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Father’s Day

by Madeline
McEwen-Asker


How could Brittany be pregnant when she was only seventeen years old? Technically Brad knew the answer to his own question, but as Brittany’s adopted Dad he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t face the “conversation,” a minefield of unexploded bombs.

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by Deborah Harter Williams


As we consider Father’s Day, it is obvious the role that fathers have played in a staple of television comedy: Father Knows Best, The Courtship of Eddie’s Father, Parenthood, Modern Family. But they are also integral to many a plot twist and emotional conflict driving drama as well, particularly in the crime and spy genre.

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by Josh Pachter


The block lettering on the pebbled glass door read “Daniel Lord, Psy.D.” The white-haired janitor fitted his master key into the lock and turned it until he heard the heavy metal bolt slide free. He pulled the key loose and slipped it into the hip pocket of his baggy coveralls, then twisted the doorknob, swung the door open and trundled his wheeled trash barrel ahead of him into the doctor’s waiting room.

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by Karen Rose Smith,
Mary McHugh &
Barbara Ross


This week we have some more recipes from mystery novels, and this time we were looking for some great recipes for your Father’s Day dinner! We have one from Silence of the Lamps by Karen Rose Smith, and one from Bossa Novas, Bikinis, and Bad Ends by Mary McHugh, and finally one from Fogged Inn by Barbara Ross. We will also be giving away copies of Silence of the Lamps and Fogged Inn (we just gave away a copy of the other book last week.) Details at the end of this post on how to enter to win, and a link you can use to purchase the books.

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by Elaine Faber


“Buckle your seatbelts. We’re coming in for a landing.” As the seaplane descended, the tiny blue patch surrounded by green became a small lake, 200 miles from the nearest Alaska town.

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by Duette Bennett



“Hey Dad, how deep is it here?” Gracie asked from the front of the boat. She was watching the line from her fishing pole continue to roll out from the reel. It had been going out for what seemed a very long time.

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by Margaret S. Hamilton



Lizzie and Nick’s trio of standard poodles charged the back gate, barking and wagging their tails. Lizzie put down her pruning shears and glanced at her husband Nick. “Who’s there?” she called.
“It’s us, Mom. Open up, before the dogs tear down the fence.”

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by Cari Dubiel



“There’s some dead bodies I need to deal with,” said my father as I walked into his room.
Dead bodies were common in Meadow Green. I walked by one on my way in, and said as much.
“What’s not common,” he observed, “is you coming to visit.”

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by Gary Hoffman



“My little green muse took a vacation again.”
“I hate that…. wait a minute. Did you say green?”
“Yeah. Sucks, but they seem to work on their own terms. And it’s green because he claims he’s related to the little green rack monster who forces me to take naps. They both claim they’re related to Kermit. Cousins on my mother’s side, I think.”

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by Alicia Lieu


I recently saw a headline that Nia Vardalos is getting ready to make the sequel to the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The very thought of this sequel instantly took me back to the numerous memorable lines from that movie. Each line was full of humor and wit, and eased the tensions of growing up as a child of immigrant parents in America. It easily tops my short list of favorite movies. I could relate so well to her cultural struggles but in the end, she came to realize what a treasure her family was to her.

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by Pam De Voe


“A village elder just reported a suicide at the home of Master Xiao Hong-gui.” Fu-hao slicked his hair back and shook his head in disapproval. “We’ve only been here a week and we already have a suicide!”

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by Jim Bulls


It was a cold and windy, West Texas thunderstorm that was pounding Amherst’s brand-new South Plains Farmer’s Co-Op Hospital when Howard Bulls joined the ranks of fatherhood. He was well aware that this honor could be short-lived: my mother had been hospitalized since the first day of March, battling toxemia. I arrived at two pounds, and with no incubator available, Dr. McDonald gave me a life expectancy of three days. Using the technology of a chicken brooder, the janitor rigged up a tent and a heat lamp over my crib.

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by Susan Oleksiw


The sounds of happy chatter ricocheted around the large room as shoppers inspected handmade sweaters, birdhouses, holiday decorations, and more. A table sagged under homemade pies, breads, and sweets. Youngsters jostled in line for a toss-and-win game.

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by Kaye George



“Be sure you gouge out the eyes, Imogene,” Hortense filled the Dutch oven with water to boil the potatoes.
Immy attacked the spuds, peeling off skin and popping out the eyes with the pointed part of the peeler. “Why do they call them eyes, Mother?” The operation was taking on gruesome overtones for the seven-year-old. “Potatoes can’t see anything.”

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by J.R. Lindermuth



I’m sheriff over to Arahpot and one thing folks know about me is I don’t shirk my duty, especially not when it comes to women and kids. I just wasn’t prepared for what awaited me this day.

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by Sharon Tucker



“Fathers are important,” Jesse Stone tells a rebellious teenager in Robert B. Parker’s Night Passage. Love him or hate him, whether he is too present in your life or too absent, whether he’s a good father or a nightmare, and even if he is all of the above–we recognize the father as an inescapable archetype whose influence reverberates throughout our lives, proving to be infinitely fertile ground for writers to plunder. Lee Harris’s The Father’s Day Murder makes surprising use of the holiday as the major theme at the heart of her novel. Jonathan Kellerman’s The Butcher’s Theater strongly illustrates the influence for good or ill a father wields. Leonard Holton’s Out Of The Depths reminds us that not all good fathers sire children.

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