A California Online Magazine with Local Focus and Global Appeal
“What I can’t figure out,” Nate said, as he lay in the dirt behind a clump of cactus near Rosie Hapwell’s house, “is why you married that idiot in the first place.”
Before Rosie could reply, another bullet whined off a rock three feet away. Both of them ducked their heads and crawled to the dry wash where Nate had left his horse.
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“I’m very sorry Judge Blankenship, but there is a young woman in the waiting area who insists on seeing you now,” the maître d’ said as he handed the judge a business card.
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Five minutes had passed.
Detective Winston Elliot Browne, nicknamed WEB, admired the brass door knocker. He raised the ring being held in the lion’s mouth and let it fall. He smiled, picked it up again, and tapped it three times on the knocker plate. Several seconds passed before he heard a mousy voice from inside the mansion.
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I was in the Chart Room, nursing an Abita Amber, standing back by the jukebox,” Justin said. “I heard these two guys sitting at the bar. They say this old fella has a cardboard box full of money. Doesn’t trust banks, he’s been throwing his dollars in the box his whole life.
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Joe Killoran ran a comb through his hair in front of the bedroom mirror. At the age of fifty-one, he still had most of it, although it had grown thinner on the top, and the brown had turned to silver at the temples. There were more lines around his eyes as well, but he decided they added character to his face.
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I finished ringing up a purchase by an off-season tourist, and was watching the woman pass out the door when my boss dropped her bombshell.
“Marsha,” Trudy Bracken told me, “I believe I know who is responsible for the shop’s recent rash of thefts.”
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The first time I laid eyes on the well-seasoned lovebirds was in a hotel lounge overlooking the Boston Common. Her lipstick too red and his lapels too wide for 2015, they were having the time of their lives doing the Bossa Nova like it was still in style.
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“We can’t afford that.”
Margaret had spent a good chunk of time helping a customer select a pattern and yarn. In a second, that customer’s husband killed what would have been Margaret’s best sale in months.
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I hate Halloween, Max Regan thought to himself in the dark of his living room. He was doing his best to ignore the endless knocking at the door. It was just stupid kids looking for free candy. He wanted the brats to think nobody was home.
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“Caramel apples are my favorite,” Shelly said to her partner. “The thicker the caramel, the better.”
“Yep, when I think of autumn, I think of food – apple cider, apple donuts and candy apples.” Buck patted his khaki-clad belly. His shirt, which looked ready to burst a button or two, demonstrated his love of Apple Hill delights. Buck stepped back and snapped a few more photos. “And Halloween ghosts and goblins, of course.”
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She stepped off the bus at the usual place, waving to the driver as he took off. Then she turned in the opposite direction and started walking. It was later then her usual time and, since it was fall, it was darker than normal.
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“If I’ve told you once,” Papa Red Warty Thing said. “I’ve told you a dozen times not to stray so far way. Look at you. You’re already at the end of your tendrils and into the road. The tractor is coming. You’ll be smashed flatter than a fritter!”
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Leah Fields shifted in her chair as she took a break from reading and translating the ancient scroll before her. She smiled to herself.
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He had the patience of a cat watching rain drops run down a window pane. But, at the moment, he was making no attempt to pounce. He had all the time he needed. He had been stalking her for over a month now. When he did pounce, it would be only once, and it would be the only time needed.
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