Match Box Murder

By Leslie Langtry

From USA Today bestselling author Leslie Langtry comes a killer campfire tale...

It's just another weekend camping trip for ex-CIA agent Merry Wrath and her precocious Girl Scout troop. This time the girls are learning riflery, taught by Merry's assassin friend, Hilly (who isn't an assassin because the CIA doesn't have assassins because that would be illegal...but she totally is). What could go wrong?

Plenty, because the creepy camp caretaker is soon found inconveniently dead behind the rifle range. Naturally, a violent storm comes out of nowhere and strands the troop with four suspect camp staffers. The scout manual explains how to keep kids safe during storms, hiking trips, and the overly-enthusiastic application of matches to start a campfire, but there's nothing on what to do when trapped in a lodge with a murderer. Can Merry unmask the killer before she and the girls get burned?

Note: This title was previously available as part of a Twisty Tales & Cozy Crimes collection.

What critics are saying about Leslie Langtry's books:

"I laughed so hard I cried on multiple occasions! Girl Scouts, the CIA, and the Yakuza... what could possibly go wrong?"
~ Fresh Fiction

"Darkly funny and wildly over the top, this mystery answers the burning question, 'Do assassin skills and Girl Scout merit badges mix...?'"
~ RT BOOKreviews

"Mixing a deadly sense of humor and plenty of sexy sizzle, Leslie Langtry creates a brilliantly original, laughter-rich mix of contemporary romance and suspense."
~ Chicago Tribune

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
• Release date: Dec 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215606575

Leslie Langtry

Leslie Langtry is the USA Today bestselling author of the Greatest Hits Mysteries, The Adulterer's Unofficial Guide to Family Vacations, and several books she hasn't finished yet, because she's very lazy. Leslie loves puppies and cake (but she will not share her cake with puppies) and lives with her family and assorted animals in the Midwest.

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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