Throwback Thursday: The Mystery of the Mah-Jongg Box

Stella in Search of Adventure

Octogenarian amateur detective Stella Ryman discovered Thelma Hu’s mah-jongg box in Issue 16 of Pulp Literature, but the fortune inside it was gone.  Now Stella’s sleuthing talents, nerve, and stamina are challenged when she determines to stop at nothing to get back what is rightfully Thelma’s. Enjoy the first pages of ‘Stella Ryman and the Mystery of the Mah-Jongg Box’ by Mel Anastasiou below. Or pick up Pulp Literature Issue 18, Spring 2018 to enjoy the full story at the throwback price of only 8.00!

Stella Ryman and the Mystery of the Mah-Jongg Box

Mel Anastasiou

Chapter 1

A thought caught Stella Ryman in mid-descent towards her chair under the Corridor Park skylight.  It arrived without warning, the way notices used to arrive back in her days as an elementary school librarian.  A knock would sound at the door, and a Grade 7 student would present her with a thin sheaf of official papers and the message typed thereupon:  “For home distribution:  Parents are not permitted to park in spaces reserved for staff members.”

The thought was,  If you don’t watch out, Stella Ryman, you’ll get caught, and last night’s adventure might be the last you ever have.

No more adventures?  The words rang in her mind.  Resonated.  Yet last night’s undertaking had gone smoothly, without remark or investigation.  The only evidence that anything had changed this morning was tacked up on the cork board that hung on the wall facing her chair and Thelma’s.

Stella realized that she had frozen in place above her chair seat, with knees bent as if undecided whether to sit or pray.  In this undignified position, she caught the curious gazes of the three members of Fairmount Manor’s Greek Chorus, as Stella privately called them. 

Iolanthe, Lucille, and Sally the Nodder’s eyes flashed behind the glasses they wore for embroidering pictures of edibles onto pillowcases.

 Lucille said, “Get a load of our Stella.  Will she sit down or stand up?  How will she ever choose?”

“I think she must be enjoying her morning dilemma,” Iolanthe said.  “After all, how many decisions do we make for ourselves in the course of our days?”

 “Fewer than cats at a dog party.”

“I sometimes ask myself, where would we be without Stella’s little problems?”

As kindly as possible, Stella answered, “Bored to death, probably.  For one thing, you’d have a lot less fun sewing in Corridor Park if I weren’t here to needle.” 

Stella finished her downward movement to settle into her chair beside Thelma Hu.  She crossed her ankles in their stretch socks, as her mother had trained her to sit, to avoid varicose veins.  Stella had much to thank Tanis Marie Seton for, including a helpful aversion to self-pity. 

At Stella’s side, Thelma Hu sat hunched in her chair and chewed silently on the knob at the top of her cane.  A single drop of saliva fell like the gentle rain from heaven upon the tile floor between Thelma’s red silk slippers.  Or was it drool?  The skylight overhead had been known to leak, so Stella gave Thelma the benefit of the doubt.  She looked up at the crisp new motivational poster that somebody had put up on Corridor Park’s wall that very morning to replace the Hang in There, Baby cat poster Stella had removed the night before.  She had meant to keep the adventure of the stolen poster to herself, but seeing that drop of saliva on the floor between Thelma’s feet cut her heart like cheese.  In a voice too soft for the Greek Chorus to overhear, she said, “I went on a midnight raid last night, Thelma.”

Thelma said nothing, but she stopped sucking her cane.

Stella added, “But you can’t tell anybody.”

“Who would I tell?” 

There went another pang.  For, now that Farley Lamoureux had passed out of Fairmount Manor and the world itself, Thelma did not have a soul she cared to talk to.  Stella was all she had left. 

Stella said, “I couldn’t take that kitty poster one more minute, so I waited until the crack of midnight.  I crept out of my room, listening for night-shift footsteps.”

“Night shift?  Huh.  One care worker in crepe soles.”

“Exactly.  You can hear Selena coming two corridors away.  I found my way here, ripped the poster off the wall, and hid it under the table in the art supply room across from the staff room.”

Thelma said, “I have two questions.”

“Shoot them at me.”

“What did you do with the poster’s thumbtacks?”

“I broke a nail on the first one.  I left the thumbtacks be.”

“A mistake.  Second question.”

“Yes?”

“Did you go alone?”

“Yes.” 

In the silence that followed, Stella came face to face with her own selfishness.  She didn’t need Tanis Marie Seton to tell her what she should have done. 

“I have a question for you, too, Thelma.”

“Humph.”

“Don’t you hate this poster even more than the cat poster?”

“I can’t see it.”  Thelma sounded almost pleased at Stella’s gaffe.

“Sorry.  It’s so hard to remember that you’re blind.”

“I’m not blind,” Thelma said.  “I have macular degeneration.  So, what does it say?”

“It says, There’s always a reason to smile.”

“Burn it to the ground.”

Find out what happens next in ‘Stella Ryman and the Mystery of the Mah-Jongg Box’, Pulp Literature Issue 18, Spring 2018, on sale now for  $7 off!

Or, pick up The Labours of Mrs Stella Ryman: Further Fairmount Manor Mysteries for the full text of this Stella adventure plus four more!