Death on the Set (A Brenna Flynn Mystery) by Rose Kerr
Brenna Flynn returns home to Bayview City after the sudden death of her husband. Unable to find work in her field, she signs up with a temp agency to find employment. Sent on an interview for a cooking reality show, she aces it and gets the job of a production assistant.
On her second day at work, Brenna discovers a body in the studio. She soon learns she's the police's primary suspect. Determined to clear her name, she uses some skills she's honed as a guidance counselor to learn more about the victim. Drawing people out comes naturally to Brenna, and she becomes a confidante to cast and crew on the show.
The stakes are raised with threatening notes, poisonings, and blackmail. Can Brenna uncover who the killer is before someone else dies?
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About the Author
Rose and her husband settled in a small town, on the shores of Lake Superior in Northern Ontario to raise their family. A strong believer in lifelong learning, Rose took creative writing courses and began writing mysteries.
More recently, Rose, her husband, and their dog Jake have moved to
Southern Ontario. When she isn’t writing, Rose and her husband enjoy exploring
the new region.
Rose is a member of Sisters in Crime, the Guppy Online Chapter of Sisters in Crime, and Crime Writers of Canada. For more info visit www.rosekerr.com.
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I'm a Contract Killer by Andrew Segal
How would you feel if you came face to face with a contract
killer? I did, and it formed the basis for my title story.
But then, most, if not all of my yarns have a foundation in
something I've heard, read or personally experienced.
I've kept a diary, for example, but have not had as macabre
an experience as the old man in my tale, Dear Diary.
One might wonder, for example, whether, given the chance, the leopard might ever change its spots? Read my take on it and find out for yourself. This story was based on an actual event involving my wife, when she was just six years old. Her mother was so appalled by what happened, she refused to ever speak about it, or hear about it for the rest of her life.
I am not, and have never been a Gigolo, but decided to have
our hero from Book 1 meet his comeuppance in Book 2 when he meets a Courtesan,
who tumbles his well-kept secret. It's all there for you to appreciate.
In this second Book in the series, I've also looked at taxidermy, car crime and conditions under which an innocent journalist might be tortured and imprisoned in Vietnam? All based on personal experience, or else events I've read about in the press which struck me as being worthy of a view to be expressed in a short story.
These are just a few
tasters of a collection of tales I hope you'll enjoy reading as much as I've
enjoyed writing them.
Andrew Segal
Excerpt
The object of their attention was the two men approaching
them. The older of the two, in his early forties, bull-necked, shaven headed,
around five feet eight, his companion, in his late teens, lean built and
slightly taller.
The younger man spoke first, his voice tremulous, “Christ
dad. I said we shouldn’t have come down this street. It’s asking for trouble.”
“It’s a free country son. We don’t need permission to walk
any street we want.”
“But what’re we gonna do? There’s four of ‘em.”
“Stand still son. Now! Let them come to us. We start
nothing. Maybe they’ll walk on. If they start getting clever, well, just
remember what I’ve taught you.”
The four were closer now. “Dad?” The boy sounded frightened, felt frightened, his heart hammering painfully in his chest.
About the Author
Let me be reassuring, thus-far, nobody has been murdered on
my watch. But the notion gave rise to the impetus to write my first murder
mystery, The Lyme Regis Murders. Could I make the jump after years of writing
macabre short stories to a full length drama? That familiar beating in the gut,
said, ‘Yes, try it. Give it a go.’
And so to that cosy coastal town where nothing untoward ever
happens. Or perhaps it does. The author seeks to shatter notions, change
people’s perceptions, spoil long held views. That was my intention in entering
into the world of crime thrillers. I’ve found that ‘nice’ people are not always
what they seem. The helpless can be transformed into the most dangerous, the
most dangerous become the most harmless. It’s all up to the writer and what
they’re hoping to achieve.
For me there have been 10 children’s books, 4 books of short
stories and so far, three novels, with a fourth in the mixer.
Whilst a short story might be written with a flurry of
adrenalin in the space of a few hours, a book will need more than just a flash
of creativity. It will need perseverance, discipline and dogged determination.
But then, isn’t that what is required of every ambition?
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Giveaway
A Trifling Murder By Jo A. Hiestand
The annual Robert Burns Birthday Dinner celebration is underway in the small Missouri town of Beaudin Trace. Guests gather to honor Scotland's national poet with bagpipes and haggis and a trifle for dessert. But everything isn't as smooth as Scotch whisky. The Society's president and vice-president have a very public haggle over the haggis. And less than an hour later, one of them is found dead.
And found by Kate Dunbar, owner of The Cookie Cutter Bakery.
It wouldn't be too bad except the victim was murdered with her knife.
Gossip hints she is the killer. The majority of her
customers must agree, for her bakery sales fall drastically. If she is to keep
the business from crumbling, she needs to investigate.
But sleuthing is harder and more dangerous to Kate and those
around her than she thought. Luckily, she gets help from the town's zany
songwriter and his Scottie dog. Murder is no trifling matter.
Excerpt
"It's a good turn-out for the birthday dinner this
evening. " Scott Munro, a middle-aged man of average height and giving the
impression of being encased in tartan cloth, sat at the head table and gazed around
the community center's large dining room. The guests were lingering over their
cocktails and conversations during the last minutes of the social hour.
Everyone looked to be having a good time.
He rubbed his chin, as if deep in thought, and shifted his
attention around the group. "In fact, I think this year's Robert Burns
Night attendance must be some sort of record-breaker. Even Harold came."
"Harold always comes." Erin Joubert, seated next
to Scott, smoothed a wrinkle from her white blouse without looking in Harold's
direction. "He's usually here to sing one of his songs. Nice that he
brought a Scottie dog this year. Adds to the occasion." She repositioned a
lock of her brunette hair behind her ear as she murmured, "I wonder if
Robert Burns had a Scottie."
"Is the dog still here?" Scott stood up, perhaps
to get a better view of Harold, when he lurched sideways. He grabbed the edge
of the table as if to steady himself. As he did, his left hand brushed against
the tumbler of whisky at his place and knocked it over. The liquid arched
upward and outward before it plopped onto Erin's empty plate. As the liquor
gushed over the plate’s edge, she yelped and got to her feet.
“Watch what you’re doing!” The unfortunate victim grabbed
her napkin and tried to blot the wet spots on her blouse.
Scott turned to face her, his face a picture of remorse.
“Erin, dear, I’m so sorry. My ankle buckled and I lost my balance. I hope your
clothing will be all right." He peered at her silk blouse. "Please,
send me the dry cleaning bill.”
Erin glared at him, her dark eyes like black pools of
liquid. “At least it didn’t splatter onto my kilt skirt. Just be careful,
please.” She sat down and laid the napkin on the edge of the table. Across the
room, the Scottie dog joined her in protest.
“Certainly. I’ve been having trouble with my leg lately
and—” He broke off as he seemed to lose his balance again. As he clutched at
anything to check his fall, his hand hit the spoon beside his plate and sent it
flying. It smacked Erin’s chest before it fell onto her lap.
She shoved back her chair as she jumped up. Her stare
shifted from her blouse to Scott's face, and her voice rose to match the angry
flush surging up her neck. “Hurling the spoon at me is bad enough. What if it
had been in your soup plate at the time?”
Scott winced and wiped his hand over his mouth.
“Technically, I didn't hurl the spoon at you." He enunciated the verb,
speaking slowly and distinctly and giving it more emphasis than the other
words. "It accidently dislodged from its innocent placement and
unfortunately your...chest...was in the path of the trajectory."
"Hurled. Flung. Heaved. Choose which clash you like.
The outcome is the same. It hit me. "
About the Author
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Giveaway
Murder Next Door (Charlie Kingsley Mysteries) by Michele Pariza Wacek
So when Mildred Schmidt, one of Charlie’s customers, is convinced that her next-door neighbor’s house sitter is actually a vampire, Charlie of course has to step in to see what is really going on.
What she finds is … disturbing. The house sitter DOES have some
peculiar habits—like digging holes in the backyard in the middle of the night.
Surely, they aren’t … graves.
But then Polly, a local teenager, goes missing.
Of course, teenagers DO run away from time to time.
Less explainable is the dead body that then appears in the “vampire’s” yard.
Luckily, Charlie is hot on the case, and not a moment too soon as she races to not only find Polly, but to discover the killer before the bodies start to pile up.
Meet Charlie. Better known as “Aunt Charlie” from the award-winning Secrets of Redemption series. She’s back, making teas and solving cases in this funny, twisty, cozy mystery series set in the 1990s in Redemption, Wisconsin.
~~ Amazon ~~
Excerpt
“Charlie!” Mildred, my tea customer, opened her door and ushered me inside, straight into a cloud of floral perfume so strong, I could feel my eyes watering. Her blue pantsuit was clean and pressed, and her grey, permed hair looked freshly styled, like she had just returned from the hairdresser. “Oh, you didn’t have to make a special trip for me. But since you’re here, come in, come in.”
“It’s no trouble,” I said, trying to unobtrusively dab the tears from my eyes still stinging from the overbearing fragrance.
Hopefully, they would quickly adjust. “I was running errands anyway, and your house was on my way.”
“Oh, you could probably use a break then. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, and you can have a seat and just relax.”
Before I could answer, she was already bustling off toward the kitchen. I wiped my eyes for the second time and hung up my spring jacket. Then, I tucked my brownish-blondish-reddish hair (which was particularly wild and curly that day) behind my ears and made my way after her.
To be fair, I had expected this. Mildred was a sweet, albeit slightly overbearing, elderly woman. A retired school teacher who had never married and had no kids of her own, she had devoted her life to keeping a very close eye on all the happenings in her neighborhood, and then making sure whoever would listen was kept up to date.
I knew far more than was healthy about the marital life of the Thompsons (“He drinks too much, but I don’t know if I can blame him, as she’s always coming home late from work … I can’t remember the last time she cooked a nice dinner for him”), the family life of the Swanns (“Jamie is running for student council president, and little Teddy was on the JV basketball team … can you believe it?”), and Mrs. Miller’s pregnancy (“She is so huge … I’m sure she’s having twins”).
Yes, Mildred was a bit of a busybody, but she was harmless and lonely, so I didn’t mind spending a little time with her when I dropped off her orders.
I ran a tea and tincture business out of my home, so I was typically out and about delivering orders at least a couple of times a week. I had a handful of clients who always asked me to stay and visit, so I made a point of spreading their deliveries out over different days, allowing me the time and space to chat with them. This was Mildred’s day.
“Oh my goodness, I have so much to tell you,” she said excitedly as she placed a pot of tea and platter of shortbread cookies in the middle of the table. The teapot and matching cups were made of a delicate white china and sported a pink rosebud pattern. Rimmed with gold, they were quite lovely. “You would not believe what just happened with the Thompsons.”
I listened to her prattle as I nibbled on the cookies and sipped my special blend of chamomile and rose petal tea that she always saved for my visits. As always, her kitchen was bright and cheery as the sunlight slanted through the sparkling windows. The scent of lemon and bleach was barely detectable under her perfume. Even her orange tabby sleeping in his basket in the sun matched the yellow and white decor.
“But that’s not even the most important news,” Mildred continued after recounting her very pregnant neighbor’s emergency hospital trip. Apparently, Terri had thought she was in labor, and Mildred kindly offered to drive her to the hospital, but it ended up being a false alarm. Mildred took a deep breath and a quick sip of tea, making a slight face in reaction to it having grown cold. “Jonas seems to have hired a housesitter.”
“Really?” Jonas lived in the house right next door to Mildred. He was a middle-aged single man who worked in the Redemption post office. I rarely heard about him, as it seemed all he did was go to work, come home, heat up a microwave dinner, and eat it in front of the television while enjoying a couple of beers before going to bed and repeating it all the next day. Needless to say, Jonas didn’t garner Mildred’s attention the way the rest of her far more interesting neighbors did.
Mildred bobbed her head up and down as she reached for the teapot to top off her cup. “I know. I can hardly believe it myself. I was sure he would have mentioned something if he was planning a trip, but he didn’t breathe a word to anyone. I can’t even remember the last time he took a vacation.”
“Maybe he was saving up his vacation days,” I suggested.
Mildred frowned. “Well, that still doesn’t explain why he didn’t tell anyone. I mean, I have no idea when he left or when he’s coming home! It’s very upsetting.”
“If you didn’t see him leave, how do you know he’s gone?” I asked.
“His car is gone,” Mildred said.
“He parks his car outside?”
“No, in the garage. It’s not in there.”
I tried hard to keep my expression neutral. “You … looked in his garage?”
“Of course! I hadn’t seen him leave for work or come home for a few days, which made me worry he was sick or hurt and needed help. So, I went over to check, but no one answered the door. Well, I was beside myself. Did he have a heart attack? Stroke? Or maybe he slipped in the shower and was lying there in the tub, wet and cold and starving for days on end! I mean, how could I do nothing, knowing he might be suffering? I debated calling the police, and I would have, but I also didn’t want to bother them with such a matter when I was sure they had better things to do. I certainly didn’t want to waste taxpayers’ money, especially when there was an easier solution.”
“Of course,” I murmured, hiding my smile against the cup.
“So, before I called anyone, I decided to check the doors, on the off chance one was unlocked. I started with the garage. It was locked, of course, but when I peered into the glass, I saw his car was gone, and there was a different one in its place.”
“Maybe he got a new car?”
Mildred pursed her lips. “That thought crossed my mind, too, but the one in there now is old. Much older than Jonas’s. I can’t imagine why he would trade his in for that. Remember, Jonas bought his car just a few years ago, so it’s still nearly brand new. Plus, it has an Illinois license plate, and that doesn’t seem right at all.”
“You were able to see the license plate from outside?”
“Oh, heaven’s no. It was way too dark for that.”
I blinked. “I thought you said the garage door was locked.”
“I meant the door to the house,” Mildred said. “That was locked.”
She stared at me, sipping her tea, an innocent expression on her face. Briefly, I wondered if the side door that led to the garage was unlocked, as she seemed to be implying, or if her busybody skills included lockpicking.
I decided I didn’t really want to know.
“So, is that when you realized Jonas was gone?”
“Well, that’s what I thought, but I decided I’d better call his employer just to make sure everything was on the up and up.”
“Very smart,” I said.
“They said Jonas was on vacation for a month. A month! Can you believe it?” She shook her head. “He hasn’t had a vacation in years, and now he decides to leave for a month? And not tell anyone?”
“Well, clearly, it was overdue,” I said.
“I suppose. But he still should have let the neighborhood know. I could have kept an eye on his house for him, instead of him inviting a weird housesitter to stay.”
“You met his housesitter?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I’ve gone over there twice to introduce myself, but there was no answer when I knocked. And I know he was there, because his car was in the garage. Talk about not being very neighborly.”
“No, that doesn’t sound very neighborly,” I said. Of course, Mildred skulking around in the garage wouldn’t have anything to do with him not answering the door, I thought, but refrained from verbalizing it.
“But I did see him,” Mildred continued. “Once. He was walking around the yard in the middle of the night. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing out there. How could he see anything?”
“Maybe he heard something in the yard, like an animal or something.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Mildred said. “I’m sure there was nothing there. But that’s not even the strangest thing about him. Come.” She heaved herself out of the chair and beckoned me to follow her to the window.
“See that?” She pointed to the nondescript ranch house next door. As far as I could tell, it looked as it always did.
“See what?”
She sighed. “The windows! See how the shades are pulled down?”
Indeed, all the shades were tightly closed.
“Why would he pull all the shades on such a nice day?” she asked.
Maybe to keep out noisy neighbors who had no qualms poking around in other people’s garages, I thought. Instead, I said, “Maybe he works nights and sleeps during the day.”
“But I don’t see him leave,” she countered. “I don’t see him at all, except when he’s walking around the backyard in the middle of the night.”
I had to admit, it was a little peculiar. “Maybe he’s an artist or writer and has strange hours.”
“Maybe. But still, it’s not normal.” She put her hands on her hips as she shook her head. “I just don’t know what this neighborhood is coming to.”
“I haven’t a
clue, Mildred.”
About the Author
Michele holds a double major in English and Communications
from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Currently, she lives in the mountains
of Prescott, Arizona with her husband Paul and southern squirrel hunter Cassie.
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Wicked Game of the Hunter by Tracey L Ryan
Excerpt
In the near distance, the man saw headlights coming toward him and slowed the Jeep to almost a crawl as both vehicles approached the hairpin turn on Old Ravine Road. His thoughts drifted back to work. Why hadn’t his employer returned his call yet? Although the cell reception was sometimes sporadic, he hoped that his employer received the message—it was so unlike him not to call back. In fact, his employer was a micro-manager to the point of being absurd. He usually stayed in the city in bad weather, but his employer was hounding him to work from home with the pending snowstorm instead—which was very odd behavior. But he didn’t argue because that meant he could spend more time with his daughter, the apple of his eye, who was home from college.
The man brought his thoughts back to driving in the
fast-deteriorating conditions. This road, perfectly serene in the good weather
as it overlooked the tranquil houses down below, was downright murderous in the
winter months with its countless accidents into the ravine. Hardwicke was one
of those rare places that still possessed all its natural beauty. Even the snow
seemed to glisten in a mystical way that could only be seen far away from any
city influence. There was a purity about the town that only its inhabitants
could truly understand and appreciate.
The high beam headlights of the other vehicle were now directly
in his view and almost blinding him, snapping him out of his nostalgia. The
other driver must not know the road or somehow hadn’t see him. The man gripped
the steering wheel a little tighter. He flashed his lights, but it looked like
the other car was going to hit him head-on. He tried to swerve. The road was
narrow and without guardrails. There was nowhere for him to go. The Jeep’s
tires rattled dangerously close to the edge of the embankment that led down to
the ravine. Why wasn’t the other car returning to their lane? Must be a drunk
driver, the man immediately thought.
The Jeep started to fishtail. As the front tires hit the
snow-covered gravel on the edge of the road it spun 180 degrees. It teetered
and started to go over. The vehicle lost any remaining balance and rolled over
on its driver’s side, then again onto its roof while it continued to slide down
the embankment. Glass shattered like confetti at a birthday party as the metal
made an unnerving crunch sound. The Jeep’s driver’s seatbelt became unhooked.
He was tossed around the front seat of the vehicle as it virtually collapsed
around him. Only the steering wheel prevented him from being thrown out of the
vehicle where the front windshield used to be.
The seconds felt like an eternity for the driver as the Jeep
tumbled downward. A large boulder brought it to a stop at the bottom of the
ravine. What used to be the front-end of the Jeep was now melded with the
boulder so that it looked like an abstract piece of art. The engine hissed as
smoke poured out, shrouding the Jeep in a white and grey cloak.
When the world stopped moving, the man was semi-conscious.
Not quite in this world but not in the next either. In his last moments before
heading to the great beyond, his only thoughts were of his precious daughter.
Then eternal darkness fell on him, and all his secrets were forever hidden as
the snow gently covered the vehicle in a plush, white blanket. The dark SUV
idled on the road at the top of the ravine for a few more moments. Then the
passenger rolled down the window. The air started to smell like gasoline. The
passenger threw their still lit Macanudo cigar down into the ravine. Satisfied
that there was no movement in the vehicle at the bottom, the passenger signaled
the driver. The SUV drove away unnoticed as the Jeep burst into flames.
About the Author
Tracey is devoted to giving her readers fast-paced suspense
and mystery sprinkled with heart-pounding romance. She creates well-thought-out
characters and descriptive details that brings the story to life on the page
for her readers, drawing them into the mystery.
By day, Tracey has turned her passion for creativity into a
successful financial services marketing career.
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Easter Mysteries
Easter Bunny Murder by Leslie Meier
With a harsh Maine winter finally over, Lucy Stone is excited to cover the annual Easter egg hunt for the Tinker’s Cove Pennysaver. Hosted by elderly socialite Vivian Van Vorst at her oceanfront estate, it’s a swanky event where the eggs are as likely to contain savings bonds as jelly beans. But when Lucy arrives at Pine Point, the gates are locked, and a man dressed as the Easter Bunny emerges, only to drop dead moments later…
The victim is Vivian’s grandson, and all is not well at Pine Point. Vivian has been skipping lunch dates, and her charitable donations have abruptly stopped. Is she going senile? Or are her heirs a little too anxious to take over her estate? As Lucy gathers a basketful of suspects, she’ll have to try not to fall down a rabbit hole as she chases a killer with a deadly case of spring fever…
~~ Amazon ~~
Easter Egg Hunt Murder by Rachel Woods
During an Easter egg hunt, Roland “Beanie” Bean and his two-year-old son Evan are searching for eggs when they find a woman sprawled in the dirt beneath a hibiscus bush.
Little Evan thinks the lady is just sleeping, but Beanie knows better. The woman is dead.
As an investigative reporter at the Palmchat Gazette, Beanie is the perfect person to cover the story, considering that he found the victim.
Narrowing down the field of suspects, Beanie finds out the victim had plenty of enemies. Not only was she unfaithful to her husband, but she was blackmailing her lover and cheating her business partner and may have been involved in a scam with a vicious island cartel.
As Beanie continues to investigate, he uncovers sinister secrets and devious motives among those who were closest to the victim. Racing to discover the killer, he ends up the target of a diabolical murderer who won’t hesitate to kill again.
Easter Egg Hunt Murder is a contemporary whodunit murder
mystery novel in the Reporter Roland Bean Cozy Mystery Series but can be read
as a standalone. With lots of clues and red herrings, it features plenty of
twists and turns to keep you guessing until the end! Get your copy today!
~~ Amazon ~~
Show Me the Bunny by Laurien Berenson
Aunt Rose already has a strike against her for not being too fond of dogs—or Aunt Peg. But Melanie still agrees to organize Easter festivities at Gallagher House, the new women’s shelter opened by the stern former nun, even if it takes all the jellybeans in Greenwich to sweeten the arrangement. No sooner does Melanie arrive to dye multicolor eggs and stuff baskets, than she learns devasting news about Beatrice Gallagher, the respected benefactor of the estate. Beatrice has fallen to her death, and the circumstances are shocking . . .
No one can say why or how charitable Beatrice got pushed into an early grave. Yet for a supposedly warm and generous philanthropist, rumors have her pinned as an overbearing manipulator who used money to control the unfortunate few trapped in her inner circle. Facing an uncertain future as danger lurks around Gallagher House, Melanie and Aunt Rose must tolerate each other’s company long enough to discover the truth about Beatrice’s true nature and identify a vengeful killer—before another person’s idyllic spring break becomes a serious nightmare . . .
~~ Amazon ~~
The Easter Egg Murder by Patricia Smith Wood
~~ Amazon ~~
Easter Escapade by Kathi Daley
~~ Amazon ~~
An Embarrassment of Itches by M.K. Dean
As a house-call vet, Ginny Reese has seen her share of the weird and wacky. But nothing in her previous experience could have prepared her to find one of her clients floating in her own swimming pool.
Local artist Amanda Kelly was extremely wealthy with her share of secrets. By naming Ginny as her heir, not only did she make Ginny the number one suspect, but she painted a big bull’s eye on her friend’s back as well.
With her trusty German Shepherd at her side, it’s up to Ginny to find the real killer and prove her innocence to the sheriff. The new sheriff. Who happens to be her ex.
Piece of cake, right?
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Excerpt
Headlights in my rearview mirror reminded me to move along
and not block traffic.
I’d already sped up, but scarcely between one breath and the
next, the headlights lit up my rear window. As they approached, they suddenly
switched to high beam.
Oh. One of those jerks.
The winding road was too narrow for me to pull over and
allow the car behind me to pass. The blinding light filled my car, causing me
to squint as my concentration bounced from the car behind to the road ahead.
Whoever it was behind me was just going to have to wait. I wasn't driving that
slowly, for heaven's sakes.
The roar of a sudden acceleration made me look up in alarm.
The headlights loomed even closer than before. My hands tightened on the wheel
as I pressed on the gas. I'd been driving these back roads since I was a
teenager. I knew every curve like the back of my hand. Shifting gears like a
Formula One driver, I saw the needle on the speedometer climb to forty-five,
then to fifty. That may not sound fast if you're used to interstate driving,
but when you’re looping turns on a mountain road at night at that speed, it’s
like riding a roller coaster.
The headlights behind me fell back, and I eased up on the
gas when I took a corner tight enough that the car swayed as though it might
roll over. Remy sat up and thrust his nose between the seats.
“Not now, Remy. Lie down.” I snapped out my order with no
thought of reassuring him. When I cornered another turn too sharply, his
shoulder slammed into my driver's seat, and he withdrew.
The road opened up into an open straightaway, and I slowed
down. There still wasn't any good place to pull over, but if this idiot wanted
to pass me, now was his chance. The view ahead was unobstructed, and there were
no headlights coming from the opposite direction. As expected, when I
decelerated, the car behind me sped up. Its headlights filled the interior of
my car again as the car behind me loomed ever closer.
The hair on the back of my neck rose when I realized the
driver had no intention of passing.
You can always tell. The aggressive, impatient drivers in
their pickup trucks will roar into the opposite lane well before they reach
your car to pass you on one of these back roads. Too late, I realized the car racing
toward me had something different in mind.
The engine screamed as I stomped on the gas and delayed
shifting gears as long as possible to allow my car to shoot forward. But the
Subaru isn't built for racing, and mine was loaded down with equipment. The car
behind me had the prior advantage of traveling at speed, and I braced for
impact as it bore down on me.
The thump of contact with my rear bumper was hard enough to
snap my head back, but I retained control of the wheel. We were rapidly running
out of straight road, and while I couldn’t maintain this kind of speed on the
curves, I thought I might be the better driver there. My phone was still in my
back pocket instead of sitting in the hands-free bracket where it was supposed
to be, so I couldn’t even call for help. I was on this ride to the end,
whatever that end might be.
I drove even faster.
A pair of green-gold glows by the side of the road caught my
eye, but instead of braking as I’d normally have done, I laid on the horn and
mashed the gas pedal to the floor. As soon as I’d passed them, I slowed and
flipped up the rearview mirror.
Silhouetted in the glare of the headlights behind me were
the forms of several deer leaping across the road. My pursuer slowed at the
sight of deer crossing ahead of him, but sped up as soon as the deer were on
the other side of the road.
But I knew something the other driver didn’t or had
forgotten in his eagerness to run me off the road.
There’s always one more deer than you think there is.
The final deer, lagging behind the herd, stepped out in the middle of the road. Blinded by the oncoming headlights, it froze, staring in the direction of the car bearing down on it.
About the Author
M.K. Dean is the new pen name of award-winning author McKenna Dean, as she dives into the world of cozy mysteries. She lives on a small farm in North Carolina with her family, as well as the assorted dogs, cats, and various livestock.
She likes putting her characters in hot water to see how
strong they are. Like tea bags, only sexier.
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Giveaway
Mining for Murder (A Happy Camper Mystery) by Mary Angela
The South Dakota Gold Rush might be long over, but Zo Jones feels like she’s hit the mother lode when she and her friends browse an estate sale, where a rare old book about the history of Spirit Canyon is causing quite a commotion. In addition to local stories and secrets, the book may even contain the location of a famous stash of gold—a treasure worth killing for.
Zo’s friend Maynard
Cline wins the bid on the book, to the chagrin of many interested parties,
including the historical society and college history department. But when Zo
and Hattie head to Maynard’s mansion to borrow the book for a library event,
the only thing they find is Maynard—at the bottom of the mountain. The valuable
book is gone. Zo knows this must be murder because there’s no way a germophobe
like Maynard would have voluntarily dived into a pile of dirt. Now she’ll have
to dig into a new case, and go prospecting for a perpetrator . . .
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