”
    Where others see a door, Mac sees a window - and climbs through it. “Because the perpetrator could hardly guarantee that no one else would see her near the scene. Surely Oscar’s men would make inquiries. Someone wearing green scrubs and a mask a mile or two away from the house where Jeff and Lynda were held might not go unnoticed even this close to Halloween.”
    â€œBut why wear such a distinctive and easily remembered costume to begin with?” Lynda asked. “Most of us are dressed pretty simply with just a prop or two.” I’d certainly remember your costume, Lyn!
    â€œThat, my dear Lynda, was the most crucial clue of all,” Mac said. “Why wear a concealing costume unless the person behind that mask was afraid that if you saw her you might be either wary or so surprised that you would be fully engaged in talking to her, and therefore no easy victim?”
    Oscar, a fat cigar between his first two fingers, scratched his wig. “Where is all this going, Mac?” He wasn’t the only one who wondered.
    But instead of moving ahead, Mac shifted into reverse. “Jefferson was right a while ago when he said the combination proves a connection to Pete Duffy, but it is not the kind of connection most of us would think of. The combination was PETER. Who called him Peter? None of his friends did - not Bob Tucker, not his Uncle Fred Gaffe. You heard them refer to him as ‘Pete’ tonight. So far as we know, only Kathy Bell referred to him by his proper name - Kathy Bell and you, Miss Bennet.”
    She was standing right beside his wheelchair. Her eyebrows shot up. I half expected her to say “ Alors !” as Poirot often did. But she didn’t say anything. Neither did anybody else for ten or fifteen seconds, which can seem like an eternity in a situation like that.
    â€œSo I don’t use nicknames for people I don’t know,” she said finally, skipping the accent this time. “What’s your