The
Mistletoe Kiss by Mike Driver. We use the ancient
gods in strange ways now. Jupiter spacecraft. Mercury
cars. Pluto... once a planet, now demoted. What do they
think of our adoptions of their names?
Neon-pink
lipstick smears formed in the shape of a heart like something you’d
find scratched on the back of a love-struck schoolgirl’s exercise
book. The design shimmered wetly on the guy’s cheek, floating above
his wry fixed smile, giving him a chilled out, bohemian look. Maybe
the guy knew something Bliss didn’t. Maybe he knew why he was lying
naked on a cold black-tiled bathroom floor with his heart ripped from
his chest cavity.
Whatever he knew, he wasn’t saying.
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Small
Favors by Clair Dickson. Sometimes, no matter
how hard the day has been, we have to be thankful for small favors.
"So,
how did this even happen?" Officer Michael Ruggins asked.
He was off duty, so he'd traded his uniform top for a tee, but
he still wore the pants with the stripe down the side.
"We
both know that you've already heard all about it," I complained
bitterly. I appreciate how
fast rumors travel so long as none of them are actually about me.
"I've
heard a couple versions, sure, but I rushed right over because I
couldn't wait to hear what really happened.
I'm sure it'll be even less believable than the other
stories."
"I
see."
"I
know you live to entertain."
"That
must be why I decided to be a PI, huh?"
But I smiled in spite of myself and my head injury.
My name is Bo Fexler. At
twenty-five, I'm a bitter female private eye.
I've got blond hair, green eyes, and a hell of a lump on my
pretty head.
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here to see the trailer video for FOOLS RUSH IN! |
Tatters
by Brian C. Petroziello. For some cops, once you have
worn the uniform, you never stop being a cop—no matter what happens to
the rest of your life.
Mike Grannet carefully unbuckled his
shoulder holster and gently lowered it into the bottom drawer of his
desk. He took a deep breath as his secretary, Doris, entered the
office. With one hand she plopped a steaming mug of black coffee on
the old formica topped desk. Her other outstretched hand held pink
message slips. "How did court go?" she asked
Grannet shook his head from side to
side. "Amazing," as all he said.
"I don't understand," she
replied.
"Mr. Smith's attorney showed
him the photos of his wife and her lover. When he found out she would
do those kinds of things with him… they reconciled."
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Reap
What You Sow by Chad Shank. Gardening is such
a pleasant, delightful and productive hobby! And growing plants
are wonderfully representative of life, too—you don't plant turnips
and have roses come up. You always reap what you sow.
“More than anything, JP Lind loved
working in his garden.” ‘That’s what they’ll all
say about me when I’m gone,’ JP thought as he
laid the water hose in the squash, ‘but they’ll
never know the reason why
I love it so much.’
He smiled a greasy smile, and moved the water
to the tomatoes. He thought that it was pretty
close to the spot where he had buried his wife,
but it had been three years, so he couldn’t be
sure. As he thought about his wife, he heard a car
door. The press didn’t bother him any more, at least not like they
used to, but there had
been that tabloid news guy
who kept calling him.
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Effective
Immediately by Mark C. Rodgers. Some jobs, no matter
how much you enjoy them 99% of the time, just aren't worth it.
Especially when they make you wet your pants.
Revving
the big-block V8 a couple of times, he slipped the
Muncie
four-speed into gear without so much as a chatter.
With a little throttle and a little clutch, Cavin Landry
maneuvered the wrecker out of its parking spot and onto the glistening
street. Doing the math in
his head he figured that it was about eight miles, and twenty minutes
tops to his destination.
“Hell!”
He mumbled to himself. “No sense bustin’ a sweat gettin’
there.”
Just
minutes before, Clarice Beaudreau over at Central Dispatch had hailed
him on the radio, asking him to go pull some dude out of a ditch on the
outskirts of town.
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A
Virtuous Thief by J.R. Lindermuth. Who would
rob a church? What sort of lowdown, scum-of-the-earth, dirtbag would
take offering money from a small church???
“Just
like the others, sir,” Flora Vastine said, “the doors were left
open.”
Daniel
“Sticks” Hetrick, former chief and now special consultant to the
Swatara Creek Police Department, grunted as he slid his lanky frame out
from behind the steering wheel of his car. He followed Officer Vastine
up the walk to the front door of
St. Thomas
Evangelical
Methodist
Church
. “And, just like the others, there will be a thousand fingerprints
all over the place.”
This
was the fourth church burglary in as many months. In all cases, main
doors had been left open for the benefit of the public, proving equally
beneficial for the thief or thieves.
Officer
Vastine nodded. “Corporal Minnich and I contained the scene and
dusted, but it probably won’t do much good.”
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No Motive
for Murder Episode 2 by Gary R. Hoffman.
Regan's adventures and terrors continue!
Regan woke at four the next
morning. Her clock radio was
playing some music that sounded like a radio station signing on for the
day. She flopped her arm
around to find the switch to turn off the radio.
It was only then she realized where she was.
She hadn’t brought her clock radio.
She was then aware of a light in the room.
Jason’s computer was on!
“Jason!” she screamed out.
Jason came running into the room.
“What the hell’s wrong?”
“The computer!”
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Don't
forget the Members' Hall of Fame!
If you are a subscriber to this
ezine and have written a crime,
mystery or suspense novel, or have been part of a published anthology of
such stories, or if you have written a book on the craft of writing, we
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