LADYBUGS ON PARADE

by Steve Steinbock

It must be spring. The annual infestation of Coccinellidae (Lady Bugs) has begun inside my house. Just like baseball and the thawing of the local skating pond, it happens every year around this time. As plagues go, this one is pretty benign. In fact, I enjoy it. The only down-sides of a ladybug infestation is that we have to watch where we step, we have to set them upright when they flip onto their backs, and we have to clean up their carcasses when they die.

I don’t mind it when they alight on my keyboard when I’m trying to type. It’s an interesting game I play with them, either typing around the critters, avoiding the keys they’re sitting on, or giving them a gentle blow to nudge them on to the number keys.

Why are they called “ladybugs”? Half of them must be male. Sometimes they’re called “ladybirds” and sometimes “ladybeetles,” but always ladies. Legend has it that they are sent by the Virgin Mary to protect our crops. I’m skeptical. I don’t have any crops.

Alfred Hitchcock Presents

The May issue of Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine is available at fine bookstores near you. The cover features a tropical sunset with two tall palm trees, a welcome site here where my lawn is still hidden beneath several inches of snow.

The issue contains several twisted stories of scams and murder including “The Condo Commando” by Elaine Viets, Jack Ritchie’s “The Fabricator,” and Ron Goulart’s “The Case of the Extra Ventriloquist.”

But the first story in the issue, “Shanks Gets Killed,” is worthy of special attention. The author is none other than Criminal Brief’s own Robert Lopresti. If I can’t brag about it here, than what’s the point of it all?

“Shanks Get’s Killed” features the return of Rob’s novelist/sleuth Leopold Longshanks and his wife Cora. “Shanks” has grudgingly agreed to participate in a murder-mystery weekend as part of a fundraiser. The prize for the participant who correctly guesses the murderer is a first edition of Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon. The silver lining for Shanks is that he is to be the victim (hence the title), so after the opening ceremonies of the weekend, he gets to avoid the brouhaha. Of course, we all know about best-laid plans.

I was curious that a fundraiser would offer a Hammett first edition as a prize. Surely Lopresti, a librarian and a rare document detective would know that a first of The Maltese Falcon would be worth a fortune. With a little research, however, I learned that Rob’s proposition was a reasonable one. Sure, one online dealer is offering a copy for $136,000, but decent copies are available for under $5,000, and copies like the one Lopresti described in the story are going for around under $2,000.

Lopresti fills the story with clever bits that book lovers, and mystery fans in particular, will appreciate. One line that especially resonated with me was the observation that Shanks “read dead authors for pleasure. Living authors were market research.” I know that’s the truth for me. Although I always take pleasure reading the works of my friends.

If you hurry, you can read the opening of Rob’s story here.

Dear Frannie

In past installments of Bandersnatches I’ve written about my local coffee house, The Royal Bean. I recently learned that the woman on the MacBook who frequently sits at the next table is the author of an online advice column. I share this with you today because “Frannie” is not your typical Ann Landers, Dear Abby, or Hints from Heloise. Nosiree. These are hints from hell! In a recent letter , for example, when Wondering in MA wrote in complaining that another advice columnist never answered her question, Frannie responded:

Dear Wondering,

Advice columnists are often very beautiful and are really busy having a lot of sex. If you want your question to get noticed send money.

Yours, Frannie

In another letter , a certain Bula Van Ruskerhozen asked Frannie for a delicate way to get her husband to stop buying her sexy lingerie every time he returns from a business trip. Frannie answered:

Dear Bula,

Here’s what you do: Have his mom come visit for the weekend. Give her the bagful of practically new tackle as a gift and ask her to model it for you right when he’s getting home from work. Any man who catches a glimpse of his mom in sexy undies will never purchase lingerie again ever. He also my never get a hard on again, but that’s the risk you take.

See you in Acapulco, Frannie

Now I know why Frannie, sipping her skinny latté at the next table, is always laughing at her laptop.

Got anything on your mind? A problem that’s been bothering you? Just ask Frannie.