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  MATCH BOX MURDER

  a Merry Wrath Mysteries novella

  by

  LESLIE LANGTRY

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  Copyright © 2022 by Leslie Langtry

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  CHAPTER ONE

  If there was a terrifying moment in my life, this was in the top ten. Worse than the time I was cornered by three Russian spies in a Bangkok alley (there are always Russian spies in a Bangkok alley, so I don't know why I was surprised), and worse than the time I was chased by an armed chicken through Chechnya. This had all the hallmarks of a life-ending scenario…which was really bad because we were at Girl Scout camp.

  We were teaching my Girl Scout troop how to shoot. And it wasn't going well. That was probably my fault, since I'd asked a CIA assassin to teach it.

  Hilly Vinton, a former CIA colleague who wasn't an assassin because the CIA doesn't have assassins because that would be wrong (she totally is one) was marching up and down the line of girls whose fingers were twitching because they couldn't wait to shoot those airsoft rifles they'd bought fraudulently online with my ID and credit card.

  Of course, once the guns arrived, I couldn't very well send them back. They were fairly inexpensive and there were eight of them, one for each of the eleven and twelve-year old girls. That and the fact that they'd already covered the guns with sparkly princess and unicorn stickers made the acceptance of a return highly unlikely.

  "Troop! We're going to do this safely!" Hilly shouted like a power-mad drill sergeant. Where did she get that riding crop? "Safety is important in shooting, so you have to follow my rules!"

  Her rules? This couldn't be good. Hilly was…well…crazy. Some might say quirky, but that ship sailed down Insanity River years ago. And while that made her a good spy (for some reason, being unhinged helps), it was questionable how that translated to working with children.

  "If you do not do as I say, I will shoot you!" Hilly barked.

  Seven little girls looked at me curiously as if to ask if she could really do that. The eighth girl nodded. That girl was Betty.

  "If you point that rifle anywhere but at the target, I will shoot you!" Hilly roared.

  The seven still looked at me for assurance. I nodded.

  "If you fire before I say you can." Hilly paused dramatically. "I will shoot you!"

  My best friend, co-leader, and all-around responsible adult, Kelly Albers, leaned toward me. "Is this the right message to send? That she will shoot them if they don't do what she says?"

  "Shhh." I waved her off. "I want to hear what the other rules are. Besides, I'm sure she won't shoot them," I assured her. "She'll probably use that nerve pinching thingy and just render them unconscious."

  "That's not better," Kelly, the former emergency nurse, warned.

  I didn't agree or disagree because I wasn't quite sure what the right answer was. Having had one foot in the dangerous world of international espionage and one foot in the slightly less dangerous world of little girls in scouting caused me to straddle a line that veered all over the place. Kelly was always on me about behaving more responsibly around the girls, like not hiding my gun in the oven during sleepovers when we were going to bake cookies or allowing them to endlessly discuss the possibility of killing a man with one punch. This meant that I was in the doghouse a lot.

  We really weren't your normal troop.

  "If you participate in anything distracting during this firing exercise." Hilly slammed the riding crop against her leg. "Like making a peanut butter sandwich…"

  "You'll shoot us?" Lauren, junior zookeeper, finished.

  Hilly looked surprised. "What? No! I just want you to make me one. I'm kind of hungry."

  The girls stopped scribbling notes. I walked over and snooped. Seven of them had written down the rules. Betty had drawn a picture of Hilly brandishing an Uzi in one hand, a sandwich in the other, while shooting at Boy Scouts who all had evil mustaches for some reason.

  "Maybe we should take a lunch break?" I suggested. "We spent three hours canoeing this morning so maybe we should go back to the campsite, eat, and then return for shooting in the afternoon."

  "Good idea." Hilly broke the riding crop over her knee and tossed it aside. "Let's go."

  At least lunch was going to be a smidge more relaxing. Hilly and I collected the rifles as Kelly marched the troop back to the camp.

  "You weren't really going to shoot them, were you?" I asked.

  Hilly pulled a squirt gun that looked just like a real .45 out of her backpack. "It's just water. I figured you might frown on me using real ammunition."

  "Yeah." I sighed with relief. "I would. A squirt gun is fine."

  The assassin who wasn't an assassin frowned. "I'm not sure it sends the right message though. Maybe I should run into town and get an air rifle."

  "Nope," I disagreed.

  Hilly's right eyebrow went up. "Crossing a line?"

  "Yup," was my reply.

  With Hilly Vinton, you needed to be direct and keep it simple. She understood that. Perhaps it was the nature of her work — which I'm still required to use a disclaimer for. Or maybe it was that she had the strangest ideas sometimes. For example, for years she labored under the belief that she was always mistaken for Hilary Clinton.

  The nearly six foot tall, perpetually tan, athletic, dark-haired agent looked nothing like the petite, older blonde, but no one could ever convince her of that. It was the similarity of the names, Hilly Vinton and Hilary Clinton, that mattered to her. Not the fact that she bore no resemblance whatsoever to the former Secretary of State.

  Back at the campsite, the girls were stuffing their mouths with peanut butter sandwiches. There was the aforementioned Lauren, a junior zookeeper who had an encyclopedic and sometimes imaginative knowledge of animals. There was Inez, who was cynical and whip-smart, and Ava, the youngest mayor in our town's history who aspired to be CEO of a major insurance company. And then there were the four Kaitlyns who looked and sounded exactly alike, had the same last initial and mothers named Ashley, and operated with one hive mind. Last of all, there was Betty.

  Betty was either awesome or terrifying, depending on the day and how you felt about her. Betty was probably going to be voted Most Likely to Skip 6th Grade Recognition in Order To Do Black Ops For Scottish Independence.

  My name is Merry Wrath Ferguson, and I used to be a spy for the CIA. I say 'used to be' because when my career was really taking off, the then-Vice President 'accidentally' outed me to get back at my Senator dad. I didn't want to retire early, but that's how the cookie crumbles. And speaking of cookies, my best friend, Kelly Albers, talked me into starting a Girl Scout troop six years ago. That's when my life really got weird. And that's from someone who once convincingly impersonated Angela Merkel at Kim Jong-un's birthday party.

  "Everyone doing okay?" Marge Brodie appeared. "No problems so far?"

  "Everything's fine." Kelly smiled at the camp director. "We're having a great time."

  The tall, thin, middle-aged woman smiled warmly. "Now if you need anything else, remember to use the walkie talkie. We don't get cell service here in the boonies."

  "Thanks, Mrs. Brodie!" the girls said in unison.

  A slight frown crossed the woman's face. "Now girls, when we are at camp, you need to use my camp name."

  "Sorry, Puffin!" the four Kaitlyns said simultaneously.

  Puffin hesitated as if she'd never seen four girls who looked exactly alike speak the same words at the same time.

  "They kind of do that," I explained. "We really appreciate you checking in. Are there other troops at camp this weekend?"

  We had rented our campsite during a weekend break at full-time scout camp. I didn't mind sharing the place with others, as long as we didn't overlap on activities.

  "No," Brodie said, and then looked like she was rethinking her answer. "Wait. That's not entirely true. Some of the staff stayed behind. Beach Ball is cleaning the pool. You might have seen her — she's got short brown hair and always seems to wear sunglasses…even inside. And then there's Ukulele, a redhead who's taking advantage of the break to conduct an inventory in arts and crafts. Bandaid the nurse is still here — I believe you've met her."

  I nodded. We'd met the pretty blonde when we checked in.

  "And then there's Mr. Collins, who is working on one of the elements of the low ropes course."

  "Why doe

sn't Mr. Collins have a camp name?" Inez asked.

  Marge, or Puffin, looked confused. "That is his camp name. His real name is Mr. Collinsberger."

  We'd also met Collins when we checked in, and again later when he dropped off the keys to the various equipment sheds. The maintenance director was in his late forties and always looked as if he smelled something unpleasant.

  "You shouldn't see them while you're here," Puffin insisted. "It's late summer and after one more camp session, everyone will head home."

  "If any of you want to join us for dinner," Kelly offered, "we're roasting hot dogs tonight."

  "That's nice." Puffin gave a small smile. "But we're all pretty exhausted after the summer we've had. Our last group of kids was a bit of a handful." Her eyes glazed over as she stared into space. "I've never seen anyone set fire to pool water before."

  After a second, she shook her head as if to clear it. "The staff probably won't want to hang out with each other, let alone new people." She blanched slightly as if she'd said something she shouldn't. "Now remember the walkies if you need anything."

  With an awkward wave, she turned onto the trail and walked away.

  "She's weird," Hilly concluded.

  "You're weird," I replied. "She's okay. Puffin's probably ready for the summer to be over. I can imagine things get a little tense when you're trapped with a dozen young counselors and hundreds of kids with no air conditioning."

  "Not to mention no cell service." Kelly nodded. "And there's only one road in and out of camp, so we're pretty cut off."

  "You know," I said as I headed to get the supplies for lunch, "I'm surprised how many camps in Iowa are like that. It's good for defense, but bad in that there aren't enough avenues of escape."

  Kelly scooped up the plates. "Is it weird that I don't find that kind of talk strange anymore?"

  "Nah." I grabbed the bread and peanut butter. "It means you're thinking like a spy."

  The peanut butter sandwiches hit the spot. Hilly had five of them. Once we were done, it was the Kaitlyns' turn to clean up, and they started gathering up plates to take into the cabin kitchen. Kelly ran a rigid kaper chart and no one was excused no matter what reason they gave. The girls were pretty good about it, and as long as the Kaitlyns were always together, it worked well. Still, there were a couple of times when Kelly had to veto things like "I can't do dishes because I saw a baby bat in the tent and we need to go and name it," or "Doing dishes violates my religion, Bettysbyterianism."

  "I guess twice this summer, the road was washed out and they were trapped without cell service for a couple of days," Hilly said before stuffing four cookies into her mouth.

  Kelly and I turned to stare at her. "How do you know that?" I asked.

  Hilly somehow managed to swallow her food and shrugged. "Mr. Collins told me. He was at the boathouse this morning and I went over to chat."

  That caught me by surprise. "I didn't see him there."

  "He was lurking behind the building." Hilly scratched her chin. "I think he was surprised to see me."

  That didn't sound good.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I lowered my voice and leaned toward the other two adults. "Kind of sounds like a creeper to me."

  "You have no idea." Bandaid appeared out of nowhere. I really needed to figure out how the staff was so good at sneaking up on us.

  "Sorry to interrupt," the pretty nurse apologized. "I just stopped by because you guys needed allergy meds." The blonde held out a white bottle.

  "Allergy meds?" I asked. I didn't remember anyone needing allergy meds.

  Kelly shook her head. "I used to be a nurse, and I've known these girls a long time. None of them have allergies."

  Bandaid reached into her pocket and handed Kelly a folded-up piece of paper. "I got this note from you."

  Kelly read it and handed it to me. "I don't recognize the handwriting," she said.

  Forgot to bring Benadryl, can you drop some off to Outback?

  I looked at the sign. Yep. This was Outback campsite. I handed the note back, but Bandaid waved it off.

  "Keep it. Maybe one of your girls was pranking me." She smiled.

  "You said something earlier about Mr. Collins?" I asked.

  She looked around before letting out a nervous laugh. "Oh. That. Forget I said anything." The nurse turned and headed back out on the trail. But before she disappeared, Kelly called out to invite her for hot dogs tonight.

  "Why are you so keen on inviting witnesses to whatever crime Betty is planning?" I held out the note.

  "Because I kind of over ordered hot dogs and we have a lot," Kelly said.

  I showed the note to Hilly, who shrugged. "I didn't write that."

  "Must be Betty." I sighed.

  "Why would she ask for allergy meds?" Kelly wondered. "It makes you drowsy and as you know, the girls do not sleep at camp."

  "I wouldn't be surprised if they were planning to drug us," I guessed. "Betty's always wanted to raid the food at night for a midnight party." I know because I've never slept a night at camp. I had to guard our food. From Betty.

  "Well." Hilly got to her feet. "We're burning daylight. Time to get back to the rifle range. Everyone knows people shoot with thirty percent loss of accuracy after lunch."

  What? "That sounds made up."

  "It's a fact." Hilly nodded. "I read it in a magazine in a dentist's office in Moldova."

  My jaw dropped open. "Why on Earth would you go see a dentist in Moldova? Did you break a tooth and couldn't make it to Berlin or the U.S.?"

  "No." Hilly pulled her long braid over her shoulder. "I was there for work."

  "The CIA had to take out a Moldovan dentist?" I blurted out without thinking.

  Unfortunately, the girls had overheard and began to swarm.

  Hilly rolled her eyes. "Of course not! I got a cyanide pill stuck in my teeth and couldn't get it out."

  "Why were you going to take a cyanide pill?" Kelly looked horrified.

  "That's how spies kill themselves when there's too much heat," Betty explained.

  "Why would I do that?" Hilly stared at the girl in disbelief. "No, it was for my target."

  "How did it get it stuck in your teeth…" I changed my mind. "Forget it. Let's move on."

  We could be here all afternoon trying to get this convoluted story sorted and it didn't seem worth it. Kelly directed the girls to gather up their backpacks and water bottles before the hike back to the range.

  Camp Running Bird was a relatively new camp about two hours north of Who's There. The girls had wanted to try it and we agreed. Hilly found out about it and there was no way we were keeping her out. The assassin who wasn't an assassin believed she was a lifetime honorary member of the troop.

  The camp had a lodge and pool at the center, with hiking trails to three campsites, a low ropes course, a zip line, a lake, and the brand-new air rifle range. Outback was the farthest campsite from everything, but the girls didn't mind because they loved hiking.

  We might've lingered over this flower or that tree, but I wasn't worried because it didn't sound like there was anyone else in camp who would be waiting to use the range. We turned a corner where the trail went right through the first and last night bonfire pit. A petite redhead was sitting on a bench, tying sticks together with plastic lanyard lacing. She looked up as we approached.

  "Oh, hey! I knew there was someone at Outback! I'm Ukulele!" The young woman grinned. "I was working on making God's Eyes. I was thinking of introducing it as a new craft next week."

  "Sorry to disturb you," I said as the girls swarmed the arts and crafts director.

  "Can you teach us to make those?" Ava asked.

  "Can you make them with string if you don't have plastic lacing?" Lauren added.

  "Can you kill a man with one of those things?" Betty asked.

  Hilly nodded eagerly. "It's all about pressure points. You can even use a plastic spoon, but sometimes they break so I don't recommend it — unless you reinforce it with a spork."

 

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